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Chapter Forty-Two

Ronan

The cold concrete of the booking area was a sharp contrast to the heat still simmering beneath my skin. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, the only sound in the sterile, oppressive space aside from the muffled voices of other prisoners further down the hall.

The cuffs around my wrists were tight, biting into my skin, and I could feel the heat of the bruise on my ribs from where Jack had slammed me into the ground earlier. My body ached, but it wasn’t just from the fight. It was from everything that had built up over the past few months—everything that had led me here.

I hadn’t planned on ending up here. Hell, I hadn’t planned on half of what had happened. But now, as I sat in the holding cell, everything seemed so much more…final. I could only hope that Elias was proud of me.

My heart was still racing, the adrenaline still coursing through me as the officers processed my arrest. My mind kept flicking back to Elias—his grave, the last words I had said to him, the way I couldn’t protect him, how I had let everything get so out of control. The anger, the blind rage, the blood…all of it tied into the bitter, gnawing feeling in my gut.

A loud clang echoed through the hallway as the metal door at the end opened, and in walked Jack, his hands cuffed behind him, his face a mess of cuts and bruises from our fight. His clothes were stained with his blood, the way mine were that night from Elias.

I didn’t look at him.

Not at first.

I couldn’t.

Every time I did, all I could think about was how he had destroyed so much of my life—how he had ruined everything.

But then he walked into the booking area and stopped, his eyes meeting mine. The bastard had that same smirk on his face, busted lip and puffy eye or not. He was missing teeth from the assault, but he still looked like he was the one who had won.

He talked to the police behind him like a friend. Waltzing around like nothing could faze him.

“Look at you,” he sneered, the sound of his voice slicing through the silence between us. “You really thought that was gonna fix things, huh? You think you’ve finally got the upper hand, Ronan? Beatin’ up your poor old man just showin’ his respect to the dead?”

I swallowed hard, my jaw clenching. His words were like a punch to the gut, but I wasn’t going to let him have that satisfaction of a response.

“May I be transferred somewhere else?” I said quietly to the officer in front of the bars. I tried to pretend Jack wasn’t there. I was so tired of hearing his voice and his presence suffocating everything.

Jack leaned against the bars, his smirk growing wider. “You really thought you had me didn’ ya,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But look who’s here again—you, Ronan. You’re always tryin’ to fix things. Always playing the hero. Such a good guy. Who you tryin’ to fool? These are my friends. There is no one for ya. I know a group of boys who missed ya.”

I didn’t respond at first, my mind flashing back to that night in the prison, and the fear fell into my gut like lead. I shoved it off. I could feel my fists clenching, the urge to lash out still there, but I knew it wouldn’t change anything.

“Why don’t you just admit it?” Jack continued, his voice low now, almost taunting. “You’re just like me. You’re just a damaged little boy, looking for a way to fix things that can never be fixed.”

I couldn’t stop myself anymore. I lunged forward, rattling the bars of the cell.

“Don’t ever compare me to you,” I hissed, my voice dripping with venom. “You’re nothing. You’re the reason Elias is gone, Jack. You’re the monster who killed him. I won’t stop until you fucking burn!”

Jack didn’t flinch. Of course, he didn’t. He just looked at me, his eyes cold, calculating. “And what? You think you’re some kind of saint, Ronan? You think you’re better than me? Why? ‘cuz you fucked a priest? I’ve got news for you…you’re not. You’re just like me. Stuck in the same mess, trying to find a way out of it, but you can’t. Not like I can. You have nobody.”

His words stung, but they didn’t hit me the way they used to. I was done with him, done with how he manipulated everything, and I twisted it all until I didn’t know which way was up.

“Yeah, well,” I said, my voice low and steady now, “I’m done with you, Jack. You can sit here and think whatever you want, but I’m never going to be like you. Not anymore. I’m not you. I never have been.”

Jack’s face twisted with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. “You think this makes you different? You think that makes you some kind of hero? You’re just a man with blood on his hands. Just like me.”

I felt my anger rising again, but I held it back. I wasn’t going to let him drag me down again. I wasn’t going to lose control. Not now. I had too much to do.

The officer at the front desk called Jack’s name, and he turned, giving me one last look—a look that said everything I needed to know. He was still the same, still twisted and manipulative, but it wasn’t my problem anymore.

The officer walked Jack out, the heavy sound of his footsteps receding into the distance, leaving me behind in the cold, empty booking room.

I exhaled, my body sagging against the bars, the weight of the situation crashing down on me.

He was right about one thing—I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t a good guy. I was a man with his own scars. Too much shame. Too much guilt.

And the blood of the man I loved on my hands.

