Page 180 of Edge of Unbroken

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m here,” Frank says as he reaches his son.

Unable to shoulder the weight any longer, Ronan drops to his knees with a desperate, gut-wrenching sob, finally breaking apart after laying out, detail by painful detail, the lifelong abuse he silently suffered at the hands of his mother.

Frank doesn’t miss a beat. He joins his son on the floor and pulls Ronan into his arms, holding him tightly against him. Ronan’s face is buried against his dad’s shoulder as he cries years and years of unshed tears, his body shaking with each agonizing wail.

Ronan

I didn’t want my dad. I didn’t want him to approach me, touch me, or pull me into his arms. He didn’t have a right to that. He abandoned me a long time ago. He wasn’t there when I needed him. When I truly, desperately needed him to protect me, to save me from my mom, he didn’t, and now it’s too late.

I backed away, shaking my head at him. I wanted to tell him to leave me alone, to go away. I wanted to tell him that he wasn’t what I wanted or needed. What I wanted and needed was the girl standing twenty feet back, the girl with the long blonde hair and those big hazel eyes that looked like they had shed infinite tears, the girl who shouldn’t be here, doesn’t deserve to be burdened by me.

But I couldn’t get the words out. I just shook my head at my dad, my hands up. I knew if he reached me, the last remnants of me would shatter, too.

He didn’t stop. There was no way out. I was trapped once more. And just like that, the façade—my intricately built walls—crumbled. And I with them.

I haven’t cried in years. Hardened by my mother’s abuse, I was convinced that crying meant showing weakness, which meant more pain. Crying never helped, it only ever made things worse. But finally it all broke out of me. All of it.

I sob—the sound of it startling, unfamiliar, guttural—for I don’t know how long as my dad holds me, kneeling on the ground with me. I have no strength left to get up, and my dad doesn’t force me to. He does what I’ve always wanted him to do: he stays right there with me, by my side, not moving an inch.

He cups the back of my head with one hand while the other holds me tightly. “I got you. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe,” he hums again and again, his voice thick, cracking. “I’m so sorry, Ran. I’m so, so sorry.”

My dad lets me cry without loosening his hold on me, telling me that everything will be alright, that I’m loved, wanted, needed, and cared for. That I’m safe now.

When I finally regain my composure, I’m dismayed to find that Cat is gone. She left with her mom, Shane, and my friends. Only Steve and Penny remain to drive back home with us. For an agonizing moment, I’m convinced my worst fears and my mother’s predictions have come true—that Cat and my best friends have finally recognized how worthless I am.

Cat

It was only on my mom’s insistence that we left the court, her suggestion that we head home and give the Soult guys some respite, some time. I wasn’t a fan of leaving Ronan behind when my entire being screamed for me to run to him and pull him into my arms. He was hurting, and leaving felt like the least right thing to do.

Only reluctantly did I tear my gaze away from Ronan and joined my mom and friends as we walked out of the large building. The moment we stepped foot outside those doors, we were met by heavy, dark clouds and pouring rain. It was almost as though the sky was crying along with Ronan.

I hugged each of my friends, squeezing Shane just a little tighter than everyone else, then climbed into the passenger seat of my mom’s car.

***

Rain continues to fall for the next hour, and I don’t hear from Ronan until there’s a knock on my front door just after dinner.

“Jeez, Ronan, come in!” I hear my mom say from the hallway.

I abandon the dishes in the kitchen sink. Ronan is standing in the hallway, soaking wet, water dripping off the wet strands of his hair and onto his face.

“Let me get you a towel,” my mom fusses and goes upstairs.

“Hi sweet boy,” I say cautiously as I move to Ronan.

He hesitates for only a moment before he simply pulls me into his arms. His clothes are wet from the rain, but I couldn’t care less. I encircle his waist, urge my body close, and inhale him. He smells like he always does—sun and ocean air, mixed with detergent and now the scent of rain. It’s extremely comforting, especially when coupled with the feel of his body against mine, the sound of his breathing and his heart kicking in his chest.

My mom returns with a towel as well as one of my dad’s Duke shirts. “Why don’t you at least take off your wet sweater and put this on? I’ll dry your clothes for you.”

“Thanks,” Ronan says. He sounds tired.

I step back, then interlace my fingers with Ronan’s to lead him up to my room, closing the door behind us. I watch as Ronan strips off first the heather-blue crewneck sweater he wore at court today, then his white shirt that’s soaked through, clinging to his sculpted body.

I take the wet clothes from him, letting my eyes roam his bare chest for a second. “I’ll take this down to my mom.” I want to touch him so badly but refrain and instead leave my room and hand Ronan’s shirt and sweater to my mom downstairs.

“How is he?” my mom asks me quietly as I hand her Ronan’s clothes.

“I’ll find out in a minute,” I say, and she nods.

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