Chapter 17
ROWAN
Keaton was pressed against me, one arm across my stomach and one leg tangled with mine, and for the first time since I’d walked back into his life, we weren’t fighting. No sharp words. No dirty looks. No pushing each other until one of us snapped.
The room had gone quiet, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
For him to pull back, put distance between us, or say something that would ignite another fight, because that was what we’d done since I’d gotten back.
We’d circled each other, pushed each other, pissed each other off, and every time things had gotten too real, it had all blown up.
But he didn’t move.
Rather, he stayed close to me, breathing against my chest, his hand resting on me as if it was completely natural.
Fighting with him was easier than this. This took me straight back to my childhood bedroom, to nights with him curled up against me while I kissed him like we had all the time in the world.
It felt too familiar, and that was what got to me.
We’d had something real back then, and I’d let fear ruin it.
I stared at the ceiling and felt every ugly thing I’d been carrying for years rise up all at once because I knew exactly what this was. It was the moment I either finally told the truth or screwed this up all over again.
He shifted slightly, then tilted his chin up to look at me. His hair was a mess, his mouth still kiss-swollen, and I had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him instead of doing what I needed to do.
“You’re overthinking,” he murmured.
A breath escaped me. “Yeah.”
I wasn’t obsessing because we’d just had sex, and maybe that’s what he thought. Strangely enough, it didn’t feel like a first time. We’d shared too much before for it to feel that way.
His gaze moved over my face. “That bad?”
I let out a quick laugh. “Probably worse.”
He pushed up onto an elbow, and I stayed fixed on his face this time because if I looked anywhere else, I was going to lose the nerve to do this right.
“What is it?” he asked.
I sat up and faced him. “I think if I don’t say this now, I’m going to fuck it up.”
“Say what?” He cocked an eyebrow.
I swallowed hard. “The stuff I should’ve said a long time ago.”
I felt the shift between us. That softer space from a minute ago had tightened into something heavier, but he didn’t move away. He didn’t tell me to stop either.
Sitting there naked with nothing to hide behind, I forced myself to do the one thing I should’ve done years ago. “That night at the party,” I began, grabbing his fingers with mine, “I was horrible to you.”
He held still.
“I’ve spent years replaying it in my head, and every time I do, it gets worse because I know what I should’ve done and what I actually did.
” My throat burned, but I kept going. “I shouldn’t have lied when Ridgway walked in.
I should’ve stood next to you. I should’ve told the truth.
Instead, I panicked and let you take the fall, and I’ve hated myself for that ever since. ”
He turned his head away, and somehow that hurt more than if he’d snapped at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. His hand was still on me, but looser now, as if he hadn’t decided whether to stay in the conversation or pull away.
I didn’t blame him.
“I was scared,” I admitted. “Not of you. Never of you. I was scared of getting caught, of what everybody would think, of what it would mean if people knew, and I chose that fear over you.” I shook my head. “That’s the truth, and it’s ugly.”
His eyes came back to me. “You let me stand there and take all of it.”
“Yeah.”
“I kept waiting for you to say something.”
I closed my eyes for half a second. “I know.”
“You looked right at me.”
“I know.”
“And you still didn’t do a fucking thing.”
“No.” My voice lowered. “I didn’t.”
He stared at me for a long second, before I continued. “I was drunk and scared and weak, and none of that matters because you deserved better than what I gave you.”
“Do you know what that did to me?”
I exhaled slowly. “I know some of it. I know I saw the hurt on your face that night, and I still see it. I know I watched you waiting for me to be better than I was, and I wasn’t.”
“That’s why I never spoke to you again.” He pulled in a shaky breath and looked down at our hands before returning his focus to me.
“It wasn’t because I got over it; it was because I didn’t.
Every time I looked at you after that, all I could see was you standing there while I waited for you to pick me, and you didn’t. ”
My throat burned.
He looked at me for a second before continuing. “I was in love with you too, and I hated that. I hated that one real apology from you probably would’ve made me give in when I wasn’t ready to forgive you. So I cut you off. It was the only way I knew how to protect myself.”
“Fuck, Keaton.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “You made me feel stupid for loving you, and I couldn’t let you do that to me twice.”
