Chapter 10
ten
. . .
Rowan
Not yet.
Two words, but they hit like a punch to the ribs.
My hands are cupping her face, my thumbs tracing the flushed curve of her cheekbones, and every part of me aches to close the distance.
To crush my mouth to hers and finally know what it feels like.
To taste the years I spent missing her. Wanting her.
Lying to myself about all the ways I never stopped.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to move on, Violet has always been in the back of my mind, through every mistake and moment that fell short. No one could ever hold a candle to her. Meanwhile, I’ve never even had her like that.
Not the way I wanted her. Not the way I imagined how she’d sound falling apart under my hands. Soft gasps, breathy moans, the way her body would move with mine like we were made for each other. All of it has lived in my head for years. A ghost I couldn’t touch. A fantasy I could never stop chasing.
But then I see the caution in her eyes. It’s the same look that’s kept me at arm’s length since the moment I laid eyes on her.
What we had years ago was nothing but a handful of charged glances. That unbearable ache of wanting something you can’t name out loud without shattering everything around it.
So, no, I never had her.
I wanted her with a desperation I didn’t have language for back then. Standing here now, with her hands on my chest and her lips so close I can almost taste them, I want her now more than ever.
It’s not just her body that I want. I want the whole fucking galaxy of her, and I’m not about to blow it by taking too much too soon.
So I don’t lean in. I just keep my hands where they are and hope that if I take this as slow as she needs, she’ll believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere this time.
Even this is more than I ever thought I’d be lucky enough to have.
“Okay,” I say. “Not yet.”
I take a step back and let my hands fall to my sides. The small space between might as well be miles, even though she’s close enough that I could count her freckles if I wanted to. And fuck, I want to. I shove my hands in my pockets before I can reach for her again.
“Can I call you?”
She hesitates, and for a second, I think I’ve pushed too far. Then she nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in that way she’s always done when she’s nervous.
“Yeah,” she says with the softest smile. “Okay.”
The relief that rushes through me is so intense it almost buckles my knees. I’ll take the chance she’s offering. I’ll take anything she’s willing to give me.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
Before I can say anything else, she slips into her car.
I stand there like an idiot, watching her taillights disappear down the road. Six years. Six fucking years of trying to burn her out of my system, and she’s still in there, stitched into the place where need turns into something darker.
Having her close again is like oxygen and fire in the same breath. It hurts. It wrecks. My hands are aching from not touching her. Every part of me—body, mind, fucking soul—vibrates with the restraint it took not to back her against her car and beg her to let me claim her.
Let me hold her. Let me take down the wall I’ve spent a life building only to let her in. Let me show her that it’s always been her, even when I pretended it wasn’t.
She’s gone now, but for a while she was real and close and fucking tangible again.
It’s taking everything I’ve got not to chase her down, rip the car door open, and fall to my knees just to have her in my arms for one more second.
If she had given me even an inch, I would’ve burned every safe thing I’ve built down to the goddamn foundation just to touch her again.
I’m not proud of who I was. I’ve got regret in spades, but if I’m ever gonna be anything—it’s going to be hers. When she’s ready. When she says now instead of not yet.
The drive back to my place is quick enough. It’s nothing fancy. Just an old farmhouse with worn hardwood floors, a fireplace that smokes when the wind’s strong, and a back porch that faces the fields. But it’s mine.
I grab a beer from the fridge and step out onto the porch, the scuffle of paws following behind me. The moon’s hanging low and full, casting a silver glow across the yard. I drop into the old chair I have set up with a long sigh, relaxing my head back to let the cool air settle over me.
“Hey, girl,” I mumble as Bramble flops down at my feet.
Yeah, I kept the damn dog. Figured we could both use a companion.
She lifts her head, ears perking as she stares up at me with those knowing eyes.
“I saw her tonight,” I tell her, taking a pull from my beer. “Violet.”
Bramble’s tail thumps against the wooden porch.
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter. “She was sweet to you.” I shake my head, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Probably why you liked her.”
She huffs out a breath and lays her head back down on her paws. She’s probably already tired of me.
“What?” I glance down at her. “You got something to say, say it. Otherwise, let a man spiral in peace.”
She blinks up at me, deadpan.
“Right,” I mutter. “You’re the picture of emotional stability. You tried to eat a sock yesterday.”
I take another swig of my beer, eyes drifting to the tree line. I scrub a hand down my face, pushing the frustration out with a dry laugh. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter. “What the hell am I doing, talkin’ to a damn dog about a woman?”
I’m a Marine. I’ve eaten sand, dodged bullets, held brothers while they bled and didn’t flinch. Now I’m out here spilling my guts to a rescue mutt with trust issues and a taste for tube socks.
Pathetic.
But then again, not half as pathetic as realizing I spent years convincing myself she didn’t want me because the alternative would’ve leveled me. I saw her looking sometimes back then, in high school. That dreamy stare that would stick with me for hours.
I told myself she was just sweet, and she looked at everyone that way. Even when it gutted me to think it.
Even when it wasn’t true.
God, it makes me sick that I ever let her believe she wasn’t enough.
I was so afraid of being the one to break her that I did it anyway.