13. Miles
Chapter thirteen
Miles
T he guest room door clicked shut behind us, sealing off the low rumble of voices in the distance. Charlie's toenails scratched against the floor as he settled into his evening routine, and somewhere in the kitchen, Matthew was probably cleaning while Dorian monitored security feeds.
Rowan stood with his back against the door, still holding the handle like he might bolt. His chest rose and fell in careful, measured breaths.
I dropped onto the edge of the bed. "So, that happened."
He turned to face me, and a shell-shocked expression appeared that he hid from my family. "Your mother asked if I was willing to die for you."
"Ma doesn't mess around with small talk." I kicked off my shoes. "She also invited you to Sunday dinner. That's a bigger deal than the death question."
"How is that bigger?"
"Death is hypothetical. Sunday dinner is every week for the rest of your life." I watched as he processed the information. "She's claiming you, Rowan. You're family now, whether you want to be or not."
His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "I don't know how to be family."
The admission hit a raw spot in my psyche.
"You were perfect," I said. "Marcus respects you, Michael stopped treating you like a threat, and Matthew's already planning what to cook for us tomorrow."
"And you?" Rowan pushed off from the door. "How do you feel about your family adding a dented, suspicious ex-fed to the roster?"
"I think you answered Ma's questions without flinching. You let them see exactly who you are, and they said yes."
"Who I am is someone who gets people killed."
"No, listen." I pushed off the bed and stepped up close. "I've brought two people home to meet Ma. One lasted through appetizers before he started making jokes about my work wife clients. The other made it to dessert before suggesting I needed a hobby."
"What happened to them?"
"Ma politely served them coffee in the kitchen instead of the dining room. That's family code for 'this one won't last.'" I reached for his hand. "She served you at the table. She had Matthew use his good plates."
Rowan's gaze dropped to where our fingers wove together. "I noticed."
"Did you notice Marcus asking for your opinion on jurisdictional protocols? Or Michael actually listening when you explained federal bureaucracy? They were recruiting you. All of them."
"Into what?"
"Into us." I gestured toward the space between our bodies. "My family not only protects me, Rowan. They protect anyone I choose to keep."
Rowan's free hand came up to cup my jaw, thumb tracing the hollow beneath my cheekbone.
"You held your own with Ma McCabe," I whispered. "Everything else is details."
We sat on the bed cross-legged, facing each other like kids preparing for a slumber party.
"Tell me what you're thinking," I said. "And don't give me the hardcore investigator version. I want the real you."
Rowan's hands rested on his knees. "I keep replaying her questions. How she looked at me when I said I'd rather live for you than die for you."
"That was the right answer."
"Was it? Marcus looked like he was calculating whether I was sincere or only saying what she wanted to hear."
"Welcome to McCabe family dynamics. We're all professional bullshit detectors in our day jobs." I shifted closer.
"Rowan, how many times in your life has someone's family decided they want to keep you around?"
The question hit home. "That's not—" He started, then stopped. "I don't usually get introduced to families."
"Because you don't let relationships get that far, or because the relationships don't survive long enough to matter?"
"Both. My last partner told me I treated dating like surveillance. Always watching for signs they'd leave before I could disappoint them."
"Were they wrong?"
"No." His eyes met mine. "I've spent seven years convincing myself that isolation is a valid strategy, not cowardice. I tell myself that staying disconnected keeps me focused on the work that matters."
"And now?"
"Now your mother is expecting me at Sunday dinner next week, and I don't know how to want that without being terrified I'll lose it a month from now." His voice cracked on the last word. "I don't know how to be part of someone's family, Miles."
He pulled our intertwined hands up to touch his cheek. "I've never had a standing invitation anywhere."
"Well, now you do. Every Sunday, for as long as you want it. Once you're in, you're in."
"Even if this—" He gestured between us. "Even if we crash and burn?"
My brow furrowed. "Do you think we're going to crash and burn?"
"I think I don't know how to be in a relationship that matters enough to survive actual problems." It was brutal honesty that cut to the bone.
I leaned forward until our foreheads almost touched. "What if I don't want someone who knows how? What if I want someone willing to figure it out alongside me?"
