Chapter Fourteen
Rowan
During the night, my sneaky-ass twin decided to pull one of his signature moves.
I woke just enough to feel him shifting beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder, that familiar smirk cutting through the shadows.
Without saying a word, he swapped places, guiding me closer to Berkley as if I were a chess piece he was setting into place.
I should’ve protested, told him to fuck off and let me keep my distance, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
The moonlight had poured through the window in a pale spill, lighting her hair where it fanned across the pillow. That tiny smirk on Ronan’s lips told me he knew exactly what he was doing—and that I was too weak to stop him. The smug bastard.
It took hours to fall asleep with her so close.
Every breath she took brushed against my chest; every small shift of her body sent heat crawling down my spine.
I lay there rigid, trying to ignore the pulse between us, trying not to drown in the scent of her skin.
Vanilla and smoke. Familiar, but sharper somehow, like she had forged herself anew in the fire we both survived.
When sleep finally came, it was shallow and restless. The kind of sleep where your mind won’t let you forget the weight of what you’ve done, or who you’ve hurt. So, it’s no surprise when I wake just a few hours later, heart heavy and guilt already settling in my bones.
The house is still quiet. Ronan and Emerson are out cold, breathing steadily.
The morning light hasn’t fully breached the curtains yet, but the faint gray glow is enough to show me the curve of her shoulder where the sheet has slipped down.
My hand rests against her hip—when the hell did that happen?
I can feel her warmth seeping into my palm, and it’s too much. Too good.
I swallow hard and try to pull back, careful not to wake her.
My fingers hover above her skin like they’re afraid of what they’ll do next.
I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.
Not after the way I hurt her. The memory of her blood on my hands flashes behind my eyes, and I clench my jaw until it aches.
She shifts in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and instinct kicks in before guilt can stop me.
My hand settles back on her waist, holding her just a second longer.
I tell myself it’s for her—to keep her steady, to keep her warm—but I know that’s a lie.
I just need to feel her breathe. To know she’s still here.
My chest tightens. I close my eyes and whisper into the quiet, so low that not even the ghosts in this room can hear me. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
The words barely make a sound, but they pull something loose inside me. I force myself to let go, inching away from her heat even as every part of me screams to stay. I can’t keep taking comfort I haven’t earned. Not yet.
Not until I make things right.
I barely shift an inch before she makes a sound that punches the air from my chest—a soft, sleepy grunt that’s half protest, half instinct. Then her hips move, pressing back into me, and her ass fits perfectly against the hard line of my cock.
“Jesus,” I hiss under my breath, trying not to move, not to breathe, not to lose the very thin grip I have on control.
Her fingers slide back in her sleep, curling around my forearm and anchoring me in place.
It’s not deliberate, but it’s enough to freeze me.
A touch that says don’t go with no need for words.
My hands hover in the space between her body and mine, useless and trembling. Every nerve in me screams to pull her close again. I’m so lost in the battle between want and guilt that I almost miss the sound behind me—a low, sleep-choked chuckle that cuts through the quiet.
“Cuddle up, brother.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Ronan smirking at me, his hair a wild mess, eyes still heavy with sleep. His hand lands on my shoulder, hard enough to jolt me, and then sits up, rubbing at his face.
“This,” he mutters, voice rough and low, “is the first step in forgiveness.”
I swallow hard, throat thick with emotion I don’t know how to name. “Do I deserve her forgiveness?” I manage, though it comes out more like a rasp.
He looks at me, really looks at me, all the humor in his eyes softening into something painfully sincere. “Not from her, Ro. From yourself. She’s already forgiven you. You’re the one holding on.”
The words hit like a gut punch. I shut my eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the knot in my chest. He’s right. Fuck, he’s always right when I least want him to be.
Another slap lands on my shoulder, lighter this time, and then he’s crawling out of bed, stretching as he stands. He’s only in his briefs, tattoos sprawling across his back and arms, muscles moving under ink like shadows.
“Where the hell are you going?” I ask, half hoping he’ll sit back down and stop leaving me alone with the mess inside my head.
