Chapter 34
please stay
Hannah
Rowan’s soft footsteps echo through the house. I stare at my cloudy reflection in the bathroom mirror, fogged over with steam I can’t seem to find the energy to wipe away.
One minute I was on fire, wanting more, and the next, I felt him hard against my inner thigh and some synapse in my brain misfired. Memories, flashbacks, I don’t even know. The panic just took over and I couldn’t see up from down anymore.
So I ran.
I bolted like a pathetic, traumatized child who doesn’t know how to use her words. And even now, half an hour later, hair wet and ratty from a scalding hot shower, cheeks painted in mascara streaks, I still can’t explain what happened.
Rowan pads cautiously into my room. I hear a soft thunk and I don’t have to see it to know what he’s doing. He’s brought me a fresh glass of water, probably turned off all the lights, locked the doors.
He blames himself when nothing could be further from the truth. I was the one with all the sexy innuendo quips in the backyard earlier. I climbed into his lap. Yes, I said stop, but that was an impulsive outburst meant for me, not him. He didn’t do anything wrong and still, he stopped. Instantly.
“If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. You’ll never have to say that word twice. Not with me.”
The man possesses the self-control of a saint. And me? I’m a mess.
Through a series of long, deep breaths, I pull my pajamas back on, clean my face, and throw my wet hair up in a bun. By the time I emerge from the bathroom, the house is quiet, shut down for the night.
When I step into the room, he looks up from his perch on the foot of my bed. Soft light from the nightstand lamp casts a somber shadow over his face, devastation and concern etched into the intense lines of his expression.
He drops my gaze and stands to his feet. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”
I stride forward. “What? No.”
“Hannah, I—”
My body slams into his, and I throw my arms around his waist, cheek hard against his collarbone. “Please stay.”
After a torturous beat, Rowan releases the pained breath in his lungs and wraps me up. His voice fractures around the words when he whispers, “I don’t know what to do.”
Stay. Don’t leave.
“It’s not you, I swear. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Hey.” The single syllable is both a demand and a plea as he eases me back by the shoulders until our eyes meet. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
But there is.
Emotion claws at my throat. I fist his shirt in my hands and lower his forehead to mine. “Don’t go. I want you here with me.”
He doesn’t argue, but the doubt remains when he climbs into bed next to me leaving a chasm of space between us that might as well be a mile. I shimmy onto my hip to face him. Hands clasped over his stomach, the veins in his neck twitch as he blinks up at the ceiling.
I reach over and cup his cheek. “Rowan.”
Slowly, like it kills him, he turns to look at me. “Tell me what you need, baby.”
The admission comes easier in the dark—in the space we’ve established between our hearts where secrets are safe, fears are validated. “I need you to touch me.”
Rowan rolls to his side. “Hannah, I don’t know if we should do—”
“Not like that. I just mean, your hands…on me.”
He lowers my palm from his face, plants a tender kiss on the center of it. “Where?”
I hesitate, not exactly sure how I should reply.
“Where, Hannah?” he repeats more sternly but still kind.
“Um…my legs, maybe?”
A deep breath. “Come closer.”
The blanket shifts as I scoot in and he slides a hand underneath. His warm palm finds my knee. I hitch it higher until I’m curled in a fetal position in front of him. In long, methodical strokes, he runs a tender hand over my calves.
“This okay?” he murmurs.
My eyes begin to flutter. I nod. “You can touch…more…i-if you want.”
I hate how my voice sounds, all weak and uncertain. But Rowan’s soft chuckle sets my mind at ease. “Don’t ever assume again that I don’t want to touch you. Got it?”
“So bossy.”
His hand journeys from my ankle, up to my knee, then my thigh before skating a path back down to start again. He does this over and over, every pass a little easier as he plants reassuring squeezes along the way.
Before I drift into unconsciousness, his lips come to my forehead. They float over one brow, then the other, mouthing something I can’t make out, like a prayer against my skin until I fall asleep in his arms.
A trickle of music pours from my phone, and I groan at the reminder. Rolling onto my back, I slap my hand around the bedside table until the beeping stops. I rotate back to find Rowan already awake, head propped on one elbow, looking entirely too alert for six in the morning.
