Chapter 32 – Tessa
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tessa
Rowan looks younger when he’s asleep.
It’s the strangest thing about him.
When he’s awake, there’s always something controlled in his face. Tight around the eyes. Intentional around the mouth.
But asleep, that disappears.
The tension that normally lives in his shoulders loosens, and the hard line of his mouth softens. His dark hair is pushed in the wrong direction from where he dragged a hand through it earlier, and without the sharp focus in his eyes, he almost looks… boyish.
Almost.
The tension is still there if you look closely enough. His jaw is set even in sleep. His brow pulls together every few breaths like his brain is still arguing with something behind closed doors.
But he doesn’t look like he’s in pain anymore.
That’s the important part.
The migraine finally loosened its grip sometime early this morning. I could tell when his breathing changed. The tight, shallow rhythm he’d been stuck in for hours slowly evened out.
I’ve been watching him ever since.
“Tessa.” His voice is rough from sleep. “Why are you staring at me?”
Okay, so staring at him with my hand on his chest could be viewed as a little creepy.
“Sorry.” I remove my hand from his chest and flash him a smile. “I was just monitoring.”
It’s not like I would really know if something changed with him. I’m not a doctor. But it’s the thought that counts.
Rowan’s brows arch, and his lips tip at the corner. “Sure.”
I gasp. “Are you suggesting that I was trying to grope you in your sleep?” I smack his chest lightly. “I would never!”
He shrugs. “Maybe you should. I wouldn’t mind waking up to a little tug and rub.”
Oh my gosh, he’s totally fine.
“You’re ridiculous.” I sit up in the bed and cross my legs. “How’s your head?”
“Fine.” He says the word as annoyed as he can.
“What about you? How are you feeling? You look terrible.”
Seriously, I know my hair must look a mess, and my eyeliner is probably down my cheek, but I decided last night that I wasn’t in the mood to wash my face. He should be thankful I brushed my teeth, though I’m not feeling that minty fresh this morning.
“Thanks, asshole. You’re welcome for taking care of you this whole time.”
Men, I swear. They just have to be cute, with all that sarcasm and abs.
His face turns serious, and I almost worry he’s in pain again, but then he says, “You’re always beautiful, even after pulling an all-nighter for your boyfriend.”
Boyfriend?
That’s a new word I thought I would never hear come out of his mouth again.
“Boyfriend?” I repeat. “Is that what you are?”
He sits up in bed and rakes a hand through his already-messy hair. “I mean… yeah. Unless you feel differently?”
I definitely don’t feel differently. “I think we are on the same page.”
I offer him a sweet smile and lean in to kiss him, but then I think about not brushing my teeth since last night and pull back. “I need to use the bathroom. Care to join me?”
He rears back. “I don’t think we need to move so fast that we are peeing with each other.”
This ass. “I don’t need to pee.” Well, I probably do, but… never mind. “I need to take a bath and brush my teeth. I thought you might want to join me.”
Immediately, he frowns. “As much as I love to see you naked, I’ll pass on the bath.”
Ugh. This man. “Grown men can take baths,” I argue.
“Maybe,” he agrees, “but not this one.”
Let’s see if he still feels that way with tits in his face. I climb off the bed, leaving him with narrowed eyes and a sense of suspicion.
“Stay there,” I tell him, pointing once toward the bed, eyeing Waffles still asleep at the foot.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he says dryly, catching my gaze and leaning over to stroke Waffles’s fur.
“And you don’t get to argue with me after I’ve been up watching over you all night.”
That has his mouth snapping shut.
If you can’t win an argument, make them feel guilty.
I turn and head for the bathroom.
The suite’s bathroom is large and unnecessarily polished, the kind of place designed to make attorneys feel like their billable hours are funding something impressive. Marble counter. Deep soaking tub. Towels folded like origami.
It’s perfect.
I twist the faucet, and hot water rushes into the tub, filling the quiet room with the steady sound of running water. Steam begins to build almost immediately.
Behind me, the bedroom is quiet.
Which means Rowan is absolutely listening.
Good.
