Chapter 25 #2
“I’m working on it.” I reach across the table for her hand. “I won’t run from Rowan again. Or if I do, I won’t drag you along.”
Rowan growls and pulls me onto his lap. “You won’t be running away.”
Lena wrinkles her nose at this display. “You two are gross.”
“That’s not a no to moving,” Rowan points out.
She sighs, poking at her eggs. “It’s not a no. Your place is nicer. And I appreciate the soundproofing. Also, I miss my mini fridge.”
My relief is short-lived as I prepare to bring up a more sensitive topic. “There’s something else we wanted to talk about.”
Lena’s shoulders stiffen. “What now?”
“I want you to talk to someone.” The words come out in a rush. “About everything that’s happened.”
Her fork clatters back onto her plate. “Are you suggesting therapy?”
My shoulders tense. “I think you should talk to someone.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “So I need fixing, but you don’t?”
“This isn’t about fixing—”
“Is this his idea?” She jerks her chin toward Rowan.
“No,” I say firmly. “It’s mine. But he knows someone who might help.”
Rowan shifts behind me, his hand settling on my hip. “His name is Silas. He works with my crew, and he understands how people survive bad situations.”
Lena shrinks in on herself. “Like what happened with Danny?”
My throat tightens. “Yeah, like that.”
“He’s not some shrink who’ll make you lie on a couch and talk about your feelings,” Rowan adds. “He just talks to people. Helps them process things they’ve seen or done.”
Lena stares at me, her jaw set. “I’ll meet him once,” she agrees at last, “but only if you do, too.”
“Wait a minute—”
Rowan’s hand squeezes my thigh. “Sounds reasonable, don’t you think, Ash?”
I grit my teeth. “Sure. It can’t hurt.”
“Good.” She pushes her chair back from the table. “So, when are we moving?”
“Today,” Rowan answers. “No point waiting.”
“Really?” Her initial wariness transforms into pure teenage excitement in the span of a heartbeat. “We’re leaving today? For real?”
“For real,” Rowan confirms, his arms still locked around me. “Car service will be here in two hours.”
Lena squeals with delight, the sound so uncharacteristically girlish that I can’t help but smile. She launches from her chair, almost knocking it over in her haste. “I need to pack. I’m not leaving anything behind this time!”
She races out of the kitchen, her bedroom door banging open wider. Seconds later, drawers start slamming, and hangers scrape across the metal rod of her makeshift closet.
“She took the news well,” Rowan murmurs into my ear, his breath warm on my skin.
“Teenagers,” I say with a shrug. “One minute they’re interrogating your life choices, the next they’re excited about their own bathroom and mini fridge.”
Rowan’s laugh vibrates through his chest into my back. His hand slides up my arm, fingers finding the cheap plastic nape guard that replaced his leather one. “First order of business when we get home is replacing this.”
The casual way he says “home” hooks into my heart, and I twist in his lap to look at him. “I still have yours.”
His eyebrows lift. “You kept it?”
“Of course I did.” Heat crawls up my neck at the admission. “It’s in my dresser.”
Rowan releases me with obvious reluctance. “Go get it.”
I slip from his lap and go to fetch it, conscious of his stare following my every step. The dresser stands against the wall, its cheap veneer peeling at the corners. I pull open the top drawer and push aside folded shirts to reveal the smooth leather guard Rowan gave me.
My fingers trace the indentations left by his teeth during my last Heat, and warmth spreads through me.
When I return to the kitchen, Rowan has cleared the breakfast dishes. He stands waiting, amber eyes tracking me as I approach. Without a word, he takes the leather guard from my hand and places it on the counter.
“Turn around,” he commands.
I comply, presenting my back to him. His fingers brush the hair at my nape, sending shivers down my spine. The plastic guard now chokes me, reminding me that severing the connection between us never had a chance of working.
Rowan’s fingers find the clasp, his knuckles brushing my skin as he releases it. The cheap plastic falls away, leaving my nape exposed, not used to the cool air after being covered for so long.
“One day,” he murmurs, lips brushing the sensitive skin there, “you’ll let me put my Mark here. Make you mine in every way that matters.”
My pulse jumps, desire pooling in my hips at his words. Not a demand, but a certainty. A future he sees as inevitable as sunrise.
“But until then,” he continues, lifting his leather guard from the counter, “this will keep you safe.”
The leather slides around my throat, warm from his hands, supple and smooth where the old guard was stiff and scratchy. He secures it with care, his fingers lingering on the clasp, checking to ensure it sits without chafing.
It settles on my skin, familiar yet new. Not a collar of ownership, but more like an engagement.
“There,” he says with satisfaction. “Back where it belongs.”
His hands settle on my hips, turning me around. One palm slides up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. “Now you’re mine again.”
The possessiveness should bristle, should trigger my instinct to pull away. Instead, I lean into his touch, allowing the connection I’ve been fighting for months.
His lips find mine, gentle at first, then more urgent as his fingers dig into the small of my back, backing me up to the same kitchen counter where he first barged into my life.
I gasp as he lifts me onto the cool surface, the same as the first morning we came together in frantic desire, rushing with the fear of being caught.
My body remembers, thighs parting as he steps between them, his tongue hot and insistent, tasting of coffee and the vow of our future together.
“You better be packing and not making out!” Lena shouts from down the hall. “We’re leaving in two hours, remember?”
Rowan groans into my mouth, breaking the kiss. Before he can respond, a dull thud sounds from the other side of the wall as Mrs. Kapoor bangs her wooden spoon against it in her preferred method of communicating displeasure with our noise level.
“Keep it down in there!” Her muffled shout carries through the thin wall. “Some of us are trying to enjoy our morning tea!”
With a frustrated sigh, Rowan’s hands slide from my body. “We’re getting out of this place.”
Without waiting for a response, he strides to my bedroom.
I hop off the counter and follow to find him pulling open dresser drawers, piling clothes onto the bed.
I lean on the door and cross my arms. “What are you doing?”
“We’ll tie the sheet around the whole lot. No need to put your belongings in trash bags.”
My brows arch. “Well, that’s very clever of you. And who will be carrying this giant bundle?”
“I will.” Rowan dumps an entire dresser drawer onto the bed. “The sooner we get your things packed, the sooner we can leave this place behind.”
Laughing, I join him, picking up a pair of socks that had rolled off the side of the bed and adding them to the pile. Working together, we empty drawers with surprising speed. His hands brush mine as we pass items between us, each touch a reminder of this new reality we’re building.
Watching Rowan gather my meager belongings, I realize that for the first time, the future is no longer a goal I have to fight toward alone. The thought settles inside me, unfamiliar but welcome.
When Rowan knocks the dresser into the wall, the neighbor pounds on it again, but this time, I don’t flinch. We won’t be here to hear her complaints tomorrow.
We are going home.