34. Rowan
ROWAN
I wake up to strong hands kneading my shoulders and neck. I know who it is, have memorized the shape and feel of his palms against my skin.
I groan as his thumbs sink into a knot on my shoulder blade.
“Is this okay?” he asks anxiously.
In the back of my mind, there’s an alarm bell.
A reason why this shouldn’t be okay. But it’s getting more difficult to ignore every day, especially with his hands on me.
I nod against my pillow, my entire body shifting slightly, the drag of my cock against the mattress almost painful. “Feels so good. Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t, working his hands down my skin, making me limp with pleasure.
I shouldn’t ask for more, not now, but when his hands move down to my lower back, precariously close to my ass, I shift up slightly.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please, Samson.”
His hands falter, and I wish I hadn’t begged for a moment before he breaks my heart all over again. “I don’t want to be your regret. Not again.”
My eyes fill with tears and my body twists, our eyes meeting. I reach up and cup his cheek. “I don’t regret you. I did for a moment, but I was hurt. Now I just miss you. And I know this is hurting you, and I fucking hate it. I don’t want to hurt you, Samson. I don’t.”
He kisses my palm. “Being around you, in your space, it’s worth it. Because the alternative? That’d hurt me in a way I’d never recover from.”
The words I want to tell him are in my throat, but I can’t get them free. I’m so close, so close to letting him back in, but the fear is still choking me, holding me hostage.
“Let me get you off.” He runs his hand down my chest, resting it on my stomach over the sheet. “Please.”
I chew on my lip. “Will this hurt you more?”
“Never,” he promises. “Touching you will never hurt me.”
I’m not sure if he’s telling me the truth, but I’m powerless to resist him.
Samson eases down my body, placing butterfly kisses on my skin that are so sweet I almost can’t bear it. When he finds my aching cock, he sucks it almost reverently. Like I’m something precious. Special.
It takes a shockingly short time for me to find my release. Samson swallows every drop before resting his face against my thigh. He kisses the sensitive skin softly.
“Come here.” I reach for him, needing to help him find his pleasure. “Please.”
“Not yet, Row,” he says sadly, moving off me. “Not until everything has been made right.”
He pushes himself up and disappears into the bathroom, the shower turning on a moment later. I stare up at the ceiling, my heart thundering in my chest.
I need to fix this. I need to meet him halfway. But how do I do that when he’s so ingrained with his family, when they are in every part of his life? Can I move on with them, too? Can I let go of what they did?
I’m starting to think I might be able to do anything if it means being with Samson.
The final show is bittersweet. My legs ache through the entire thing, and so does my heart.
I think about all the years here, all the hours I’ve poured into the studio. Everyone knows now. We spent hours crying together this morning after I finally broke the news.
This is our very last show on this stage.
I make sure to cherish each moment, immortalizing them in my mind as I take my final bow, everyone clapping and cheering. My gaze finds Samson immediately, sitting in the front row like he has at each show, watching me with those proud eyes.
Marcy and Clay are on either side of me, our hands clasped as we make our way off stage, our eyes wide, lips aching from smiling. The curtain has dropped, the end of it all finally here.
“You guys did amazing. Oh god, what a show!” I say, my throat tightening. “I’m so sad it’s over.”
“It’s not over yet!” Marcy says, winking at Clay.
My eyebrows meet, and I cock my head. “What do you mean?”
Just then, I hear someone on stage—Shane, I think—make an audience announcement.
“Everyone, please remain in your seats. We have something very special for tonight only. You won’t be disappointed.”
My heart thunders in my chest at that. What are they up to? What is going on? Did I miss something? Am I supposed to be up there?
But then Marcy grabs my hand and drags me down the stairs into the auditorium. I stand there, right on the side, my eyes swiveling around the audience, confused, until the curtain lifts and I see Samson on stage, the spotlight on just him.
He lifts a microphone, and his voice booms through the speakers.
“Thank you for staying. My name is Samson Buckingham, and I have always loved dancing. I got it from my mom. Never was any good at it, but did it anyway. I was taught to hide it away, to be ashamed of it. And then I met someone—the lead in this show, Rowan Mitchell—and fell in love all over again. With dance, with music, with him.” He searches the audience, and when he finds me, he lets out a shaky breath. “This is for you.”
My mouth drops open, and my eyes blur as the music starts. It’s slow, aching even. He lifts two axes, one in each hand.
And he begins to dance.
His movements are awkward but passionate. Out of time, but thoughtful. Everything about it is captivating. I can’t believe he’s doing this. That he’s sharing this secret part of himself with so many strangers.
Because he feels safe to do so.
Because I make him feel safe.
Tears are streaming down my face as I watch him move. It’s perfect in every way that counts. You can feel the emotion of it as he sways across the stage.
When it’s over, you could hear a pin drop, the entire audience in shock. But then my hands meet in a frantic clap, my sobs choking out of me, and the rest join me, thunderous waves of hands meeting, resounding around the small auditorium.
Samson’s eyes meet mine once more, and I cover my shaking mouth with my hands, moved beyond measure as he hops off the stage and stalks toward me.
I don’t wait, rushing to meet him in the middle.
I tug him into me, holding him tight as our lips meet in a frantic kiss.
I hear whistles and shouts from the audience and feel myself smiling against him.
“I love you,” I say, my hands clenching his shirt. “I love you, Samson Buckingham. I’m sorry I made you wait. Can you forgive me?”
