Chapter 38
thirty-eight
. . .
Rowan
Idon’t notice the rumble of the plane under my feet until the wheels hit Kentucky soil. It took another two days to get a flight out of Mexico City, and the call with Violet has been playing on a loop in my head ever since.
I should have been there. I should have handled everything differently.
By the time I get to Whitley’s to pick up Bramble, my hands are practically shaking from how tightly I was gripping the steering wheel.
When I get out of the car, Whitley’s already on her porch in full form, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, vibrating with fury.
Bramble is bouncing at her side, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing over her head.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to her?”
I swallow hard. “I’m going to fix it.”
“Some things can’t be fixed with an apology and those puppy dog eyes, Wolfe.”
“I know.”
Whitley studies me for a long moment, her jaw working like she’s grinding her teeth before jabbing a finger into my chest.
“If you make her cry again, I will gut you with a rusty spoon,” she hisses.
I don’t even flinch. Probably because the image is tame compared to what I actually deserve.
“That’s fair,” I say quietly.
Whitley chews on the inside of her cheek. “She loves you. Which means she’ll give you more grace than most people would. Certainly more than I would. But don’t confuse that with infinite patience.”
All I can do is nod in response. I know this is bad.
Whitley watches me for another long beat before handing over Bramble’s leash. “The next move is yours, Wolfe. Don’t fuck it up.”
I drive to the house—our house—with Bramble’s head hanging out the passenger window, tongue lolling in the wind. She’s the only one of us who seems remotely happy right now.
The porch light is on, casting that warm glow I’ve come home to a hundred times. Only this time, I’m coming home to an empty house because Violet’s still in Scotland.
And I should be there with her.
I kill the engine and sit there for a minute. Bramble whines, sensing my hesitation, and nudges my arm with her wet nose.
“Yeah, girl,” I mutter. “I know.”
We open the door to a quiet house. It’s dark except for a lamp in the living room. I let Bramble in first, and she immediately bolts toward her bed by the fireplace, tail wagging. I follow slower, my boots heavy on the hardwood.
I set my keys in the bowl by the door, and that’s when it hits me.
All those years. All that work. The long deployments, the dangerous jobs, the endless nights away from home.
I did it all thinking I was building something.
A foundation. A future. Something I could lay at Violet’s feet and say, See?
I’m not just some fuck up from a broken family.
I can provide. I can be the kind of man your father would approve of.
I’ve been so goddamn obsessed with proving I was more than financially capable of supporting her.
More than just stable—I wanted to be impressive.
Wanted to walk into her parents’ house and have her father see me as worthy.
Not the kid whose dad attempted to drink himself to death or the guy with more tattoos than prospects.
And for what?
So I could miss her cousin’s wedding? So I could leave her standing alone at events that matter to her? So I could be stuck halfway across the world while she sits in a hotel room in Scotland, alone, wondering if she’s a priority?
What the fuck was the point of any of it if I can’t be there for her?
This was never supposed to be about chasing the next paycheck big enough to prove something to people who were never going to be impressed anyway.
I know how to assess risks, protect, and how to anticipate problems before they happen. I’ve spent years getting damn good at it, but I’ve been doing it for everyone else.
That stops now. All along, I should’ve been building something of my own. Something that keeps me here.
I’m done living a life that takes me away from the one person I can’t lose.