“Morning, sunshine.”
I rub the sleep from my face. “No sunshine before coffee and eggs.”
He grins, pops a brow. “You gonna rate me as tough as you did yesterday?”
“Depends,” I squeak through a yawn, nestling back into his chest. “You gonna do better?”
His hand finds my leg under the blanket in the same manner he used to lull me to sleep last night. “Brat.”
I smile against the cotton of his shirt. “I tell it like it is, soldier.”
“Hey,” he whispers with a soft tap on my thigh. I shift up on the pillow, his eyes finding mine. “Hi.”
“Hi,” I say.
“You okay?” I nod, and his mouth covers mine in a soft kiss. “Good.”
A peaceful silence drops into the air where words don’t fit. Gazes tethered, we study each other as the remnants of last night hover above us—close enough to touch but distant enough to ignore in exchange for the comfort that’s here now.
“Come to the lake house with me,” he says. I blink, holding his eyes. “I need to spend some time up there to go through everything in storage and I’m handing over the keys for the city house to the realtor today.”
I sigh, feigning inconvenience. “That’s quite a commute for work.”
“I believe in you.”
“You gonna reimburse me for gas?”
“Drive you myself if I have to.”
“Oooh, my own personal chauffeur. Tell me more.”
The bed dips as he maneuvers to his back. Playing along, he frames an imaginary portrait above him between two hands and says, “Picture this. A pickup truck older than your pretty little self with chipped paint, a squeaky door, and a broken climate control system.”
“Loving this.”
“And,” he says, with great emphasis, “no cup holders.”
“Who needs ‘em?”
“Not you,” he claps. “And the best part…” He pauses for dramatic effect, one finger poised in the air. “It smells like old man.”
“Where do I sign?”
We break into a fit of giggles. In a frenzy of untangling legs, thrown covers, and a bouncing mattress, he sets back on his haunches to peer down at me.
“Right here,” he says, smacking a loud kiss on one cheek followed by the other. “And here.”
He rolls off the bed a beat later. The hardwood groans beneath his bouncing feet as he prances into the hall.
“Pack a bag, runaway. I’m gonna make your breakfast.”
“I told you I don’t cuddle and tell,” I singsong as Kristen and I stroll out the lobby doors.
“Yeah, but you also don’t bang and shut up, so spill.”
My head falls back on a laugh. “Please never say ‘bang’ again!” I shout a little too loudly as a woman pulling along a toddler in each hand squeezes past us, staring daggers at me. Kristen and I grimace in unison.
When the scarred youth are out of earshot, my friend nudges my shoulder. “Back to the banging.”
I sigh. “I promise there was no banging.”
We tip back our coffees at the same time. Her expression sobers as she swallows.
“Real talk, though,” she says, “I’m only half-serious about the banging.” Her finger runs circles around the lid of her cup. “I know you’ll hate hearing this, but I’ve been worried about you.”
She sees through my bravado same as last weekend when she left me with her therapist’s business card. But I’m still not ready to talk about it.
At my prolonged silence, Kristen continues. “At least tell me you’re sleeping.”
I link my arm through hers and offer up a nugget of honesty. Truth without the facts. “I can sleep when I’m not alone. And…I haven’t been alone. So, yes, I’m sleeping.”
A series of follow-up questions are on the tip of her tongue. I could deflect by telling her about the job offer at BCH, but I decide against it until the details are set in stone. An update consisting of Mom’s still got cancer sits under the surface, but that’s nothing new.
The only thing I’m sure of is I can’t tell her about last night. It was probably a fluke anyway.
I don’t have to say the lie out loud to taste the bitterness of it on my tongue. It wasn’t a fluke. And I hate that I know it wasn’t.
Call it avoidance. Tell me I’m burying my head in the sand. Lecture me on the dangers of denying what happened to me. I’m a big girl, I can take it.
But just…not today.
Kristen manages my half-assed answer with grace. “You know how to reach me if that changes. Day or night, doesn’t matter.”
I take her hand. “I know.”