Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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ROOK
The therapist's office was too quiet, all soft lighting and neutral colors designed to make people feel comfortable opening up about shit they'd rather keep buried.
I'd been sitting here for twenty minutes giving surface-level answers to questions about stress management and playoff pressure, and Dr. Chen had been patient enough to let me dodge until I ran out of room to keep avoiding the real conversation.
“You're playing well,” she said, leaning back in her chair with a notepad she hadn't written in once. “The team's advancing, you scored in the last game, and by all accounts you're leading effectively. So why do you look like you haven't slept in a week?”
“Playoffs are stressful.”
“They are. But this isn't playoff stress. This is personal.” She waited, and the silence stretched long enough to make me uncomfortable. “Rowan, I can't help you if you won't talk to me.”
I stared at the abstract painting on the wall behind her head and tried to figure out where to even start. How to explain that I'd found the person I'd been looking for and then immediately destroyed everything because I was too fucked up to handle intimacy without panicking.
“There's a guy,” I said finally. “Old friend from high school. We reconnected a few weeks ago.”
“And?”
“And I fucked it up.” The words came out flat. “We got close, we crossed a line physically, and I panicked and pushed him away.”
“What scared you about the intimacy?”
I looked at her directly for the first time since sitting down. “I gave him control in ways I swore I'd never give anyone after—after what happened with my ex.”
Dr. Chen's expression didn't change, but I saw understanding flicker in her eyes. She knew about the abuse. Had access to the medical documentation Tess had helped me create when I'd finally gotten out of that relationship. “And how did that feel?”
“Terrifying. And perfect. And like I'd just handed him the power to destroy me.” I pressed my palms against my thighs, trying to ground myself. “So I pulled away. Told him it was too much, that I needed time, and he left thinking I'd just confirmed every terrible thing he believes about himself.”
“Which is?”
“That he's too messy. Too broken. Too much chaos for anyone to want long-term.” My throat was tight, and I had to force the next words out.
“His family's a disaster, he's got money problems, he drinks too much when he's overwhelmed, and he's been carrying his siblings alone for years.
And I looked at all of that and told him I wanted to help. That I'd be there. That I cared.”
“But when it became real—”
“I ran.” The admission felt like glass in my mouth. “Not physically, but emotionally. I asked him for honesty and vulnerability, and when he gave it to me I treated it like a threat instead of a gift.”
Dr. Chen was quiet for a long moment, and I could see her choosing her words carefully. “You know that's a pattern, right?”
“Yeah. I know.” I rubbed at my face with both hands. “I know I'm a fucking hypocrite. I wanted him to let me in, and the second he did I proved I wasn't safe enough to handle it.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“I don't know. Apologize, I guess. Try to explain that it wasn't about him, it was about my own shit. Hope he doesn't tell me to fuck off.”
“Do you think an apology is enough?”
“No.” I looked at her directly. “But it's a start. And I can't keep hiding behind fear just because being vulnerable is terrifying. He deserves better than that.”
“You deserve better than that too,” she said gently. “You deserve to have people in your life who you can be honest with. Who see the whole of you and don't run.”
I had to look away before the emotion in my chest could turn into anything messier. “I need to go see him. Today. Before I lose my nerve.”
“Then go.” She closed her notebook and stood up. “And Rowan? Be honest. Not just about the fear, but about the wanting. He needs to hear both.”
I left the office feeling raw and shaky but more certain than I'd been in days.
I was going to go to Soren, going to tell him the truth about my damage and my panic and the fact that I wanted him badly enough that it scared the shit out of me.
And if he told me to leave, at least I'd know I'd tried.
I stopped at a corner store three blocks from his apartment because some irrational part of my brain insisted I needed to bring a thing.
Grabbed his favorite chocolate — the expensive dark kind with sea salt that he'd mentioned once in passing — and a bouquet of flowers that the bored clerk wrapped in brown paper.
I was back at my truck with the items in hand when my phone rang. Unknown number. I almost sent it to voicemail before something in my gut told me not to.
“Hello?”
“Rook, it's Talia.” Her voice was controlled but wrong, tight with stress she was barely containing. “I need you to go check on Soren. Right now.”
My stomach dropped. “What happened?”