I peel my shirt and pajama pants off and toss them on the counter. Then I pull the hair tie out of my disaster of a knot and shake my hair loose so it stops pulling at my scalp.
The water is still running when I lean toward the open doorway and raise my voice.
“Just so you know,” I call, “I’m naked.”
Silence.
Then from the bedroom:
“Tessa.”
“Yes?”
A beat passes.
“You are not going to win this argument with nudity.”
I lean against the doorframe and grin to myself.
“Oh, I absolutely am.”
I step back toward the tub, adjusting the water temperature before turning it off.
“Also,” I add loudly, “this tub is huge.”
More silence.
Then his voice again. “That statement feels like a trap.”
“It’s a bath.”
“With you.”
“Yes.”
“With no clothes.”
“Correct.”
Another pause.
I can almost hear his brain working through the situation, weighing pride against curiosity against the fact that I just spent an entire night making sure he didn’t die.
I dip my fingers into the water and nod approvingly.
Perfect temperature.
I settle into the tub and let out a long breath as the heat sinks into muscles that have been tight for hours.
“Rowan…” I call again, dragging his name out just enough to irritate him.
“Fuck me.” He sighs loudly.
I grin and sink lower in the water.
“Not yet,” I call back. “But maybe later, if you’re a good boy.”
I can just picture him sitting there on the edge of the bed in those dark sleep pants, rubbing his face like the entire situation pisses him off. “You’re aware this is manipulation.”
“And you think I care?”
Seriously, I’m getting what I want. This man said he was my boyfriend, and boyfriends take baths with their girlfriends.
I lean back against the tub and look toward the doorway just as he appears.
He’s still in his pajamas. Loose sleep pants and the thin gray shirt he slept in. His hair is a little messy, and his expression suggests he already regrets every decision that led him to this bathroom.
He braces a shoulder against the doorframe and studies the tub.
“You look very comfortable,” he says.
“I am.”
“Tragic.”
I tilt my head toward the water, letting a lazy ripple lap against my collarbone.
“Get in.”
His mouth flattens.
“You realize I just spent hours trying not to move my head.”
“And now you’re going to sit in warm water like a normal person.”
“Define normal.”
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m assessing the situation.”
“You’re standing there arguing with a naked woman in a bathtub.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
I watch the calculation happen in real time. Rowan King does not like situations he didn’t plan or control. Unfortunately for him, I am currently both naked and issuing directives from a bathtub, which feels like a loophole in whatever mental rulebook he’s operating from.
Then, with a slow exhale, he pushes off the doorframe.
“Unbelievable,” he mutters.
His hands go to the hem of his shirt, and he pulls it over his head, tossing it toward the counter.
“Happy?”
“Extremely.”
I try to look normal about it. I do not succeed. Rowan shirtless should probably come with a warning label and a small legal disclaimer.
Next come the sleep pants.
He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pauses for a second, looking at me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Yes.”
“Of course, you are.”
He steps out of them and drops them onto the floor.
Even the simple movement looks a little careful. Not dramatic, just the quiet stiffness of someone whose body is still recovering from a brutal migraine.
And suddenly, the smug part of my brain shuts up for a second.
Right. He actually felt like dying earlier.
When he reaches the tub, he braces one hand on the edge and lowers himself in slowly.
The second the water reaches his waist, he exhales sharply.
“Fuck.”
“Too hot?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You’ll survive.”
He settles into the water anyway, stretching his legs out carefully along the length of the tub.
For a moment, his shoulders stay tight.
Then the heat starts working its way through him.
His head tips back, and he lets out a slow breath.
I watch the tension drain out of his face and think, with absolutely no dignity at all, Well… that worked.
“Fine,” he says after a few seconds.
I smile.
“What?”
“You were right.”
“I know.”
One eye cracks open.
“Don’t start.”
Too late.
I slide a little closer through the water until my knee bumps his.
He notices immediately.
“Careful,” he mutters. “Or I’ll take you right here, second-degree burns and all.”
I grin.
“Relax.”
He studies me for a second, then closes his eyes again and sinks a little deeper into the water.
