Chapter 39
Colton
My parents are dead, and I know that should make me sad.
No matter what they did to me, no matter how horrible they were, they were still my parents, the people who were supposed to love me and take care of me no matter what.
But all I feel is relief. Relief that they are gone and can never hurt me or Ollie again.
Even before they dragged me into the cult, they were never good parents.
When I think back on my childhood, the memories that come first are never warm ones of family dinners or bedtime stories.
Instead, I remember standing in front of them asking for help with homework and being told no, or asking if there was anything to eat and hearing that I could make it myself.
Five-year-old me had to stand on a chair in front of the microwave and try to figure out how it worked because there was no one willing to help me.
Seven-year-old me was terrified every day at school that I would lose my house key because I knew there would be hell to pay if I did.
By the time I was a teenager, I had already learned not to ask them for anything at all.
I went to school, worked my part-time job, and handed over every cent of my paycheck because it was easier than fighting with them about it.
Those are the good memories. The bad ones are so much worse.
The beatings. Being locked out of the house and forced to sleep on the porch.
Being shoved into a closet and left there for hours in the dark.
I learned early on that the safest thing I could be was invisible, only speaking when they wanted me to, only existing when it was convenient for them.
That was what being their son meant.
I lean my head back and close my eyes. Ronan’s hand on my thigh is the only thing keeping me from breaking apart.
The heat from his touch seeps into me. It’s only been days since we met, but he’s become the thing in my life that makes sense.
The person that I can rely on. Most people would be running by this point.
A psychopath who kills people, who also has a family that does the same.
I must be crazy because I don’t want to run. I want to lean into it, into him.
“We’re here,” Ronan says softly.
I have been so wrapped up in my mussing that I didn’t notice that we are at his parents’ house. Without raising my head, I turn to look at Ronan. His brows are drawn together as he studies my face.
“What?”
He cocks his head. “I don’t think asking if you are okay is correct. Rule number one applies here, but I don’t know the proper question to ask.”
Just him bringing up my rules melts the coldness that has taken root in my chest. This is why I’m falling for him even more.
Ronan doesn’t function like most people and isn’t familiar with social norms. It’s the fact that he is trying that means so much.
He said that he was my darkness, but in truth, he is my light.
He shines brighter than the sun in my world.
“I don’t know what the right question is either. I’ll be okay. I have to be, not just for me but for Ollie. I’m confused on how I should be reacting to everything right now.”
“There’s no way you should be reacting. From everything I’ve read about feelings and thinking processes, it’s an individual thing. That’s one reason it’s so confusing. You would think that it should be the same for everyone.”
A chuckle escapes me before I can stop it. I swear this man.
“You read about feelings and thought processes?”
“Yes. When I don’t understand something, I look it up. That’s how I know that I love you. You’re mine. I should have protected you better back there. I failed you.”
The shock on my face should be easy for him to read, but from the look he is giving me back, I don’t think it is. What is he talking about? He took care of me and got me answers, as shitty as they were. He put an end to the torment that had haunted my life. How does that mean he failed me?
“You didn’t fail me, Ronan. Why would you think that?”
“I should have protected your mental health better. You wanted to be there, but I should have known it wasn’t healthy for you.”
He’s watching me too closely, jaw tense, eyes searching my face for something. He gave me what I wanted, but everything about him looks like regret. He has nothing to be sorry for.
“That’s not true. What you did for me today, well, really since we met, has been what’s best for me.
Even with the heavy-handed way you have gone about it, it’s been what I needed.
And you’re right, there’s no cookie-cutter way to process what I should or shouldn’t feel.
I think that it bothers me more that I’m not bothered more that they’re dead. ”
I reached up and cupped the side of his face, my thumb dragging slowly over the roughness of his cheek.
For a second, he just looks at me, all that tightness in his face easing into something softer, something that makes my chest ache.
His eyes search mine like he doesn’t quite believe what I was saying, like he’s waiting for me to take it back.
And somehow that look—careful, guilty, relieved all at once—makes something inside me swell so painfully big it barely fits behind my ribs.
I press my lips to his. The kiss is soft at first, almost careful, and the way he fits against me makes my stomach flip hard enough to steal my breath.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers curling there as he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss until I can’t think about anything except him.
There is nothing hesitant in the way he kisses me now.
It’s possession and reassurance all at once, like he is claiming me and asking me to stay.
I melt into him, into the warmth of his mouth and the solid weight of his hand on me.
I try to catch my breath when he pulls back, resting his forehead to mine.
“Let’s go inside. We’ll get Ollie and go home.”
Getting out of the car, he hurries around the hood and opens my door.
“Did you read about how to be romantic, too?” I tease. Genuinely smiling for the first time.
“It was part of my research. How to be a good husband.”
That stops me in my tracks. My mouth falls open, and I know there is no way for my eyes to get any bigger. He turns to face me when he realizes I’ve stopped.
“What?” He shrugs. Actually shrugs like he hadn’t just knocked the air out of me with one word.
I stared at him, my mouth still hanging open, while he looked back at me like this was obvious, like we were discussing what to have for dinner.
“What?” he asks again, slower this time.
“You cannot just casually skip over boyfriend and land on husband.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Why not?”
“Because there are steps.”
“Seems inefficient.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh, my heart beating so hard it felt like it was trying to climb up my throat.
“Efficient,” I repeated. “You’re talking about marrying me like it’s a well-organized grocery list.”
His expression softened then, all the amusement fading into something steadier, warmer.
“Well,” he said quietly, “I already know I’m going to be with you for the rest of my life. Feels kind of pointless to pretend otherwise.”
What the fuck just happened? I must be in a coma somewhere, and my mind is letting me live this out. That has to be it. There is no way this is happening to me. I don’t know what to say. My hands are shaking, and I can’t seem to get enough oxygen in my lungs.
Ronan steps in front of me and pulls me into his arms.
“Breath, a stór.” He places my hand on his chest, and I mimic his breathing. I slowly start to feel in control again.
“I’m not saying we’re getting married tomorrow. We have to find Moses and Ezra first. But it will be soon. You and Ollie will take my last name. I’ll protect and provide for you both.”
My mouth goes dry instantly, my tongue sticking to the roof of it when I try to swallow.
He’s serious. God, he’s completely serious.
I search his face for some sign he’s joking, some crack in his expression, but there’s nothing there except that steady certainty that always seems to live inside him.
Like this is simple. Meanwhile, my heart’s beating itself bloody against my ribs.
This man can have anyone. Anyone. One look from him and people would fall over themselves to give him whatever he wants.
And somehow, impossibly, he wants me. Me, with enough baggage to rival an airport carousel and a life messy enough to scare off most people before they get close.