Chapter 33 #3
“You say that like it’s obvious.”
“Because it is. You’re Rowan Ashford. Of course you’ll be playing. And occasionally I’ll steal you away from all of them and make you play for me.”
His eyes narrow. “That sounds alarmingly close to imprisonment.”
“It’ll be a very luxurious imprisonment. And you’ll come home every night and tell me about all of it.”
Something shifts in his expression as he looks at me, the smile softening into something quieter, more vulnerable. “Home.”
I nod. “Wherever we are.”
He just looks at me before murmuring, “You make it sound easy.”
“It won’t be. The Reach will still be the Reach.
The families will still be the families.
People will still want things from us.” Lifting our joined hands, I press a kiss to them.
“If I wanted easy, I would’ve picked someone else.
But I didn’t. Though I could probably shackle you to my life if I wanted to. ”
A soft huff escapes him. “I knew that was coming.”
“I know.” And still, I find myself smiling. “But I don’t think I’d have to.”
For the first time since I’ve known him, Rowan doesn’t argue. He just tightens his fingers around mine and looks out the window, and somehow that feels more permanent than any promise I could have made.
A knock lands on the door before either of us can say anything else.
I don’t let go of his hand. “Come in.”
The door opens and Dad steps inside, his gaze dropping to our joined hands before lifting again. One eyebrow arches ever so slightly.
Beside me, Rowan goes completely still.
Well. That’s one way to introduce them.
“Dad.”
“Son.”
Rowan looks like he’d rather throw himself out the nearest window. Which, considering his injuries, would be ambitious.
Dad closes the door behind him and takes in the room with one slow glance. “I see the patient is awake.”
“I’m fine,” Rowan says, planting a hand beside him and attempting to haul himself out of bed.
Before he gets very far, I press a hand against his shoulder and guide him back down.
“What? I want to introduce myself to your father.”
“Not like this. You’re injured.”
“I’m capable of saying hello while injured.”
Dad’s mouth twitches. “Good luck, Rowan.”
Rowan blinks. “With what?”
“With getting him to stop fussing. Didn’t know you had it in you, Ciaran.”
Traitor.
Rowan rolls his eyes, and Dad clears his throat, making no effort whatsoever to look innocent.
He stops beside the bed and looks Rowan over for a moment. “Anyway, it’s good to finally meet you properly. I’ve heard your name often enough.”
“Sir,” Rowan begins, but Dad waves him off.
“Christian.”
Rowan glances at me before looking back at him. “Christian.”
“Much better. You’re settling in?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” His gaze dips to our joined hands. “Now, no more disappearing, son. You scared us all.” The words might be directed at Rowan, but somehow I know they’re meant for both of us.
Rowan squeezes my hand. “We’ll do our best.”
“Anyway, I just came up here to say hello. Your mother has spent most of the evening trying to keep me away from both of you. Good thing I’ve spent most of my life doing exactly what she tells me not to.
” Dad pushes away from the bed with a sigh.
“I’ll let you rest. Your cousins are already waiting downstairs to drag you back to the mansion, and your mother expects both of you for dinner tomorrow.
Don’t keep her waiting.” He glances between us. “Take care of each other.”
Then he leaves, holding the door open just long enough for Rafe and Marius to wander in carrying jackets, datapads, and entirely too much confidence.
Marius points at Rowan. “And before you argue, Damaris has already taken over the campus mansion.”
Rowan groans. “Damaris doesn’t live there.”
“Try telling him that.”
Rafe looks far too proud of himself. “Everything’s set up. Food, blankets, rooms. The whole disaster.”
“You’re moving back tonight,” I tell Rowan.
His gaze shifts to mine and I think he might argue. Instead, he just looks tired. “Okay.”
Yeah, baby. That’s what I thought.
Half an hour later, we’re outside, the evening air cool against my skin as Rowan narrows his eyes at the bike.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m injured.”
“Exactly. I’m not going to race through the city, mouse. Relax.”
His expression suggests he hates my logic. Unfortunately, it remains flawless.
Carefully, I guide him onto the back of the bike before climbing on in front of him, waiting while he settles himself and finally slides his arms around my waist. Not because he’s afraid, but because every movement still hurts.
Because healing is ugly, and sometimes letting someone hold you is easier than pretending you’re fine.
I squeeze his hands lightly. “Ready, mouse?”
His forehead settles between my shoulder blades. I feel it even through the jacket. “Take me home.”
Something deep inside me finally unclenches as the engine comes alive beneath us and the city lights slide past.
And for the first time in a very long time, it doesn’t feel like I’m taking Rowan somewhere.
It feels like I’m taking him home.