Chapter 37 – Tessa
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Tessa
Icried the minute Rowan left.
The second the door clicked shut behind him, everything I’d been holding upright inside myself collapsed in a heap. Tears came hot and fast, the kind that make your throat ache before they ever reach your eyes. I sank onto the nearest box because my knees suddenly forgot their purpose.
Not because of Waffles—I’ll steal him back with absolutely no hesitation. If I’m willing to risk my freedom to rescue him from the animal shelter, I’ll damn well steal him back from Rowan. I’d scale a balcony or cut power to the building if necessary.
Waffles is family.
But I know why Rowan chose Waffles as payment.
He thinks Waffles is the only one I care about. He thinks the dog is the softest place in me, the one pressure point guaranteed to make me come back. Maybe he believes I’d fight for a dog faster than I’d ever fight for him. Maybe he’s right to think that after everything I’ve shown him.
That’s not true. I care about Rowan, too. I’m just confused.
Back in undergrad, I loved Rowan with all my heart and soul.
I loved him with the reckless certainty only young women and fools possess.
I loved the way he took up space as if he’d earned it.
I loved the sharp mind, the sharper mouth, and the rare smiles that felt like prizes.
I loved how he made me feel seen and challenged and chosen all at once.
But then this weight of emotions pressed down on me, and I couldn’t breathe.
Love stopped feeling like sunlight and started feeling like standing under deep water.
Every expectation, every fear, every old mistake I’d never forgiven myself for settled on my chest until I was drowning in something beautiful.
I couldn’t love him the way he deserved. At least, I felt like I couldn’t.
I know now that I was capable, but I needed to figure out myself first. I needed to become someone who didn’t apologize for existing.
And now, do I even know who that person is?
I think so. Some days, I catch glimpses of her. In therapy appointments. In hard boundaries. In mornings when I choose honesty over pleasing people. In moments where I speak and don’t immediately regret taking up air. But glimpses are not the same thing as certainty.
But am I the girl who fights the force of the past and takes the life she wants, or am I the girl who just starts over fresh? Do I plant my feet and claim joy where the wreckage happened, or do I run somewhere quiet and call it healing? Do I choose courage, or do I choose escape?
I have no idea.
I can tell you which idea sounds easier, but my heart aches with the thought of leaving Rowan again, especially now, with his semi-heroism. The idiot stormed in here, sweaty and arrogant and half-feral, assuming I belonged in his apartment.
Has he really been moving furniture around in his apartment to make room for Waffles and me?
The thought wrecks me more than it should. I picture him alone, dragging bookshelves across hardwood, muttering curses under his breath. Clearing closet space he pretends not to care about. Looking at empty corners and imagining where my things would go.
No one has ever made room for me before.
And I don’t know what to do with that kind of tenderness when it arrives wearing Rowan’s face.
I sigh and bury my face in my hands. My palms are warm against skin gone cold, and for a second, I just stay there, folded in on myself, hiding from the wreckage of my own thoughts.
I love Rowan King. I do. I so utterly do.
The truth lands with the force of something ancient and unavoidable.
It is not new love, not convenient love, or the kind built from timing and practicality.
It is old-rooted love. Wild love. The kind that survives distance, anger, humiliation, and years of pretending it died.
And while I don’t appreciate him trying to force my hand by taking my dog, I can appreciate the love he hid behind his actions.
Rowan has never been a man who arrives with flowers and clear declarations.
He arrives with strategy. With leverage.
With grand gestures disguised as irritation.
He loves like a man who doesn’t trust softness to be enough.
He wants me with him.
He doesn’t care about my past; he just wants me. Wants me with all the ugly chapters included.
A knock sounds at my door, and I damn near sprint to it. My heart foolishly launches itself forward before the rest of me can catch up. “Row—”
Rhys, in all his ire, stands at my door with a frown. His expression looks personally offended to be here. “I was told you wanted to see this.” He holds out a flash drive in his palm.
Disappointment crashes through me so quickly I almost laugh at myself. Of course, it isn’t Rowan.
That’s right, I wanted to know what doors Hale & Brooks had opened for us. I had almost forgotten. I was so wrapped up in Rowan and Waffles.
“Uh, thanks.” I take the stick and go to close the door when Rhys sticks out his hand and catches it. His reflexes are annoyingly fast.
“You know, I’ve never seen him go through such lengths for someone.” He tips his chin. “Not even for an IOU.”
There’s no sarcasm in his voice this time. Just blunt fact.
I don’t really understand what all that means, but I think I should be flattered. Or terrified. Possibly both.