“You are the most exhausting woman I know.”
“And yet,” I say sweetly, “you got in the tub.”
I place my hands on his shoulders.
Warm skin. Solid muscle. Tension sitting right where it always does.
“Lean back,” I murmur.
He doesn’t argue.
He shifts carefully, like he’s done this before.
Like it’s normal.
His eyes close again, his breathing slow and steady while the heat from the bath works its way through him.
Then I reach for the water.
I cup it in my hands and pour it slowly over his hair, letting it run across his scalp and down the back of his neck. I do it again, making sure his hair is completely wet before my fingers move in.
My nails drag lightly across his scalp.
He exhales.
The sound is quiet but immediate, like some of the tension leaves him every time my fingers move.
“Still hurting?” I ask softly.
“No,” he says. “I’m fine.”
Good.
I keep working my fingers through his hair, making slow circles along his scalp.
“I used to think this would fix everything,” I say after a moment. “Warm water. A few good touches. The right kind of silence.”
“It fixes a lot,” he murmurs.
My hands keep moving as I press gently at the base of his neck.
His whole body shudders under my hands, and he lets out a breath that sounds like relief.
My fingers slow in his hair, sliding down to the side of his face for a second before returning to his scalp.
The words sit in my chest for a moment before I let them out.
“I didn’t leave because of you.”
I can feel the shift in him even before he opens his eyes and looks at me.
“I didn’t leave because of a fight,” I continue quietly. “Or because you did something wrong. I left because I couldn’t feel anything anymore.”
My fingers move again, slower now.
“I couldn’t get out of bed some days. I’d stare at the ceiling for hours and feel completely blank. Food didn’t taste like anything. Music didn’t sound like anything. I’d sit in a room full of people and still feel like I wasn’t really there.”
My hand drifts down for a second, brushing along his jaw before returning to his hair.
“I stopped returning calls. Stopped showing up to class. I skipped meals and then forgot I was supposed to care about that. I failed a clinic assignment because I couldn’t make myself write two pages.”
Two pages.
Even now it sounds ridiculous.
“I told myself I was just tired,” I say. “That I’d snap out of it.”
Rowan reaches and grabs my hand.
His grip is warm. Steady.
I swallow.
“I didn’t snap out of it.”
My eyes drop to the water for a moment before I continue.
“And I didn’t want you to see me like that. Not because I didn’t trust you. But because you were so… you. Focused. Disciplined. Always moving forward. And I was barely moving at all.”
His fingers tighten slightly around mine.
“I didn’t know how to explain it,” I admit. “I didn’t know how to ask for help without sounding dramatic or broken.”
“You think I would’ve thought less of you,” he says quietly.
I shake my head.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” I say. “And that was the problem.”
His brows pull together.
“I didn’t want you to love me through it. I didn’t want to owe you that when I didn’t even want to be in my own skin.”
My voice cracks slightly before I force it steady again.
“If I let you see that version of me… I didn’t know if I’d ever forgive myself.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
The water shifts quietly around us.
“I got help eventually,” I say after a minute. “Therapy. Medication. I built routines. I started eating breakfast again. Going outside. Taking walks.”
My fingers drift slowly through his hair again.
“I started feeling things again.”
Rowan watches me carefully.
“And by the time I got better,” I finish softly, “I’d assumed you’d moved on. That you’d found someone who wasn’t… falling apart.”
He shakes his head immediately.
“Fuck, Tessa.”
I let out a quiet laugh.
“That’s the worst part,” I say. “There wasn’t some huge tragedy. Nothing dramatic happened. I just… stopped functioning for a while.”
He looks up at me.
“It felt pathetic,” I admit.
“It wasn’t,” he says instantly.
I blink once.
“Then why did it feel like it was?”
He leans forward slightly until his forehead touches mine.
His voice is low when he answers.
“Because surviving something quiet can feel invisible,” he says. “That doesn’t make it small.”
For a second, I can’t say anything.
So, I just sit there with him.
Warm water around us.
His hand still holding mine.
And the quiet between us finally feels different.
I said my piece, and it’s never felt better.