I nodded because there was nothing else to do. “You shouldn’t have had to protect yourself from me.”
“No, I shouldn’t have.”
“I know sorry doesn’t fix it,” I added. “I know I don’t get to erase any of that just because we ended up here tonight. But you deserved to hear me say it without excuses. I was wrong. I was a coward. And you didn’t deserve any of it.”
He studied my face, and this time I could tell he was searching for weakness. For the kid I’d been. For the version of me who would back off the instant it got tough.
After a minute, he asked, “Why now?”
“Because we’re finally talking.”
And because you didn’t let me all those years ago.
His brows pulled together a little.
I squeezed his fingers. “Because for once we’re not fighting. Not dodging. Not pretending there wasn’t something real between us before I ruined it.”
“You really think this is that conversation?” he asked.
“Yeah, I think this is the first real one we’ve had in years.”
He glanced at our fingers and said, “Then keep talking.”
I drew in a breath; I was going to lose it.
“I loved you then too,” I admitted. “That’s part of why it’s so hard.
You weren’t just some random guy I hooked up with at a party and panicked over when we got caught.
You were you. You were my best friend. You were the person I wanted before I even knew how to say any of it out loud, and when it mattered most, I failed you. ”
“You loved me then?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I didn’t hesitate.
He stared at me for a second. “And you still did that.”
“I know. I fucked up. And believe me, I’ve hated myself for it.
Because I knew what you meant to me, and I still chose fear over you.
” I kept going before I could back out of it.
“When I left for basic, I kept telling myself that distance would fix it. That being away from Sacramento, away from you, away from all of it, would help me get over you.” I shook my head. “It didn’t.”
“No?”
“Not even close, and I tried to move on. I really did. I tried to get over you. I tried to be interested in other people. I kept telling myself that whatever we’d had was just high school stuff—buried and gone.”
“And?”
“And no one ever compared to you.” I held his stare. “No one.”
His throat moved. “Rowan.”
“I mean it. I tried to talk myself into wanting somebody else, into pretending it felt close enough, but it never did. Nobody felt right. Nobody stayed with me the way you had. Nobody made me want more than a few minutes because they weren’t you.”
He kept staring at me, and I could see him trying not to show how much my words affected him.
I let out a breath. “I’m not saying that just because we had sex. I’m telling you because it’s the truth, and it’s been the truth this whole damn time.”
“So what, you just spent four-plus years hung up on me?”
“Basically.”
His doubt was evident in this short burst of laughter. “That’s messed up.”
“I know.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
He searched my face. “You really tried to move on?”
“Yes.”
“How hard?”
“Hard enough to know I couldn’t do it,” I answered. “Hard enough to realize I was comparing everyone to you without meaning to. Hard enough to understand I was still carrying you around when I had no right to.”
His mouth parted a little, then closed again.
“I didn’t come back to Sacramento looking for you,” I continued.
“I need to be honest about that too. I came back because I want to fight. I want to train at Titan. I want to succeed in MMA for real instead of just talking about it like something I’d do someday.
” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I didn’t know you’d be there.
I didn’t know I’d walk into that gym and see you.
I didn’t know Devon would stick us in the same fucking house. ”
A small breath escaped him, almost a laugh, but not quite.
“But I’m glad he did,” I admitted.
His eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m glad I got the opportunity to deal with all of this instead of spending the rest of my life pretending I could bury it.”
“You’re glad?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Even with how bad it’s been?”
I nearly laughed. “It’s been bad because it’s you. If it was anybody else, I could’ve lied to myself more easily. If it was anybody else, I could’ve kept my distance. But it wasn’t.”
“I wanted you too,” he admitted quietly. “That’s what pissed me off the most.”
A beat passed then he asked the thing that had been sitting between us even before he spoke it. “If we do this, are you going to get scared again?”
The question hit hard because I knew exactly where it came from. Not from tonight. Not from the gym. From years ago. From the party. From me making him feel like he only mattered in private.
“No,” I answered right away.
His expression didn’t change. “That was fast.”
“Because I already know”—I moved closer until our knees touched—“I don’t want to hide you.”
His eyes narrowed some, not out of anger but out of what looked like caution and self-protection.