Chapter 34 #2
“Should I buy some for myself then? Maybe you can use them too.” He arches a brow. “In my bed.”
“Smooth.” I laugh.
Rowan kisses my shoulder, his hand rough with callouses but gentle with reverence, slowly caressing my arm until my hand is wrapped in his. “Natalia,” he whispers and kisses the curve of my shoulder again. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes.”
There’s a long, silent pause that feels dooming—like a shadow looming over me, something lurking in the dark that will require the most answer there is. The question lingers around me, as does the comforting sound of his breathing.
“What is it?” I whisper.
“Do you want to die?”
I blink, my mouth parting, words melting away on my tongue and fading from my brain. “Do you mean…right now?”
“No,” he sighs, his voice low and raspy—pained. “Maybe?”
“Right now,” I say, “no.”
Rowan swallows audibly—out of relief or stress, I can’t tell. “And every other moment?”
“Don’t ask me that,” I whisper.
“Why not?” Rowan whispers, the rasp in his question cuts my heart.
I swallow back whatever emotion he stirs inside of me. Whatever happy, loving emotion that has turned me inside out since being with him like this. Since realizing I might not just have a crush or like him.
For him, my heart swells in my chest. A firework goes off. My brain malfunctions. My fingers itch to reach for him.
He has taken my once steady, calm heart and turned it into a loudly beating orchestra that plays to the tune of his name.
“Because the answer isn’t always no.”
It takes a moment, but then suddenly my skin is melting into his, becoming one. He holds me tight enough to make me feel like I can’t breathe but it’s wonderful to not be breathing with him.
My finger reaches out, the tip skimming across the smooth skin of his supple lips. He kisses my fingertip.
“Your green matches my purple,” I whisper, still tracing his lips. My lips. Mine.
“And Binx?”
I chortle. “She’s the black in the color scheme, obviously.”
He grins.
“Did you talk to your dad and brother today?”
“A bit,” he murmurs. “I called earlier. They said they were making dinner and that I should visit soon—see Andrew’s campus and stuff.”
“Why don’t you?”
It takes him a moment to shrug, slowly, his face contorted with discomfort. “I feel like it’ll feel like I’m betraying something—I don’t know.”
I draw lazy patterns on his chest with my fingers, tracing invisible hearts. “Talk it out.”
Rowan sighs, pained. “I just don’t think I could ever leave this town—and not in a bad feeling-trapped kind of way. I love it here. My mom is here, Nat. I don’t want to lose that, especially during the holidays and—”
“Hey, you won’t.” I scoot closer, skin flush against skin, and my palm rests on his stubbled cheek. “I don’t want to leave this town either. It’s perfect, honestly. But, even if we did, your mom would go wherever you go, you know that.”
“But the cemetery…”
I inhale sharply, exhale slowly. “Don’t hate me for this, but it’s just a grave. It’s just a rock in the ground. That isn’t her. You are her. Your brother is her. Your dad is her. She lives everywhere; she doesn’t live there.”
Rowan sniffs, his tongue poking at his cheek before he rasps, hoarsely, “I know you’re right, I just—”
“It’s okay,” I coo in a whisper and press a kiss to his cheek.
“I try, you know,” he croaks. “I try to keep my relationship with Andrew strong, and I try to check in with my dad. But it’s like once they left they never looked back.”
I frown, my throat going tight and dry as my lip quivers.
“Sometimes it’s just like I’m the one frozen in time, but they moved on,” he says and my thumb wipes the tear at the corner of his bright, sky-blue eyes.
Even if it’s a little cloudy, Rowan is still my smiling sun. And I will be his too.
“It’s almost like I’m still here, right where they all left me, waiting for something,” he croaks. “I just don’t know, Natalia. I don’t know…”
“That’s okay,” I cry quietly. “It’s okay, come here.”
I pull him to me and roll so his head is on my chest and my hands cradle the back of his beautiful, blond head. I soothe him, letting him take his time to settle into himself and let himself feel.