“The parents showed up with a lawyer. They're trying to get custody of Poppy back. Served us with court papers yesterday, and Soren — he's been spiraling. Bad. We're all at school or work right now and he's alone at the house, and I have a really bad feeling.”
“Bad how?” But I was already getting into the truck, already starting the engine.
“He's not answering his phone. He's not responding to texts. And after everything with the custody shit and you guys fighting and—” Her voice cracked slightly. “I'm scared, Rook. I think he's in trouble.”
The panic that slammed into me was immediate and visceral. “I'm going there now. Where's the spare key?”
“Under the third flower pot on the left side of the porch. Rook, if he's — if there's—” She stopped, and I could hear her trying to pull herself together. “Just get there. Please.”
“I'm already on my way.” I was pulling out of the parking lot faster than was probably legal. “Call his phone. Keep trying. I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Okay. Thank you.”
She hung up, and I threw the phone into the passenger seat.
The chocolate and flowers sat next to it, and I was suddenly aware of how stupid they looked.
Proof that I'd been on my way to say something real, now just objects mocking me from the passenger seat while my brain tried to process what Talia had just said.
Every red light made me want to scream. Every turn felt like it was taking too long.
I pulled up in front of the house and the first thing I noticed was how quiet everything was. No music, no movement, no signs of life. Just a normal-looking house on a normal street that felt wrong in ways I couldn't articulate.
I grabbed the chocolate and flowers and headed for the porch, hands shaking slightly as I counted flower pots. Third from the left. I lifted it and found the key underneath, small and ordinary and terrifying in what it represented.
I unlocked the door and stepped inside, and the wrongness intensified immediately.
“Soren?” My voice echoed in the quiet. “You here?”
No answer.
I moved through the living room, still holding the chocolate and flowers like an idiot, scanning for signs of him.
The space was messy in ways that suggested recent chaos—broken ceramic pieces swept into a corner, a lamp missing from its table, books scattered on the floor.
Evidence of the breakdown Talia had mentioned.
“Soren, it's Rook. I'm coming in, okay?”
Still nothing.
I checked the kitchen next. Empty. Then the bathroom. Also empty. The silence was pressing down on me like a physical weight, making it hard to breathe.
His bedroom door was closed, and I stood outside it for a second trying to make myself open it. Trying to prepare for whatever I was about to find.
I turned the handle and pushed the door open, and the world stopped.
Soren was in bed, lying too still, face pale against the pillow. There were pill bottles on the nightstand, some tipped over, and pills scattered on the floor near the bed. Empty alcohol bottles. His phone face-down on the sheets.
He wasn't moving.
“Soren—” His name came out strangled, and I was across the room before I'd consciously decided to move. I dropped the chocolate and flowers on the floor without caring where they landed and grabbed his shoulder. “Soren, baby, wake up. Come on, you need to wake up.”
Nothing. No response. His skin was cool to the touch but not cold, and when I put my fingers against his neck I found a pulse that was there but weak and slow.
He was breathing. Barely. Shallow and irregular in ways that made terror slam into me so hard I could barely think.
I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 with hands that were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
“911, what's your emergency?”
“My friend—he's unconscious. Not responding. There are pills everywhere and I think he overdosed.” The words came out fast and jagged. “He's breathing but barely. I need an ambulance right fucking now.”
“Okay, sir, stay calm. What's the address?”
I gave it to her, rattling off the street and house number while I kept my other hand on Soren's chest to feel it rise and fall. The dispatcher was asking questions—how many pills, what kind, how long had he been unresponsive—and I didn't have answers to any of them.
“I don't know. I just found him like this. There are bottles everywhere, I can't tell what he took or how much.” My voice was getting louder, panic bleeding through. “Please, you need to send someone now. He's not waking up.”
“Paramedics are on their way. Can you tell me if he's breathing?”
“Yes. But it's shallow. Too shallow.” I leaned closer to him, watching his chest barely move. “Soren, come on. Stay with me. Please.”
“Sir, I need you to stay on the line with me until help arrives. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I'm here.” I was kneeling next to the bed now, one hand still on his chest and the other gripping the phone so hard my knuckles were white. “How long until they get here?”