He swallowed. "Miles—"
"You know, the other two guys I brought home only lasted long enough to realize my family is part of the package. No negotiating. No compromises. You get all of us or none of us."
"What did they say about that?"
"The first one called it codependent. He tried to out-therapist me by saying healthy relationships require boundaries between family and romantic partners.
" I shifted closer, our knees bumping. "The second one was more direct.
Asked why I needed so many people's approval to make decisions about my life. "
"And you said?"
"I told them they were missing the point. It's not about approval—it's about belonging to something bigger than yourself. They wanted to be the sun I revolved around. The problem is, I don't have a sun in my life." I grinned. "I'm part of a constellation."
"Multiple stars," Rowan whispered.
"Yes." Relief flooded through me at his understanding. "Ma was checking whether you'd try to pull me out of the constellation or find your place within it."
"And?"
"And you answered every question like someone who understood the assignment.
" I brought our joined hands up between us, studying how his longer fingers intertwined with mine.
"You didn't try to minimize the risk or promise her you'd keep me safe.
You didn't claim you could fix my work problems or manage my trauma load. "
"What did I do?"
"You told her you'd rather live for me than die for me. That means showing up every day and choosing to stay."
Rowan was quiet for so long, I started to worry I'd said too much. Then his free hand came up to cup the side of my neck, thumb brushing against the pulse point beneath my jaw.
"No one ever brought me home to meet their family," he said finally.
"Never?"
"I told myself it was because I chose partners who weren't the family type. The truth is, I was terrified someone's family would see through me."
"See through you to what?"
"To the fact that I don't know how to be someone worth keeping around. I know how to be useful, but I don't know how to be loved just for existing."
The vulnerability in his voice slipped past all of my defenses.
"We're both in completely uncharted territory, aren't we?" I whispered.
"Completely." Our breaths mingled in the small space between us. "I don't have a map for this, Miles."
"You think I do?"
We stared at each other. It felt like the first honest conversation I'd had about my relationships in years. I knew how to be honest with clients. Turning the mirror on myself was something else entirely.
"So what now?" I asked.
He flashed a small smile. "Now we stop discussing whether this is a good idea and start figuring out how to make it work."
"That sounds impressively practical."
"That might be one of my strengths." His thumb traced my collarbone through my shirt.
I looked at him, how he sat cross-legged on the rumpled comforter, hair mussed from running his hands through it during Ma's interrogation. His shirt hung loose from his jeans.
I whispered, "I know how to start."
"How?"
I crawled into his lap, legs wrapping around him, feeling the mattress dip under our weight. Rowan's hands hovered at my waist as if waiting for approval. I reached out and wrapped my hands behind his neck, pulling him forward for a kiss.
"You sure?" he whispered, the words a shiver against my lips.
Part of me thought: this was too easy. Real relationships cracked under less, but I kissed him anyway, needing the illusion of simplicity for once.
We parted our lips, and our tongues danced in an ungraceful but honest way. He tasted like a combination of wine and my mother's famous sauce.
We kissed so hard I couldn't breathe. I had to pull back and laugh into his collarbone.
"Matthew and Dorian are in the next room," he said.
"They know we're adults. Are you scared?"
He considered. "Not yet."
I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders. My fingers playfully walked down the center of his chest as his breathing turned quick and shallow. He caught my wrist when they reached his waistband, holding it there.
I bit my lip while he searched my face for a second or two, and then he let go and unbuttoned my shirt. We were both mostly clothed, but the conversation had broken me open.
We kissed again, a little more frantically. He lay back and pulled me down on top of him, our hips grinding together. He was already hard. I was, too.
Somewhere in the hallway, Charlie's claws clattered, and Rowan chuckled. We laughed in each other's arms until something snapped. I awkwardly wriggled out of my shirt, and so did he.
His hands slid beneath the waistband of my pants and cupped my ass. I moaned as he rolled me onto my back.
We stared at each other for a moment, faces inches apart. I hooked a finger in his belt loop and tugged him close enough to grind up against him.