He glances over his shoulder with that trademark grin that usually means trouble. “Kim’s gonna be up soon,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “And I’m not risking Em’s cooking again. You?”
That pulls a quiet laugh from me, the sound almost foreign after the week we’ve had. “Yeah, good point.”
Before Ronan can reach the door, Emerson’s groggy voice comes from the other side of Berkley. “Fuck off, the both of you.” He groans and drags his hand down his face. “Let me get up and help with something.”
He sits up slowly, blinking blearily, and looks from Berk’s sleeping form to me. Then he smirks, a smirk that makes me want to throw a pillow at his head.
“She sleep, okay?” he asks, his voice still hoarse with slumber.
“Yeah,” I answer quietly. My hand is still hovering above her hip, caught between guilt and reverence. “She didn’t stir until I tried to move.”
Em’s smirk widens, and I can see the flicker of amusement he’s trying to hide. “Well,” he says casually, stretching his arms above his head, “sounds like you’ll just have to stay there, then. Wouldn’t want her waking up too early and being tired, right?”
Ronan laughs from the doorway, the sound low and smug. “He’s got a point.”
The assholes. They know exactly what they’re doing, pinning me here with her, forcing me to stop running from the comfort I don’t think I deserve.
I glare at both of them, but my voice gives me away when I grunt, “Fine.”
The door clicks shut behind them, leaving the room quiet again.
I exhale slowly and let my hand settle against her hip, finally allowing myself to relax into the heat of her body.
She sighs softly, nestling closer, and for the first time in a long damn while, I let myself believe I might be allowed to stay.
I must have fallen back asleep, because when I wake again, the light has shifted—soft gold cutting through the blinds and stretching across the bed. The air feels warm and quiet—the kind that hums rather than rests. For a second, I’m not sure what pulled me awake, and then she moves.
Berkley stretches like something wild and content, the motion slow, graceful, indulgent.
A sound slips from her throat, small and soft, more feline than human—a sleepy mewl that hits me straight in the gut.
Her body arches back against mine, and before I can think, I’m reacting.
My muscles lock, my breath catches, and every buried feeling I’ve been trying to suffocate claws its way to the surface.
When she settles again, I can’t help myself. I lean forward, pressing my lips to her bare shoulder. Her skin is warm, still carrying that faint scent of smoke and soap that is just so damn her. The kiss is a risk, one I haven’t earned, but for a heartbeat, I’m selfish enough to take it.
“Good morning to you too, baby,” I murmur against her skin, my voice rough with sleep and nerves.
She jolts, the smallest flinch that steals my breath, but then she exhales. I feel it more than hear it, a soft surrender that melts back into me. She doesn’t pull away. She fits against me like she never left. That one small action undoes me.
The voice in my head starts its war again—logic, guilt, memory—all of them shouting that I shouldn’t touch her, that I don’t deserve to.
But my heart doesn’t listen. It beats against my ribs like it’s trying to claw its way closer to her.
I’m caught between the two, paralyzed in the wreckage of wanting what I should never have again.
Then she speaks—her voice a whisper that cuts through the noise and silences the room. “You stayed.”
She says it as if it’s a surprise. Like she didn’t think I would.
My throat tightens. I force the words out before I can stop them. “Didn’t plan to,” I admit, because I can’t lie to her. “Couldn’t make myself leave.”
She shifts just enough that her hair brushes against my cheek, her scent surrounding me like a memory that’s been waiting for this exact moment.
“Good,” she breathes, the word barely more than a sigh.
She presses back again, her hips brushing mine, and the sound that escapes both of us is quiet but charged, alive. “Because I didn’t want you to.”
That does it. Her words cut past the guilt, past the fear, straight through the wreckage I’ve left behind. They sink into the part of me that’s still raw for her, still reaching—and the burn is unmistakable, like a brand set deep.
My hand moves before my brain catches up, slipping over her hip until my fingers splay across her stomach.
Her skin is warm, soft, alive beneath my touch, and I swear I feel her heartbeat through it.
I pull her a little closer, needing the weight of her against me, needing proof that she’s real and here and that somehow, she hasn’t vanished again.