We rest for quiet minutes. Rowan lets himself cry in whispers, and tears drip on my skin. He sniffs and holds me tighter, arms squeezing my ribs into my organs—the pain so wonderful.
Rowan sniffs a bit louder again. “How is therapy?”
I rake my fingers through the thick, golden strands and scratch gently. “I’ve been going twice a week,” I say. “It’s…good. I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to think of me differently.”
He lifts his head and gives me a look. “Natalia—”
“I know, I know. You won’t.” I sigh. “The therapy has been intense. Sometimes very triggering, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. But we’ve been talking about the possibility of antidepressants.”
“There isn’t anything wrong with that,” he assures me. “Help is help. If it’s what you think you need then…You know yourself.”
“How are you like this?” I ask. “You never judge anyone for anything.”
“I have no business judging anyone—I’ve done things too. I’ve been mean to people who were only trying to help me. I’ve made horrible mistakes. I’ve wanted to die. I’ve taken medication. I can’t ever judge,” Rowan says and kisses me once, softly. “Is it what you want?”
I shrug lazily. “They’ve helped before. I just don’t—I don’t know. I don’t want to be on them my whole life, but if it’s the only way to keep me alive, then so be it. I’d rather be alive with you.”
He smiles. “I love you.”
“Rowan…”
He wants everything from me, and he wants nothing from me. He only wants this silly little blood pumping organ inside my chest that he makes race and relax.
“I know, sweetheart,” he says. So patient, so sweet, so him. So mine. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
My hand curls around his nape and I pull him to me as I move closer. Our mouths don’t crash against each other the way they used to. I think maybe, after so much time, so much of falling in love with him, and realizing how perfect we fit, our lips simply mold together by memory.
His lips do this, my lips do that, and they fit.
I throw my leg around his waist and push against his chest so I’m straddling his large, warm, muscled body. Christ, he’s so hot.
Rowan’s hands roam and feel and remind me of what it means to feel special. He reminds me of what it means to own my skin, to wear it, to love it. He reminds me of who I am, of all the dreams I had as a little girl. He’s my prince and I’m princess. A solider and a warrior, slaying demons together.
He doesn’t try to rescue me, he helps me rescue myself. He hands me the weapons and the swords, and says, “Here you go. If you go for the neck or the abdomen, they’ll fall.”
I’ve never loved anyone the way I love Rowan Asher.
I roll my hips over him, feeling him hard between my legs as his tongue grazes mine and my teeth nip at his lip.
My fingertips brush along the side of his head before digging into the hair behind his ear.
Sometimes I can’t tell which I like more—Rowan after a fresh hair cut, or Rowan when it’s a tiny bit grown out on the sides.
I pull back so my forehead is pressed to his, our breaths mingling, and settle my hands over his heart.
“I want to make you love me forever,” I say softly against his lips.
“You don’t have to make me do anything,” he whispers. “I’ve loved you for years, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” I nudge his lips with my own, grazing skin on skin, and kiss his bottom lip—lingering there. “Okay.”
As our lips finally touch and press together, a deep grumbling sound comes from Rowan’s stomach. His cheeks go pink and I chuckle. “Hungry?”
“A bit.” He laughs.
“Let’s go finish our Christmas dinner, then.” I roll off him, albeit reluctantly because I don’t think I can go one second without being next to him or touching him now.
We sit together on my couch, half naked and blissfully happy as we finish our meals.
Then my Christmas ends in the most perfect way with the most perfect person—with Rowan making love to me, again, until we are too tired to move.
Until the only thing we are capable of is a lackadaisical shower, brushing our teeth side by side at the sink, and then wrapping ourselves in each other to keep warm on the cold, snowy night.
His arms come around me, pulling me into him and I sink into his love. His knees fit behind my knees, his hand captures mine with his fingers between mine, and I hold our hands to my chest.
He kisses my bare shoulder then the back of my neck as he whispers in my ear, “I love you.”
I bring his hand to my lips. “Merry Christmas, Rowan.”
It’s the best Christmas yet.