Chapter 21
Rook
Rook didn’t say a damn thing as they left the table.
Couldn’t.
His jaw was locked so tight it ached, and his hands were fists at his sides. Avery walked beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushed his once, twice, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to stay near him. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t trust himself to.
They reached his room. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and the moment it clicked shut behind them, the silence hit like a hammer.
Avery hovered near the bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I’m just gonna… use the bathroom real quick.”
He nodded, stiff, unable to look at her without the anger rising again, not at her, never at her, but at the situation, at himself, at the fact that she’d been watched and he hadn’t known.
The bathroom door closed softly.
Rook stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, shoulders tight, pacing once, twice, then stopping because pacing wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping.
He dragged a hand down his face, then across the back of his neck, muscles coiled so tight they felt like they might snap.
She’d been watched. Outside the bakery. More than once. And that sedan — the same one Havoc had mentioned, the same one circling town — had been following her.
She’d been scared. Alone. And she hadn’t told him.
His jaw flexed hard.
She thought she was imagining it. She didn’t want to bother him. She didn’t think he cared.
He clenched his fists again, knuckles popping.
He’d spent seven years trying to bury the part of himself that still cared. And now she was here, in danger, uneasy from the start, and she still didn’t think she could come to him.
The bathroom door opened.
Avery stepped out, wiping her hands on her jeans. Her hair was damp from splashing water on her face, her cheeks still flushed from the meeting. She looked nervous, shoulders slightly hunched, like she was bracing for something.
“Noah?” she asked softly. “You okay?”
He turned toward her, tension snapping like a wire pulled too tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Avery blinked. “About what?”
“You know what.” His voice came out low, rough. “About someone watching you.”
She froze, fingers curling into her palms.
“I…Noah, I didn’t think…”
“That’s the problem,” he cut in, stepping closer. “You didn’t think. You didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell anyone.”
Her chin lifted, eyes flashing. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.”
“I didn’t know that!” Her voice rose, frustration breaking through. “I thought I was tired. Or jumpy. You were barely talking to me then. You acted like you didn’t even want me here!”
Rook flinched, shoulders tightening.
Avery kept going, words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “You were angry. You wouldn’t look at me. You shut down every time I tried to talk. So why would I come running to you about something I wasn’t even sure I saw?”
Rook took a slow step toward her, chest tight. “Because I would’ve listened.”
She shook her head, arms wrapping around herself. “You barely even looked at me that first night.”
“That’s because I didn’t know how,” he shot back. “You show up after seven years, crying in the rain, and I’m supposed to just, what? Pretend I’m not losing my mind?”
Avery sucked in a breath, her shoulders softening.
Rook dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once before stopping directly in front of her. “I’m upset because you were scared. And alone. And you didn’t tell me. I’m upset because I want to keep you safe, and I can’t do that if you don’t come to me.”
Her voice softened. “Why do you care so much?”
He stared at her.
Really stared.
Her eyes were wide, searching. Her hands trembled slightly at her sides. She wasn’t challenging him; she was asking. Honestly. Vulnerably.
And the truth came out before he could stop it.
“It never went away,” he murmured. “Not once.”
Avery’s lips parted, her expression softening.
He shook his head, stepping into her space. “I didn’t plan for any of this. Didn’t want it. But you show up and everything I’ve been holding together just… snaps.”
“I feel it too,” she whispered.
The knot in his chest loosened, just a fraction, but enough to steady him.
Avery reached out, fingers brushing his forearm. Her touch was light, hesitant, but it grounded him instantly. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to be a burden. I didn’t want you to think I was… weak.”
Rook’s voice dropped to a low, steady rumble. “You’re not weak. And you’re never a burden. But you have to come to me. Even if you’re not sure. Even if it feels small. Even if you think I won’t care.”
Her eyes met his. “Okay.”
He exhaled, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. “And I’ll listen. I won’t snap. I won’t shut down. I’ll listen.”
Avery nodded. “Okay.”
The space between them closed in a heartbeat.
He reached for her, his touch steady and real as his hands slid to her waist when she stepped into him. Avery’s fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight, pulling him closer. Her forehead pressed to his chest, her body fitting against his like she’d never left.
It wasn’t a kiss. It wasn’t a confession. It was something heavier. Something earned. A heated, desperate, grounding embrace that said everything they weren’t ready to say out loud.
Rook closed his eyes, jaw brushing the top of her head, holding her like he’d been holding himself back for too long. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.
Avery’s voice was muffled against him. “I know.”
They stayed like that, two people who’d spent years apart, finally finding the same place to land.
Then Rook pulled back just enough to look at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes soft, her hands still gripping his shirt like she wasn’t ready to let go.
“We should go,” he said quietly. “Cameras are going up today.”
Avery nodded.
He reached for her hand.
She took it without hesitation.
And together, fingers laced, they walked out of the room, toward the bakery, toward danger, toward whatever the hell came next.
But this time, they walked together.