Chapter 26 I want you, dammit!
I WANT YOU, DAMMIT!
VIOLET
Are you more drawn to a love that grows roots or one that grows wings?
SilenceInMidnight: Roots. Something that stays, even in storms.
I feel his absence before I even open my eyes.
Echo had been curled beside me when I fell asleep, his small body radiating warmth in my stomach, like he has done every night since he arrived here.
But tonight, that warmth is gone, leaving nothing but a cool, empty space against the cushions. When I finally open my eyes, his absence becomes real. Echo isn’t on the couch anymore.
For a moment, I expect to find him on the carpet below the couch, where Rowan had laid out blankets and pillows. But even that spot is empty.
It takes me another second to find them.
Echo is stretched across his dog bed, a small blanket draped carefully over his back. Rowan lies on the carpet beside him, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting loosely at his side.
Echo’s front paws touch the side of Rowan’s leg, as if he’s making sure the distance between them never grows too much.
It’s been a few days since Vienna and Zane brought him here, and this is the first night Echo hasn’t stayed beside me. Do I blame him for choosing Rowan instead?
Not even a little.
Being near Rowan is like being safe and protected in his quiet confidence, but most importantly, being near him feels like being home.
And bonus the man smells incredible. Like forest and sage. Something clean and grounding that reminds me of damp earth after rain.
I’ve caught myself leaning closer to that scent more and more each day. So no, I definitely don’t blame Echo.
Slipping quietly off the couch, I move across the room and stop near Rowan’s feet.
From here, I notice the tiny details that would usually require me staring at him for lengths of time, which would not be considered normal.
Tonight, it’s like seeing him in a new light, and indeed this is new. Even though Rowan and I spend our days together—reading in the solarium, working quietly beside each other, exchanging words through phones and small smiles—our nights have always remained private, contained inside our own rooms.
Rowan is sleeping against one of the large plant pots, while his long legs stretch out across the carpet. His hair is tousled from sleep, darker strands falling over his forehead, and the slow rhythm of his breathing lifts and lowers his chest beneath the plain white T-shirt.
Every one of these details is strangely new to me.
I glance briefly at Echo before turning back to Rowan. I notice the faint tremor that moves through his shoulders.
He’s cold.
Of course he is. He fell asleep far from the fireplace, his back resting against the cool ceramic.
I pick up the blanket lying beside him and lean forward, meaning only to drape it over his shoulders. But the moment the fabric shifts in my hands, Rowan’s eyes snap open, alert. It happens so quickly that I barely have time to process it.
His hand comes up, circling the back of my neck in a firm grip. His body reacts before his mind has the chance to catch up. For a fraction of a second, I know he doesn’t even realize it’s me.
His instincts have taken over.
The hold at my neck is tight and secure, nothing like the careful restraint that usually defines every touch Rowan allows himself.
My mouth goes dry. Not out of fear. No, I could never fear Rowan. If anything, when he’s around, I have no fear of my lost past or my unknown future.
No, my mouth dries because of something else entirely.
The intensity of his gaze ignites something wild inside me.
The glow from the fireplace spills across his face in warm amber light, sharpening the lines of his jaw and the darkness of his eyes until he looks dangerously beautiful.
Did I ever imagine that only weeks after waking up in a hospital, I would be standing here feeling this way about someone? Not even for a second.
And yet Rowan feels like home. Like mine.
When he pulls me closer, I follow willingly under the quiet pull of his hand, until there’s only a narrow sliver of air left between us.
His breath brushes against my skin, a little shaky and a little quick, exactly like mine.
My lower lip trembles, and in that suspended moment, with the soft crackle of the fire behind us, I realize something.
I’m ready.
Since the moment I met him in that hospital room, Rowan has shown me what love looks like in ways that go far beyond words.
It has been there in his quiet care, in the attention he gives to the smallest things about me, and even in the restraint he holds so tightly around himself whenever we’re too close.
His love has lived in the spaces between our conversations, in the patience with which he waits for me to catch up to feelings he has clearly carried for far longer.
But now I’m ready to be loved the way he described in that first letter he wrote to me.
Bare and breathless.
Tangled together in sheets.