“Always. For anything. You were worth waiting for,” he says huskily. “I’d go through every minute again, every second, if it means ending up with you at my side. I love you, Rowan Mitchell.”
We kiss again, but are pulled apart by a microphone screeching. I turn to see Neo on stage, his blue hair bright against the spotlight.
“Well, this isn’t over, much to your dismay, but I promise it’s only a few minutes longer.
We have one more something else for you.
Not as moving and not nearly as good as Samson’s, but one we must do.
” Neo turns toward me, and his face softens.
“We’re so sorry, Rowan. We miss you. All of us. Please forgive us.”
He sets the microphone down with a loud clang that I know will have all our sound engineers wincing, and then all the Buckinghams, minus Matthias, appear on stage, along with Ansel and Wyatt.
In Wyatt’s hand is a laptop, which he carefully puts on a stool, the screen facing the audience.
I squint, my lips lifting as I spot the figure on there. “Is that Matthias?”
Samson chuckles. “Yeah. He couldn’t make it. Had to fly out for a client. He said he’d do the dance on screen.”
I let out a choked laugh and lean into Samson.
But he’s moving away from me, back to the stage.
“Gotta go join them. I’m part of this apology, too.
” I watch openmouthed as he jogs forward and hops onto the stage with a grace I’ve always known he has.
The audience gasps as the pop music blares through the speakers, and a loud laugh flies out of me as Samson and his family begin to dance.
They’re offbeat and making fools of themselves, but it means so much to me.
That they’d do this here, that they are making it clear how sorry they are.
Everyone is cheering them on, even Matthias, who is on the small screen, his arms bopping to the beat.
Neo is throwing up finger guns, Cade is doing some kind of delayed sprinkler, and Wylder is trying to do the robot and short-circuiting.
Harley is slowly peeling off his shirt. It’s…
fantastic. Everything I needed to see. A famous and notorious family showing me how they care in the language I speak best.
Dance.
Everyone in the audience is laughing by the finale, the applause so loud that it almost hurts to hear it. It’s the best kind of ending to the show, to a chapter of my life.
Now I can really move forward. For the first time, I’m not afraid. The future can throw whatever it likes at me, but it can’t take Samson. Or the Buckinghams.
They have my back. Just as I’ll have all of theirs.
I jog forward, and put my hands flat on the stage floor, the Buckinghams staring down at me.
Samson steps forward and lifts me straight up, the crowd cheering as I fall into his arms. Our lips meet, and the Buckinghams surround me, each of them patting me on the back, offering soft apologies and words of encouragement before disengaging.
I glance up into Samson’s eyes, the rest of the Buckinghams staring at me, and I give him a small grin.
“I love you, Samson. I fucking love you.”
His shoulders sag in relief, his eyes filling with tears, and I see Ansel lift his fingers to his lips to whistle. I let out a small laugh and point a finger at each one of them.
“But you have to let me win at game night. Or else…”
Harley rolls his eyes. “I mean, I guess we could do that.”
Wylder stiffens, his shoulders moving into boss mode. “Perhaps. It depends on the stipulations.”
“The stipulation is he likes us again, dude,” Neo retorts, and then leans up and presses a kiss to Wylder’s cheek. “It’s worth it. Plus, my potion worked. It’s worth an investment.”
Wylder glowers down at Neo as Samson pulls my gaze back to him.
“Do you really love me? Do you really forgive me?” His words are short and choked, almost like he doesn’t believe me.
So I cup his cheeks, tears streaming down my face as I repeat what I already said.
“Yes. I love you. And I forgive you. As long as you forgive me…for how long it took me to come back to you.”
His forehead falls to mine, and he exhales shakily. “Nothing to forgive, Row. Nothing.”
I don’t believe that, but in my mind I tell myself I’ll make it up to him each and every day that I’m alive. That I’ll prove how worthy he is of love and passion.
Samson steps away, grabbing the mic once more. I’m not sure my heart can take any more surprises. “I promise, we’re almost done taking up your evening.”
Warm titters come from the audience. I eye Samson nervously. Just what is he up to now?
“Some of you might’ve heard that this beautiful institution is being closed down,” he says. “Rhythm Studio has been operating for ten years now, mainly under the stewardship of the star of tonight’s show, Rowan Mitchell.”
Tears continue rolling down my face. God, I can’t believe I’m having to give this place up. At least I have Samson back. With him at my side, I feel…hope, determination that I can bring this place back somehow. A safe space for everyone to express how they feel.
Samson meets my eyes as he continues. “The Buckingham family are pleased to announce that we are the new owners of Rhythm Studio.”
My heart stops in my chest. What happened to the developers?
“The studio will continue in its current capacity, and we can’t think of anyone better to take over running it than Rowan.”
Multiple arms hug me at once, screams and shouts battering my eardrums as my dance friends embrace me.
When they part, Samson is smiling broadly at me. “Everyone, please join me in welcoming Rowan as the CEO of Rhythm Studios.”
I face the audience as they get to their feet, and I sob as I take a trembling bow.
Then I’m crossing the stage and throwing myself into Samson’s arms. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“I was never going to let this place close. It’s your happy place.”
“No.” I lean back and cup his face. “You’re my happy place. So long as I have you, I’m happy. You’re all I need.”
He kisses me again, and then we turn toward the Buckingham family. We step forward, and they meet us halfway, arms engulfing us as we cling to one another. I haven’t had a family in so long, not really.
And I think this may be the first time in many years that I’m truly a part of one.