22. Rowan
— ? —
Rowan
She’s sure.
She said she’s sure, and I believe her - I have to believe her - because if I don’t do this now, if I don’t show her what words can’t say, I’m going to lose her forever.
The truck bed is soaked. I grab the emergency blanket from behind the seat, the one I keep for roadside breakdowns, and spread it across the metal. Rain hammers against us, wind whipping through the clearing, but neither of us cares.
Audrey climbs up first, pulling me after her, and then her mouth is on mine again and I stop thinking about anything else.
This isn’t the careful love we made in our first years together - tentative and sweet, learning each other’s bodies like maps. This is something else entirely. Something primal.
Her hands are everywhere, yanking at my soaked jacket, shoving it off my shoulders.
I pull at her sweater, cursing the wet fabric that clings to her skin, and then finally, finally, it’s gone and I can see her in the flickering lightning - rain streaming down her chest, her skin pebbled with cold, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’re freezing,” I say.
“Warm me up.”
I press her down against the blanket, covering her body with mine, and kiss her throat. Her collarbone. The swell of her breast above the soaked fabric of her bra.
“Rowan-”
“Let me.” I unclasp her bra, peel it away. “Let me show you.”
I take her nipple in my mouth and she arches against me, gasping, her fingers digging into my shoulders. The rain is freezing but her skin is hot, and the contrast makes everything sharper, more intense.
“More,” she says. “I need-”
“I know what you need.”
I kiss my way down her stomach, fumbling with the button of her jeans. The denim is impossible, soaked and stubborn, but I manage to drag it down her hips along with her underwear, baring her to the storm.
“Look at me,” I say.
She does. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and there’s something fierce in her expression - not forgiveness, not yet, but something close to trust.
“I love you,” I tell her. “I have always loved you. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving it. Because you’re mine. My wife.”
Then I lower my mouth to her center and show her what I mean.
She tastes like rain and salt and everything I’ve been missing. I lick into her slowly at first, learning her again, finding the rhythm that makes her gasp and writhe. Her hands fist in my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, and I groan against her.
“Don’t stop-” Her voice is ragged. “God, Rowan, don’t-”
I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and feel her whole body tighten. She’s close. I can feel it in the way she trembles, the way her thighs clench around my head.
“Let go,” I murmur against her. “I’ve got you.”
She shatters.
Her cry is swallowed by the storm, her body arching off the truck bed, and I work her through it - fingers moving, tongue stroking - until she collapses back against the blanket, panting.
“Rowan.” Her voice is wrecked. “I need you inside me. Now.”
I don’t need to be told twice.
I shed the rest of my clothes - jeans and boxers, soaked and clinging - and settle between her thighs. She’s looking up at me with those dark eyes, rain running down her face, and something in my chest cracks open.
This is everything. She is everything.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“I don’t want sorry.” She reaches up, pulls me down to her. “I want you.”
I push inside her in one long stroke.
For a moment, neither of us moves. We just breathe, foreheads pressed together, adjusting to the feeling of being connected again after so long apart.
“Move,” she whispers. “Please.”
So I do.
It’s not gentle. It’s desperate and raw and everything we’ve been holding back for months.
I thrust into her hard, and she meets me stroke for stroke, her nails raking down my back, her legs wrapped around my waist. The truck rocks beneath us.
The rain pounds down. And I lose myself in her - in the heat of her body, the sound of her moans, the way she says my name like a prayer.
“Audrey-” I’m close, too close, but I need her to get there first. “Are you-”
“Yes-” She’s gasping, her whole body tensing. “Yes, I’m - Rowan-”
I reach between us, find her clit, press hard. She comes with a scream that the storm swallows whole, and the feeling of her clenching around me drags me over the edge after her.
I bury my face in her neck and come harder than I have in years, whispering her name like it’s the only word I know.
After, we lie tangled together in the truck bed, the emergency blanket pulled over us against the rain. The storm is beginning to ease, the thunder moving out to sea.
“I choose you,” I say against her hair. “I will always choose you. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Then, softly:
“That wasn’t forgiveness.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you yet.”
“I know that too.”
“But I don’t want to let you go.” She tilts her head up to look at me, and there’s something vulnerable in her expression - something I haven’t seen in months. “Even after everything, I don’t want to let you go.”
“Then don’t.” I kiss her forehead. “Hold on. Let me hold on too. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“What about tomorrow? The texts. The whole town-”
“We’ll face it together.” I pull her closer. “Whatever happens, we face it together. No more running. Not from Maryse, not from anyone.”
She’s quiet again. The rain patters gently now, the storm fading into mist.
“Okay,” she says finally.
“Okay?”
“One day at a time. One step at a time.” She presses her lips to my chest, right over my heart. “But you’re sleeping in my bed tonight. Not the couch.”
I laugh - a real laugh, surprised out of me. “Yes ma’am.”
“And tomorrow, when everyone knows-”
“Tomorrow, I stand beside you. I don’t hide. I don’t make excuses.” I tip her chin up, kiss her softly. “Tomorrow, I start earning back what I threw away.”
She kisses me back. It’s tender this time, almost sweet.
“I’m still angry,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“I’m still hurt.”
“I know.”
“But I love you, you idiot. I’ve loved you since I was seventeen years old, and I don’t know how to stop.”
“Then don’t stop.” I hold her tighter. “Love me angry. Love me hurt. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”
The rain fades to nothing. The stars begin to emerge through the breaking clouds.
And we lie there, wrapped around each other, two people who’ve been through hell and come out holding on.
It’s not a happy ending. Not yet.
But it’s a beginning.