Chapter 26
twenty-six
. . .
Violet
Rowan hasn’t kissed me today.
I know, I know. It’s not a big deal. People skip kisses.
They get tired and distracted. But there was something about the way his lips landed on my cheek when I came over after work today.
That soft, absentminded hello… It made the back of my throat burn in a way I haven’t felt since we were young and pretending we didn’t want each other—hiding behind friendship like it was enough.
We make dinner together a few nights a week now. Very domestic. However, tonight it seems like we’re in two different worlds. The silence is heavy, and it’s starting to bother me.
“Is everything okay?” I ask. I hate the uncertainty creeping into my tone.
He doesn’t answer right away. When he finally looks up at me from his seat across the table, his eyes are a little softer.
“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just been a long day.”
“What’s going on?”
He sets his fork down, taking a deep breath. “You remember my cousin, Cain?”
A chill skates down my spine. I met Cain once when we were in high school.
He was a few years older than us, with the same piercing blue eyes as Rowan.
Only his were so much…colder. He didn’t say much when we met, but he didn’t need to.
He immediately struck me as the kind of person who didn’t waste or mince words.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “He was…intense.”
Rowan huffs a short laugh. “That’s one word for it. He put me in touch with a buddy of his who runs a security firm.”
My stomach drops. “What kind of security firm?”
“High-end. Corporate protection. Some overseas contracts.”
The word overseas lands with a dull thud. I set my fork down carefully, afraid that if I don’t, I’ll drop it. “Okay,” I manage. “So…security. Like a job here?”
“Not exactly.” He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “I’ve done some of this before. After I got out, I picked up work through connections I’d made—private jobs, escorting executives, security for shipments, things like that.”
My fingers curl into my napkin. “Is it…safe?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s not an answer, Rowan.”
A beat passes. Then, quieter, he says, “It’s not always just standing around in a suit, Vi. Sometimes it’s being in places where things can go sideways fast.”
My chest tightens. “So it’s dangerous.”
“It can be.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Not all the time. But enough that they pay like it is.”
I obviously want his honesty but…it’s not helping. My mind immediately starts filling in the blanks—places I can’t picture, situations I don’t understand, danger I can’t fathom. It’s risk and uncertainty. It’s him walking into situations I won’t even know how to be afraid of until after the fact.
I think about late nights staring at my phone, wondering if silence means he’s busy…or something worse. I think about missed calls, about news headlines I’ll start scanning, about learning to live in the space between updates.
“And overseas?” I press. “What does that actually mean?”
“Different contracts. Different clients. Sometimes unstable areas.” He exhales, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “And there are things I wouldn’t be able to tell you. Details. Locations, sometimes. It’s part of the job.”
That lands harder than anything else.
“You wouldn’t tell me where you are?”
“I’d tell you what I can,” he says quickly. “But there are restrictions sometimes, Violet. NDAs, security protocols.”
“And what…” My voice wavers, and I steady it. “What about us communicating? Am I just supposed to sit here and hope you’re okay?”
“I’d call when I can. Text when it’s possible. Some jobs are better than others for that.”
Some jobs. Meaning some aren’t.
The room feels smaller, like the walls have edged closer while I wasn’t looking. After all this—after finding our way back, after finally letting myself believe this could work—he’s already halfway gone.
“You’re going to be leaving.”
“I’d be coming back,” he says. “This is home. You’re my home.”
He reaches across the table, his hand palm up, an invitation. I hesitate before sliding my fingers into his.
“This first trip would be three weeks, which is probably the longest one I’ll take. Others might only be a few days. It’s good money, Violet.”
“I don’t care about the money.” My voice cracks, and I hate it. Hate how quickly I’m crumbling when I should be supporting him.
“I need to do this,” he says, squeezing my hand. “For me. For us.”
He’s trying to make it sound simple, like it’s a logical next step. All it sounds like to me is the start of another goodbye.
“And you want to go?” I ask, keeping my voice even. I don’t want to be the reason he stays or the reason he resents me if he doesn’t.
He hesitates, and that silence is its own answer. “I think it could be good,” he says eventually.
I glance at the plate in front of me, the dinner we both barely touched. I force a nod, though my stomach has already started to turn.