Without another word, Rhys turns and leaves. He stalks down the hall like a man inconvenienced by human connection, hands in pockets and shoulders tight.
I want to ask him more, maybe drill him about Rowan.
Like, do you think he really loves me, or does he think I’m the girl who got away, and it’s a challenge to finally get me back?
But even I know that’s not the truth. Rowan only pursues the things he loves.
Ruthlessly. Relentlessly. Sometimes stupidly.
I should know, I’ve known him longer than Rhys and Deacon.
I knew him before he became whatever polished, dangerous version the world sees now.
Closing the door, I go to Tiffany’s computer and plug in the drive.
At first, I think he gave me the wrong file. It’s just dinner. People are mingling, and Rowan is nowhere in sight. Then, the camera pans to the front of the room and zooms in on the podium, where a big screen hangs behind it on the wall.
And then Rowan steps up.
Even through the grainy video, the room changes when he enters it.
Attention bends toward him like metal finding a magnet.
He looks composed, immaculate, and dangerous in his suit.
But I know him well enough to spot the signs beneath the surface: the set jaw, the stillness that means violence is being delivered politely.
I watch in silence as Rowan lays out what he knows about Hale & Brooks. Calmly. Methodically. No wasted motion, no raised voice. He exposes every detail of their corruption.
And Rowan? Rowan never flinches.
He just stands there in the center of the fire he started, looking every bit like a man who burned down an empire for me.
* * *
This jerk.
“I changed my mind. I think I’ll just keep Waffles. He’s less stressful.”
It took driving over multiple curbs and several curse words to get to Rowan’s in a moving truck.
My nerves are fried, my shoulders ache from gripping the steering wheel, and I’m 90 percent certain I invented two new traffic violations on the way here.
Now that I’m parked and have beaten on his door enough times that the neighbor came out and cut me a disapproving look, I’m standing in his doorway, and he’s got jokes.
“Let me in, and give me my dog back.” My hair has half fallen out of its clip, mascara probably somewhere near my temples. I look like a woman one inconvenience away from a headline.
A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of Rowan’s lip. Lazy. Smug. Entirely too pleased with himself. “Now, now, that’s not how you negotiate. I taught you better than that.”
I’m going to shove him, that’s how I’m going to negotiate.
He fills the doorway in a gray T-shirt and dark sweats, barefoot, like he’s been comfortable all evening while I’ve been unraveling.
Behind him, I can see warm lamplight, polished floors, and one of my hoodies already lying over the sofa.
The sight punches the air from my lungs for half a second. He really expected me to come.
“Rowan!” My patience is gone. Burned to ash somewhere around the second curb. I love this man, and I’m not planning to wait another second to spend my life with him. The realization crackles through me, suddenly simple.
“Tessa,” he drawls. “Tell me what you’ve learned from all this, and I will let you in.” He’s holding Waffles, whose good eye is closed as he strokes his head. The dog is melted against Rowan’s chest.
Traitor.
I bite my lip and huff out an exaggerated breath. My pulse is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “I learned not to run from my problems.”
He purses his lips, considering me like a professor deciding whether partial credit applies. “That’s good, but not what I’m looking for.”
Oh my gosh. I’m going to murder him on his doorstep. Then I’m going to resurrect him and marry him.
“Give me a hint, then.” I don’t have time for these games. My entire future is idling illegally in the fire lane.
Finally, he smiles and passes me the dog. Waffles comes willingly, the little sellout, warm and sleepy and smelling faintly like Rowan’s cologne.
“Who do you belong to, Whitmore?”
The question is not meant to be ownership or control. It’s recognition. Claim. The thing I’ve been running from because wanting to belong somewhere means risking being left.
I snuggle Waffles to my face and give him a gentle squeeze before meeting Rowan’s eyes. His expression has gone still, all arrogance stripped away.
“You, Rowan King, I belong to you.” My voice shakes with the truth of it. “And you belong to me.”
Something raw flashes across his face, gone so quickly anyone else would miss it. Relief. Love so sharp it nearly cuts me open.
He opens the door wider for me to step through, but before he can, he says, “You learned that I have always loved you, and nothing and no one will ever hurt you again.”
The words land in every broken place I have.
My throat tightens. Tears sting instantly, traitorous and hot. No one has ever promised me safety like that. No one has ever looked at my damage like something worth protecting instead of avoiding.
I step over the threshold, carrying Waffles, straight into Rowan’s waiting hand at the small of my back. Behind me is the parking lot, the truck, and the years I spent running.
In front of me is home.
* * *
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