Eyes Open

Eyes Open
SARAH

I knelt beside Ronan, my hands hovering over him, unsure whether to touch him or not. Cullen stayed close, his body pressing against me.

“Breathe, Sarah. Just breathe,” he murmured, his hands tight over mine, grounding me.

“Dad…” I whispered, my voice shaking, though I knew my father had already left.

Cyrus knelt beside us, scanning Ronan quickly. “He’s alive,” he said, almost to himself, though his eyes were sharp, assessing. “I already called an ambulance.”

Ronan’s hand twitched slightly, and a pang of guilt hit me hard. I hated that it scared me, that despite everything, I still feared him. Even though I didn’t want him to die, even though I wanted him to survive, even though I never wanted him to get hurt...... I couldn’t explain how conflicted I felt.

“It’s okay, Sarah. It’s okay. Focus on us. Focus on what’s right in front of you,” Cullen whispered in my ear.

I swallowed hard, nodding against his chest, letting his strength steady me, grounding me, reminding me where my priorities truly lay.

Everything seemed hazy from there. The ambulance arrived, and they carefully placed Ronan on the stretcher. His body looked fragile, too fragile for the man I knew. I watched, heart hammering, as they loaded him in and secured him inside.

Cullen gently guided me to the car. His hands were steady, reassuring, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. We followed the ambulance toward the Cincinnati Hospital, the sirens wailing faintly behind us. Cullen had promised that he would get the best care, and somehow that thought eased the pit in my stomach, just a little.

When we arrived, they rushed him into the emergency room, the sliding glass doors closing behind him with a soft whoosh. We were left standing in the waiting area, forced to wait.

Hours, or maybe only minutes, passed in a blur of silent pacing and whispered reassurances. Then, finally, a doctor appeared. His white coat crisp, clipboard in hand, he approached us with careful steps.

“You must be family,” he said, his tone calm but serious. “I’m Dr. Hensley. Ronan has sustained multiple injuries, and his body just couldn’t take the strain anymore. He’s stable now, but we had to move him into the ICU so we could monitor him closely.”

I blinked rapidly, my chest tightening. “Is… is he awake?”

The doctor shook his head. “Not yet. He’s resting under medication to help him recover. His body needs this rest, he couldn’t have done it on his own. Once he’s stabilized and ready, you’ll be able to see him.”

Cullen’s hand found mine, giving a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. He’s going to be fine,” he whispered.

I nodded, trying to believe him. The doctor gave us a small nod and added, “We’ll update you as soon as he’s ready. For now, the best thing you can do is wait here.”

And so we waited, staring at the ICU doors, as I clung to the hope that when we finally saw him, he’d be safe, at least for now. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, though Cullen stayed close, whispering reassurances. I was so glad he was here with me right now.

Then, finally, the nurse returned. “He’s ready for visitors,” she said softly, guiding us toward the private ICU room.

The door slid open, and I froze. There he was.... Ronan, lying in the hospital bed, his injuries carefully bandaged. His face was pale but peaceful, lips slightly parted, eyes closed under the weight of the medication. For the first time in what felt like forever, he looked… vulnerable.

This was so unlike the Ronan I knew.

The Ronan I knew was always cold, harsh. It always seemed as if he were only a few minutes away from wrapping his hands around my throat and strangling the life out of me. He carried so much anger....an endless reservoir of it. And though I could say he had it for everyone, with me, it felt different. Special. Like he reserved an extra portion of his hatred just for me, like he spent energy deliberately making me miserable.

Because he did hate me, didn’t he?

I pulled the chair closer to his bed and sat down, my fingers gripping the armrests for strength I didn’t feel. Cullen stayed by the door, watching in silence.

I let my gaze fall back on Ronan. He was just… sleeping. Peaceful. Unthreatening. Almost inviting, even. His face, usually twisted in cruelty or smugness, was smoothed out now, softer. Vulnerable. I had never seen him this way.

And then it struck me. Ronan wasn’t an exact copy of Dad like I was of Mom. No, but he carried Dad in him—strong features, sharp jaw, that same dark sweep of hair. I imagined that when Dad was young, he might’ve looked something like this. It was a strange thought, because I never really got to see Ronan in this way..... He was handsome. Striking, even.

It was almost pathetic that the only time I got to really see him, truly see him, was when he was lying helpless in a hospital bed.

My voice cracked when I turned toward Cullen. “Did you… Call my father? Did anyone call my father and tell him about Ronan?”

Cullen’s jaw tightened, his hands lifting against the doorframe. Then he gave a small shake of his head.

“I didn’t call,” he said quietly. “I don’t know. Let me call my dad and Cyrus and see if anyone’s told him anything.”

“Okay… and thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “You and I are a team, and if you care about that asshole, then I guess I gotta be here, right?”

A sad smile tugged at my lips. He gave me one last look before stepping out into the hallway, his phone already in his hand.

I turned back to Ronan. Still asleep. Still unmoving. I didn’t know why, but my chest felt heavy. He had always been this… presence in my life. Larger than life. Dangerous. He terrified me. And yet, stupid as it sounds.....some part of me had always wanted him to care about me. I had wanted to please him, to prove something, even when I hated him.

I knew now how ridiculous that was, but the ache was still there, a memory that lived.

My gaze slid to his hand, resting loosely on the white sheets. I didn’t know what I was thinking, but before I could stop myself, my fingers reached toward his. I brushed them lightly. I don’t know what I expected his hand to feel like, cold, rough, freezing. Something monstrous, maybe. But it wasn’t.

It was human, warm. Warm enough that my own hand trembled as I stroked it gently, almost without realizing. Then, just at the edge of my vision, I felt his eyelids twitch. My breath caught. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to his face.

And then, suddenly, his eyes opened.