“Three weeks?”
“Yeah.”
“Three weeks,” I repeat softly. I could ask him not to go. The words are right there, stuck in my throat like thorns. Please stay, don’t leave me again.
I swallow them down and force a smile instead.
He deserves this opportunity. Who am I to hold him back? The last thing I want is to be the reason he gives up something important.
“You’re upset,” he says, and it’s not a question.
I shake my head, pulling my hand away to reach for my water glass. “I’m not upset. I’m just...processing.”
“Violet—”
“It’s a good opportunity,” I say quickly, cutting him off before he can say something that makes this harder. “I get it. I do.”
Rowan’s eyes narrow. He knows me too well to believe the lie. “Talk to me. Please.”
I take a deep breath, trying to sort through the mess of emotions churning inside me. “I don’t want to be the clingy girlfriend who holds you back from something important. That’s not who I am.”
“I know that.”
“But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared,” I admit. “I’m scared of what you’re walking into. Of not knowing where you are or what’s happening. Of getting a call I don’t understand, or worse, not getting one at all. We just found each other again, Rowan.”
Selfishly, I want to beg him to forget the job, to stay here where I can touch him and see him and know he’s not going anywhere. At the same time, I also know what it’s like to want something for yourself, to need to prove you’re more than what people expect.
“I’m not leaving you,” he says. “This isn’t like before.”
“I know,” I whisper, but the words are hollow. No matter how different the circumstances, the result is the same. He’ll be gone, and I’ll be here, waiting.
Rowan gets up and comes around the table, kneeling beside my chair. He takes both my hands in his, and the warmth of his touch makes my eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall.
“Look at me,” he says gently.
I do, though it takes everything in me.
“This isn’t like before,” he repeats. “I’m not running away. I’m not leaving you behind. I’m just trying to build something here.”
Loving Rowan Wolfe has never been a safe choice.
I’m not even sure it qualifies as a choice at all—it’s always been more like gravity, something I stepped into without realizing I was already falling.
He holds the power that could break me completely, and still, I’ll keep making room in my life for him because the alternative is unbearable.
“When would you be leaving?” I ask.
“In a couple weeks.” He reaches across the table for my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “We can make it work, Violet. I promise.”
There’s sincerity in his eyes. Determination. This isn’t the same man who left without saying goodbye all those years ago. I did six years without him. I can handle three weeks. Right?
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible.
His eyes search mine, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Okay?”
“I don’t want to be the reason you don’t take this opportunity,” I say, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “I won’t be that person.”
His eyes soften, and he reaches up to cup my face. “You’re not holding me back, Violet. You’re the reason I want to build something better.”
I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for just a moment. The warmth of his palm against my cheek steadies me, even as everything else is shifting beneath my feet.
I let out a sigh. “I don’t want to waste tonight being sad. Maybe you can make it up to me.”
A slow, crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “And how might I do that?”
“Probably pastries. And back rubs.”
“And what if I only have one of those things?”
“Well, I suppose it depends on which one.”
His hands slide to my hips. “I’m fresh out of pastries.”
“Then I guess you’ll have to be very convincing with that back rub.”
“I think I can manage that.” He stands in a flash, lifting me out of my chair in the process. I laugh softly as my legs lock around his waist, my arms looping around his neck as he carries me toward the stairs.
We make it into the bedroom, just the soft glow of the bedside lamp lighting the space. He lowers me to the bed gently.
“Roll over,” he commands softly.
I obey, turning onto my stomach as he settles beside me. His hands are warm as they slip under the hem of my shirt, pushing it up to expose my back.
“This needs to come off,” he says.
I lift my arms, allowing him to pull the shirt over my head. The cool air raises goosebumps across my skin, but his hands follow immediately, sweeping across my shoulders.
“This, too,” he murmurs, fingers already working the clasp of my bra.
The fabric falls away, and I press my face into the pillow as his thumbs dig into the tight muscles of my back with just the right amount of pressure. I moan softly as he works his way down my spine, each touch melting away the tension.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss between my shoulder blades.
“Mmm,” I manage, too blissed out to form words.
“Turn over.”
I comply, rolling onto my back. His eyes darken as they travel over my exposed skin.