Chapter 19
nineteen
. . .
Violet
Ishould say something.
I tell myself that at least three times before the words even form. The silence between us stretches, not in an awkward way exactly, just…dense. Heavy with history that doesn’t evaporate because years passed.
Rowan sits beside me on the porch, loose-limbed and at ease, one boot hooked over the railing, shoulders relaxed.
He looks…different. Almost more dangerous.
Like he knows exactly who he is now and doesn’t feel the need to prove it.
There’s that unmistakable warmth in him, though, refusing to burn out.
It’s the same thing that always anchored me, even when my thoughts were sprinting ahead faster than I could catch them.
He was always the calm center of the mess I pretended wasn’t chaos.
Some part of me still recognizes that gravity, which is inconvenient.
Because I’m not the girl I was back then. I grew a spine.
What does this mean? What are we doing here? This thing we’re dancing around doesn’t come without a price. Second chances never come free. They just wear better disguises, and this one is dangling in front of me, all shiny and tempting, pretending it won’t ask for more than I’m willing to give.
I sneak a glance at him. He’s absentmindedly running his fingers through Bramble’s fur, the dog utterly content. Rowan’s face is calm, unreadable.
And now I’m suspicious.
Is he weathering his own internal storm? Or is he just waiting for me to catch up?
Say something, Violet.
Maybe I don’t know what this thing between us is yet, the uncertainty that lingers in the air like a bubble just waiting to burst, but I know what I need.
My voice breaks the comfortable silence. “I need to say something.”
Rowan’s eyes meet mine. His hand stills in Bramble’s fur, fingers caught mid-stroke. He doesn’t rush me. Doesn’t fill the quiet. He just waits.
“I want to try this,” I say, the words leaving me more easily now, like they were just waiting for the right moment to break free. “Us.”
I hold his gaze, forcing myself not to flinch. “But I can’t do halfway.”
His expression shifts, a slight furrow in his brow as he sits up straighter. He reaches for my hand, but I shake my head before his fingers can touch mine. Not yet. I need to say this without him scrambling my thoughts. His stupid, warm, unfairly attractive hands make everything more confusing.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. “If we’re doing this, I need to know you’re staying.”
His eyes soften, but his jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he might say something to reassure me. “Violet—”
“I’m not finished,” I cut him off, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “I need honesty. Completely. Even when it’s hard. Even when you think it might hurt me.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “And I need you to understand something,” I say. “I’ve built a life here. A real one. It’s good.” My fingers curl into my palm. “I can’t burn it down for the possibility of something that might not last.”
I wait for the shift. The retreat.
Instead, Rowan reaches for me again. His fingers brush mine, and the touch lands with more weight than the kiss did.
“I came back for a reason, Violet,” he says quietly.
I look at him then, really look. The lines at the corners of his eyes. The seriousness in his mouth. This isn’t a man chasing nostalgia. This is someone who knows exactly what he’s risking.
“I didn’t even know if you’d want to talk to me,” he continues. “Didn’t know if I deserved that much.” His thumb shifts, a soft press against my knuckles. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who used to look at me like I wasn’t broken.”
I blink, stunned by the rawness in his words and the way they break open some part of me I’ve kept closed for too long.
“And I’m staying because I want to be the man who actually deserves that look.”
All this time, I’ve kept myself from believing we could ever be more than an unfinished thought. Now… I let myself take that step.
I don’t know what makes me move first. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, like the world narrowed and I’m standing dead center. Maybe it’s the promise threaded through his words.
I lean into him, not because I need him to catch me, but because I want to finally know what happens when neither of us pulls away.
Rowan moves instantly, as if he’s been holding himself back by sheer will. He’s out of his chair and kneeling in front of me, his presence suddenly everywhere. His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing just beneath my cheekbones, and I forget how to look anywhere else.
“I don’t want halfway, either. I want all of you.” His smile is soft, a little crooked. “I want to know your life here. Every piece of it. I’ve spent years trying to become someone who could give you what you deserve.”
My chest splinters wide open.
“I never needed you to be worthy.” My voice cracks a little, but I push through it. “I just needed you to stay.”
His expression shifts, clouding over with something that looks a lot like regret. He looks down for a second before meeting my eyes again. “I know that now. But back then…” He shakes his head. “I’m not asking you to trust me with everything right away. Just…give me the chance.”
Give me the chance.
As if I haven’t been waiting for this exact moment since the first time he looked at me like I was something gentle in a world that had never been kind to him.
As if my heart didn’t make this decision years ago.
He’s sitting here asking for permission to step into a space I’ve already held open, just for him. Always him.
He sees me.
Not the girl I was. The woman I am. The one who learned how to stand on her own and chose him anyway.
He already has me.
He always did.
Three words sit on the tip of my tongue, too heavy to release just yet. Too precious. Too permanent.
So I don’t say them. Instead, I close the small gap between us until our breaths collide. My hands slide into his hair, fingers tangling in the softness at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. He stiffens just for a moment, eyes widening, but then he follows my lead.
The first brush of my lips is tentative, gentle, but the restraint doesn’t last. Every confession I haven’t dared to speak aloud pours into the kiss. It’s a conversation without words, a declaration without speaking.
