Chapter 25
Ijolt awake, heart hammering, disoriented by how deeply I slept.
No dreams. No waking every hour to listen for danger. Only darkness, and then morning, with nothing in between. The realization unsettles me more than any nightmare could have.
Light filters through the narrow blinds, painting stripes across Rowan’s arm where it drapes over my waist, anchoring me to him. Carefully, I slide out from under it, my feet finding the cold floor. He stirs but doesn’t wake, sleep softening his features in a way that always makes my breath catch.
The clock shows a little after six o’clock, too early for Lena to be up on a weekend, but my internal alarm never cares what day it is.
Slipping on my sweatpants, I pad down the hallway, avoiding the creaky spots.
The apartment holds a different air about it this morning.
Still small, still worn, but somehow less oppressive.
At Lena’s door, I pause and open it a crack to peer inside.
She lies curled on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, dark hair spilling across her pillow. Her breathing comes even and deep, undisturbed by whatever dreams might visit her. Safe, for now. I stand there for several heartbeats, counting her breaths until I’m satisfied.
When I retrace my steps, Rowan hasn’t moved from his sprawl across my too-small mattress, but his amber eyes now light on me.
“She okay?” he rasps, still not fully awake.
“Still sleeping.” I hover in the doorway, suddenly uncertain of my place in my own room.
Rowan extends his hand, palm up. “Come back to bed, precious.”
I cross to him, and his fingers close around mine, pulling me down beside him. The mattress dips under our combined weight, rolling our bodies together. His arm wraps around my waist, reclaiming its earlier position. Heat radiates from his skin, chasing away the morning chill.
“You always check on her.”
Not a question, but I answer anyway. “Every morning since she came to live with me.”
His thumb traces circles on my shoulder blade, soothing away all tension. Silence settles between us, comfortable in a way I never expected to experience with another person in my space.
But the peaceful moment splinters as my thoughts drift to yesterday, to the guard who pointed a gun at Rowan, and to the reason we broke into the Harmon building in the first place.
“I’m worried about her,” I say, the words dragging out of me. “After what happened with Danny.”
Rowan’s hand stills on my back. “From what I can tell, she’s holding up.”
“That’s what worries me.” I stare at the wall over his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. “She’s acting as if it was just another bad day she survived.”
“Isn’t that good?”
“No.” My fingers curl over his heart. “Our family isn’t good at talking about things that hurt. We ignore them, move on, and pretend the past stays buried.”
Rowan stays quiet, letting me fumble through thoughts I’ve never even articulated to myself, much less another person.
“I did it with my parents. Buried what they did to me. Never talked about it.” The admission scrapes my throat raw.
“Lena did the same thing when I took custody of her. Never cried about them dying. Never asked questions. Just packed her backpack and followed me out as if we were going on vacation.”
Rowan’s thumb resumes its gentle strokes in silent encouragement to continue.
“But things don’t stay buried.” I swallow hard. “They leak out in nightmares, in a tell-tale flinch when someone moves too fast, in panic attacks that hit for no reason you can name.”
“You think she’s suppressing trauma.”
“She is.” My voice drops lower. “But I don’t know how to help her. I don’t know how to tell her she might need…” The word won’t come out.
“Therapy?” Rowan offers.
I cringe. “She’ll think I’m saying she’s broken. Or she can’t handle things. But it’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
“She shouldn’t have to handle this alone.” I turn my face into his neck to hide. “What happened to her… She shouldn’t have to pretend it’s okay because she’s an Omega.”
Rowan’s hand slides to cup the back of my neck. “You’re right.”
The simple agreement catches me off guard, and I pull back enough to study him, searching for the catch, the argument, the counteroffer.
“Silas could help,” he says.
I frown. “The professor?”
“The psychologist,” he corrects. “He has trauma training.”
“Then why doesn’t he work as a therapist?” I ask, suspicion creeping back in.
“Because working in the field made him want to kill people.” Rowan’s thumb brushes my jaw. “But Danny’s already dead, and so are your parents, so it would be safe.”
I absorb this, turning it over in my mind. “And you trust him?”
“With my life.” Rowan’s certainty leaves no room for doubt. “And he’s helped kids before. Teenagers who’ve seen things they shouldn’t have.”
My breath catches. “You think he’d talk to Lena?”
“If you want.” Rowan’s fingers trace my hairline. “We can’t force anything on her. It would only need to be a conversation, if she wants it.”