His fingers moved to my fly, unzipped it, and his knuckles brushed against bare flesh just above my boxer briefs, sending a shiver down my legs. I fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans.
In seconds, we were both naked. With Rowan flat on his back, I ran my palms up the ladder of his ribs, feeling him shudder beneath my touch.
I could have rushed, but that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to make the moment last like nothing else in my life ever lasted. This wasn't therapy. This wasn't helping someone heal and then watching them walk away stronger.
This was the opposite. I was pulling him closer, deeper into my orbit, ensuring he didn't leave. For the first time in my adult life, I wasn't trying to fix someone so they could go. I was claiming someone so they'd stay.
I pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses up the center of his chest, then licked the side of his neck. His hands tightened on my hips, while I tongued one of his nipples. Rowan's breath came in sharp gasps.
I pulled away and looked up. His eyes were glassy.
Sliding lower, I licked a stripe down his stomach. He propped himself up on his elbows, watching as I pressed my tongue flat against the faint line of hair running from his belly button to his cock.
I gripped his cock with my hand. He was uncut, and I watched as I rubbed the skin over his head and slowly pulled it back.
When I took him into my mouth and sucked, his hips bucked hard enough that I had to flatten my hand against his hip to stop him from choking me on his dick. I let him slide out of my mouth with a pop. He groaned.
"Fuck," Rowan whispered. "Wait, hold on, do you have—"
"Condoms, lube, everything," I said. "Top drawer. Matthew stocks the guest room like it's a hotel."
His laugh was pure relief. "You're perfect," he said, kissing me again, softer this time.
We tumbled sideways, Rowan rolling on top. He fucked my mouth with his tongue, achingly slow, in and out, before he ever touched my cock.
He paused long enough to reach for the drawer, found the little foil packets and slick blue bottle. After hesitating a moment, he pressed them into my hand.
"You okay?" His voice was hoarse.
I nodded. "Yeah. Are you?"
"I want you inside me." His voice was so soft I barely heard it.
I fumbled the condom packet, hands shaking. Rowan took it from me, tearing the wrapper with his teeth, and rolled it down over my hard cock. That alone nearly drove me to the edge.
While I eased in slowly, every inch pulled a new gasp from his throat. His hands dug into my back, holding me close. For a beat, I froze, overwhelmed by how right it felt, how impossible it seemed that anything this simple could last. Then he whispered, "Keep going," and I did.
We moved together, hips in sync, the bed creaking in protest. My hand drifted to his cock, I jerked him in time with my thrusts, feeling him pulse and twitch.
When the tension built to the point of breaking, Rowan groaned, "I'm so close," and he came over both our stomachs, his whole body spasming around my cock.
The pressure drove me over the edge, blinding and hot. I collapsed against him, forehead to his collarbone, shaking through the aftershocks.
We stayed like that as our breathing returned to normal, bodies cooling in the gentle warmth of the guest room.
"They're probably wondering what we're doing in here," Rowan said eventually.
"They know exactly what we're doing in here." I grinned at his embarrassed groan.
"Now they know we had sex."
I laughed. "They know we disappeared into a bedroom and didn't reemerge. They're not idiots."
Rowan groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Fantastic. The McCabe tribunal has evidence."
"They'll survive." I tugged his hand down and kissed the tips of his fingers. "Besides, Matthew probably just turned up the music in the kitchen."
His cheeks flushed. "Still. Awkward."
"Awkward's better than alone."
That shut him up. His head dropped to my chest, ear over my heartbeat, and for a while, all I could hear was his breathing syncing with mine.
Rowan spoke, voice muffled against my skin. "I've never wanted to stay afterward until now."
"And now?"
"Now I don't want to leave."
I pressed a kiss into his damp hair. "Good. Because once you've survived Sunday dinner with my mother, there's no escape clause. You're stuck with us."
His laugh rumbled low in his chest. "Stuck doesn't sound so bad."
And with that, he drifted toward sleep, still tangled up with me. I stared up at the ceiling, aware of every place our bodies touched, thinking maybe this was too easy. Perhaps it wouldn't last, but I wanted to find out.