His hands move to my waist, tugging me closer, his touch gentle but firm, like he’s afraid to break me but can’t help but hold on. He sighs, and the sound sends a shiver through me.
When I pull back just enough to see him, his chest rises and falls in a ragged rhythm. His eyes search mine, open, honest, mirroring every bit of what I’ve been feeling.
“I know,” he whispers. “Me too, Violet. God…me too.”
We didn’t say much on the drive back to my place. Rowan kept his hand locked in mine the entire time.
At first, the quiet between us was charged, but after a while, it softened. If there was a time to fill the silence with nervous jokes or pick apart what just happened, I couldn’t find it. Turns out, some moments don’t need to be translated into words.
By the time I push open the front door to my condo, I’ve come back down to earth enough to function.
My pulse has slowed to something resembling normal, and I can breathe without the sense that I might fall apart at the seams. Still, everything is…
rearranged. Like the furniture of my life got nudged just an inch to the left and now I’ll never stop noticing it.
The living room smells like vanilla and lemon, warm and clean and unmistakably familiar. Whit’s presence is everywhere—the candle burning low on the coffee table, the throw blanket folded with precision, the faint hum of whatever comfort show she’s half watching.
“You’re glowing.” Whit’s voice drifts from the couch.
I blink at her. “I am not.”
She quirks a brow. “You so are. Is this a he kissed me glow or an I got answers glow?”
I shrug, aiming for casual, but my mouth betrays me, turning upward before I can wrestle it back into neutrality.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, sitting up straighter. “Both. So are you going to tell me everything, or am I going to have to torture it out of you?”
I laugh and collapse onto the couch beside her. “There’s not much to tell.”
“Oh, please.” She nudges me with her foot. “Did you two actually talk, or was it just an impressive amount of making out?”
“We talked.” I drag a throw pillow onto my lap, tracing the woven pattern with my thumb. “He said he’s not going anywhere. That he came back for me.”
She hums. “He said that, huh?”
I nod. “Yeah. And I think he means it.”
Whitley studies me, that familiar look of half doubt, half reluctant acceptance settling in. After a moment, she exhales and leans back.
“You know I love you, and I’m on your side,” she starts, “but if you think your dad isn’t going to have a full-on aneurysm over this, you are deeply, profoundly delusional.”
I wince. “I know.”
“He hates him, Violet. Like, capital H, sharpened-pitchforks kind of hate from what I gathered.”
For a second, she looks so worried, it almost yanks me out of the afterglow.
No, my dad has never been a fan because Rowan was the one who brought me out of my sheltered, good girl shell every once in a while.
Sneaking off to parties I shouldn’t have been at, hiding behind excuses that made my dad’s blood pressure spike.
Dad saw him as an unworthy distraction from the path he’d worked so hard to set me on.
It doesn’t help that Rowan is…well, Rowan. He’s magnetic and unpredictable. Dad expects me to be with someone like Travis, who checks all the boxes he spent years teaching me to value.
“It’s not like I have to run off and announce my dating status to my parents,” I say. “We’re adults, Whit.”
She snorts. “You say that now, but you’re a nervous rambler. He’ll extract the truth in, what—forty-eight hours?”
“Maybe.” I shrug, then add quietly, “But he’s not the one who has to wake up every day wondering what might’ve been.”
Whitley’s teasing expression fades. “Yeah,” she says, gentle now. “I get that. That kind of question doesn’t ever really shut up.”
Then, because she knows exactly how long to let the heaviness sit, her mouth curves into a grin and she bumps my leg again.
“So,” she says lightly, “when do I get to meet the guy who made you bust out the heart eyes?”
“The what?”
“You heard me. If he’s serious about you—from the way you’re glowing like a damn porch light, I’m guessing he is—I obviously need to meet him.”
The only thing more terrifying than picturing that scenario is imagining what would happen if it didn’t go well. Whit, whose “pleasantly intimidating” superpower is known across three counties, versus Rowan, whose record with authority figures is, to put it kindly, abysmal.
Yeah. Thinking about it makes me want to crawl under the couch.
I groan. “Please don’t scare him off. No calling him Wolfe Boy to his face.”
“No promises.” She shrugs. “Besides, it’s not like I can just sit back and let you spiral into a tragic second-chance romance without vetting the leading man. I have standards.”
“Do you? Because I’ve seen your exes.”
She gasps dramatically. “Wow. Hurtful. I’m trying to protect your fragile little heart here, and this is the thanks I get?”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up despite the knot of nerves tightening in my stomach. Whitley may be a lot of things, but she’s always had my back. Even if her protective methods are a little…aggressive. “Fine. You can meet him.”
“Good. Because if he’s sticking around, I need to know whether I’m team This Could Work or team Backup Shovel. But for what it’s worth…I’m glad he’s here. You deserve good things. Even if your dad’s gonna lose his shit.”
My chest tugs at that, in the best way. “Thanks.”
She hums, clearly satisfied with herself. “Now go shower or something. You’ve got post make out hair, and it’s making me jealous.”