Sweat slicked and overwhelmed by each other.
I’m ready for the future we were supposed to have before the accident tore my memories away.
I’m ready for the engagement that never happened.
Despite everything I’ve lost, the certainty of what I feel for Rowan rises inside me with quiet clarity.
My eyes flutter closed as my body leans toward him, waiting for the moment that feels inevitable now. Waiting for another memory to be born inside this house that already holds so many beautiful beginnings.
Rowan’s hand is still at the back of my neck, his thumb resting lightly at the center of my throat.
I wait for him to close the distance.
But then he pushes me away.
What… what just happened?
My eyes open in confusion, only to find Rowan’s are closed.
His head is tipped back, his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles along his neck stand out in sharp lines. The hands that were holding me moments ago are now curled into fists at his sides.
His forearms are rigid, veins standing out beneath his skin, and even the rise and fall of his chest looks strained.
“Rowan.” My voice trembles when I say his name. “Why did you stop?”
He doesn’t open his eyes. Instead, he shakes his head, the motion small but strained.
Is he thinking he crossed a line… or somehow took advantage of me?
The idea is so absurd.
“I wanted it,” I whisper, my voice trying to reach him through whatever storm he’s battling inside his head.
He still doesn’t respond.
“I want you to kiss me, damn it.” The words break out of me before I can soften them. Emotions rush up too fast for me to contain. Tears blur my vision as they slip down my cheeks.
The last thing I expected tonight was Rowan pushing away from me.
He finally opens his eyes, and the intensity in them nearly steals the air from my lungs.
He searches the space around him frantically. My gaze drifts toward the small table where both our phones lie abandoned, and Rowan follows my line of sight.
But I don’t move. Right now, we don’t need words. Our touch should be enough to express whatever we feel.
I lean toward him again.
This time my hands rest firmly against his thighs, letting him know that I’m not afraid of him, not afraid of his touch, not afraid of whatever is building between us. If anything, the opposite is true.
My lips hover only inches away from his. Before I can close the final distance, our eyes meet again.
The desire burning in those deep green pools softens the earlier sting of his rejection. It’s raw and unmistakable.
He wants me. He’s just worried about me.
I move closer once more, leaning fully into his space. But just as I begin to close the gap, Rowan blinks hard, pulling himself out of a trance. He shakes his head sharply and pushes me away. Again.
The force of it sends me stumbling back. I nearly fall onto my hips as Rowan stands abruptly and walks across the room toward the couch. He grabs both our phones. Without looking at me, he passes mine with one hand while with the other begins typing rapidly on his screen.
I stare at him, trying not to feel the sting of what just happened.
Twice.
Twice in the span of only a few minutes, he pushed me away.
My phone vibrates.
Rowan: I’m sorry.
“Why? I told you I wanted it. I want you.” It takes every bit of my pride to say the words when he’s standing there, shutting me out. “I don’t just want the kiss,” I continue, forcing the truth out before doubt can stop me. “I want everything.”
Rowan’s eyes close again, as if the words physically hurt him.
His thumbs move slowly.
Rowan: Violet, you’re still not healed.
His gaze flickers briefly toward my sling.
I stare down at it, then back at him.
“It’s coming off soon. And what does a kiss have to do with my hand?”
Rowan: You’re still weak.
The excuse lands hollow between us, because that’s what it is. An excuse.
His fingers move again.
Rowan: This was a mistake. We shouldn’t have been this close. I gave you the wrong idea.
Wrong idea?
“What are you talking about?” My voice shakes. “Aren’t we supposed to get engaged when I’m back on my feet? That’s what we planned before the accident right?”
Instead of helping my case, the words shut him down completely. The shift in him is immediate.
Rowan: I’m sorry for confusing you, Violet.
And just like that, he walks out of the room, leaving me standing there with my phone in my hand and a thousand questions spinning through my head.
For several seconds I can’t even move. Something about this feels terribly wrong.
Did I misunderstand everything?
Did I mistake his care, his attention, his quiet devotion, for something deeper?
But the more I replay every moment we’ve shared, the less his rejection makes sense.
I know what I saw in his eyes.
He wants me.
I’m certain of it.
So why the hell did he push me away so easily?