I had been sitting in the holding cell for hours, but it felt like days. The walls were closing in, the sterile, dimly lit room pressing against me as I waited for something—anything—that might give me a glimpse of hope.

But deep down, I knew it was probably over. I’d been here before. I’d been the guy who always ended up back in this same spot: arrested, locked away, with nothing but time to stare at the mistakes I’d made.

I had come so close this time. Close to walking away from all of it. Close to feeling like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance at redemption, a chance to make up for the things I’d done. But Elias was gone. My mother was dead. And now, here I was again, in the same place I had spent so much of my life.

I slumped against the cold metal bench, my hands still cuffed, eyes staring blankly at the floor. The silence in the room was deafening. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above was the only sound, and it was enough to drive anyone mad.

“Ronan Saint Clare?” a voice suddenly interrupted the silence, sharp and authoritative.

I looked up, blinking in surprise. A detective stood at the door, his stern gaze meeting mine as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Detective Weston, I remembered his name from the hospital. He had been with the case from the beginning. He didn’t seem like the type to be lenient, but I could see something in his eyes now. Something that told me he wasn’t here to throw me back into prison.

“You’re coming with me,” he said curtly, unlocking the cuffs from my wrists.

I barely had time to process his words before I was standing up, following him out of the holding cell. The hallway seemed longer now as if everything in the world had slowed down.

My heart was racing in my chest, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask what was going on. I could only follow the uncertainty clawing at me with every step. The last time I followed an officer like this…

As we reached the main lobby, I saw him. Father Franklin. He was standing near the entrance, his expression calm, but there was a slight tension in his posture—something that told me he had been waiting here for a while. His robes hurt to look at because they were like the ones Elias wore so proudly.

“Father Franklin?” I murmured, still trying to wrap my head around what was happening.

“Ronan,” he said, his voice steady but with a hint of relief. “I’ve come to get you out.”

My breath caught in my throat. “But…I thought I was going back to prison. I thought?—”

“You were…” Detective Harris interrupted, cutting me off. His voice was still no-nonsense, but there was an edge of something different in his tone. “But there’s been a change. We’ve got enough evidence now to close the case on Jack.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

Father Franklin stepped closer, his hand gently resting on my shoulder as he looked me in the eye.

“The charges against you—there’s enough to prove Jack was the one who set everything in motion. We’ve got witnesses, we’ve got his history with your mother, and now we’ve got the final piece: his confession.”

I blinked, my mind struggling to keep up.

Jack had confessed? How?

I had seen him walking around like he was invincible. Like nothing would touch him. He was a monster who had ruined so much of my life, and now…he was going to pay for it?

Detective Weston nodded, his expression still serious but with a slight shift as if something had changed in him too.

“You got Jack in custody. His confession about what happened with your mother—about what he did to you, to Elias—it was all being processed. And trust me, there won’t be any more hiding. He’s guilty of all charges. You made sure of that, Mister Saint Clare.”

A weight lifted from my chest, but it felt too surreal. I had spent so long tangled in the pain, the grief, and the rage that I didn’t know what to feel now that the truth was finally being laid bare. Jack would be held accountable for everything.

I turned to Father Franklin, the man who helped Elias when he was at his worst, my voice hoarse. “You…you really came for me?”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm despite the sadness that still clung to the edges of his gaze. “Of course. You don’t have to go through this alone, Ronan. You never have to again. The path of healing from loss is not one you walk alone.”

I swallowed hard, the sting of emotion threatening to overwhelm me. My chest tightened, but for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t with anger. It was with something softer—something that made the tears I had been holding back rise to the surface.

“I miss him, my child.” Father Franklin’s words were that dam that held back the tears. The emotion I was afraid to feel.

Detective Weston glanced between Father Franklin and me, his gaze lingering for a moment before he spoke again.

“Just so you know,” he said, his voice steady, “Jack will be facing more than just the charges for your mother. We’re charging him with assault and battery toward you and with the recent developments in his confession in regard to the burning of the church. It looks like there’ll be more. Bribery, for one, and I don’t need to tell you, but…you won’t be seeing him again.”

His words were sharp, final. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I had a chance like there might be a way out of the prison I had been living in for so long.

Father Franklin placed a hand on my back and guided me toward the exit. “Come on, Ronan. We’re going home. We’ve got a long road ahead, but at least now, you’re not facing it alone.”

As we walked out of the station, the sunlight hit my face, and for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like I was trapped. I didn’t feel like everything I had lost was still weighing down on me.

I felt…free.

The case against Jack was finally over, and I could finally take a breath, knowing that the truth had won.

And though I still had a long way to go, I had people now—people who cared. And maybe, just maybe, that was all I needed to start moving forward.