The band that’s been tight around my heart since Danny attacked my sister loosens. Not gone, but less crushing.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words inadequate but all I have.
Rowan pulls me closer, his chin resting on top of my head. “You don’t have to figure everything out alone anymore, precious. That’s what I’m here for. We’re a team. We’re in this together.”
Rowan’s arm tightens around me, his breath warming my hair, as the apartment building wakes around us.
A pipe rattles somewhere in the walls. A car door slams outside. An alarm goes off somewhere below us.
I lie there for another minute, listening to Rowan’s heartbeat beneath my ear, letting the steady rhythm ground me.
Then my stomach growls.
Rowan huffs out a quiet laugh. “There it is.”
“What?”
“The signal that I need to get up and feed the monster in your belly.”
I lift my head to glare at him, but the corner of his mouth has already tipped upward in smug satisfaction.
“You’re assuming a lot.”
“Am I?” His fingers trail down my arm before releasing me. “Tell me you don’t want coffee.”
“You want coffee,” I snipe.
Rowan tickles my ribs. “Desperately.”
A giggle escapes, and I smack his hands away. “Go. Get out of my bed and make me breakfast. I think there are some eggs left.”
“I am at your service.” With a kiss planted behind my ear, he rolls out of bed.
I admire his fine physique as he moves around the room, locating his pants and shirt to dress before slipping from the room.
Faucet pipes groan as Rowan runs water in the kitchen, and the coffee maker gurgles to life, its scent sliding under the bedroom door. With a groan, I get up for the second time and dress, pulling on clean clothes washed in our cheap detergent, so different from the luxury brand Rowan uses.
When I step into the kitchen, I find Rowan already at the stove, spatula in hand, looking even larger in our cramped space.
Lena appears from her room in an oversized sleep shirt that hangs off one shoulder, her hair tangled from sleep. She squints at Rowan, suspicion lasting only seconds before a smirk spreads across her lips.
“I’m happy you’re back together,” she announces, dropping into a chair at our small table, “but keep it quieter next time. The walls are paper-thin.”
Heat creeps up my neck as Rowan turns to her, eyebrow raised. “Good morning to you, too, Lena.”
“Morning.” She stretches with a smirk. “Just so you’re aware, Mrs. Kapoor next door banged on the wall twice. I caught her muttering about ‘indecent noises’ when I went to the bathroom.”
My mortification must show, because Rowan laughs, the sound rumbling through our tiny kitchen. “Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not,” Lena says with a grin.
The tension breaks, and I find myself laughing, too. “Brat.”
“Learned from the best.” She steals a piece of bacon from the plate Rowan sets on the table. “And what have you been learning from Rowan?”
“Enough,” I groan, covering my face with one hand. “Can we please talk about anything else?”
Rowan slides plates in front of both of us with eggs, bacon, and toast slathered in butter. Did he empty out the entire fridge? Though, I suppose it’s better to eat it now than take it with us back to his loft.
He sets a third plate for himself and joins us at the table that’s too small for three adults.
Rowan’s knee touches mine under the table, while Lena steals food from both our plates.
I pour coffee for all of us, doctoring Lena’s with as much sugar as she wants in a grand farewell to this old shit hole.
When the food is half gone, I set my fork down. “We need to talk about something.”
Lena pauses mid-bite. “That sounds serious.”
“It is.” I glance at Rowan, who gives me an encouraging look. “We’re moving into Rowan’s loft. Permanently.”
Instead of the excitement I expect, Lena shuts down, and she sets her fork on her plate with a quiet clank. “And what happens when you fight again?”
I flinch at the question, and beside me, Rowan goes still.
“Because you two may be great now,” she continues, “but what about when he does something you don’t like? Are we going to bounce back and forth every time you get mad?”
Guilt floods my system. In my desperation to protect my independence, my impulsive exit from Rowan’s apartment affected Lena’s stability.
“That’s fair,” Rowan says before I can respond. “I crossed a line and made decisions that affected your brother without consulting him.”
Lena’s eyes narrow. “And?”
“And I won’t do it again.” Rowan meets her stare without flinching. “We’ve talked about establishing ground rules. Ways to disagree without walking away.”
“Both of us,” I add, unwilling to let him take the fall alone. “It wasn’t only him. I’m the one who grabbed you and ran.”
“Yeah, you are.” She crosses her arms. “So how am I to trust you won’t do it again?”
The accusation stings because her concern is valid. I’ve spent our entire lives holding everyone but her at arm’s length. But I don’t want it to continue to be that way.