Chapter 10
TEN
Rowan
Grant is quiet.
Too quiet.
I know it the second I climb into the passenger seat of his truck. The engine is running, the heater humming, the faint smell of leather and his cologne wrapping around me, but he doesn’t immediately reach across the console for my hand like he usually does.
Instead, his big hands are on the steering wheel, knuckles white.
My stomach drops.
“Hey,” I say softly, shutting the door and tugging my seat belt on. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Professor Whitman kept us back to go over the exam.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
Just that. No “darling,” no little smile, no teasing comment about him storming the building if I didn’t come out in five minutes. Just two flat words, his gaze fixed on the windshield.
Ice trickles down my spine.
He puts the truck in gear and pulls out of the parking lot.
The sky is already darkening, the Colorado winter evening coming on fast. Little clusters of students cross the sidewalks, heads bent, backpacks bouncing.
A few of them glance at Grant’s truck, at the big, scarred soldier behind the wheel, then double-take when they see me in the passenger seat.
Usually, I’d be too busy melting from his attention to care. Tonight, I barely notice.
Something’s wrong.
I fold my hands in my lap and try to breathe around the tightness in my chest. Maybe he’s tired. He had his doctor’s appointment today, plus physical therapy. The last time he went in, he was in a bad mood for hours afterward, grumbling about being poked and prodded and told to “take it easy.”
“Did you eat?” I ask, searching for neutral ground.
He nods once. “Yeah. I grabbed something at base.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “How did the appointment go?”
His fingers tighten on the wheel.
“We need to talk,” he says finally, voice low.
Four tiny words. Four very dangerous words.
My heartbeat spikes.
Oh, God. I knew it. I knew this was too good to be true.
We’ve been married for a week, long enough to get used to the rhythm of living together, long enough to figure out which side of the bed we each like and how many pillows I need, and the specific way he takes his coffee.
Long enough that I’ve let myself relax into it, into him. Into the idea that this might be real.
But it was always supposed to be temporary, right?
A deal.
A marriage of convenience.
Paperwork, he called it, back when he asked me to marry him on the sidewalk outside my crappy apartment building. Just a way to get me into med school without drowning in debt, a way to use his GI Bill for something that made sense.
Not… this.
Not a life.
My fingers shake as I reach across the console and find his hand. He hesitates for half a second, then unpeels his fingers from the steering wheel and lets me lace my smaller hand through his.
His palm is warm and rough, the familiar calluses scraping lightly against my skin. My chest aches with how much I love the sensation of his hand around mine. How safe it makes me feel.
“Is it about your doctor’s appointment?” I ask, my voice coming out thin. “Grant, what’s wrong? Are you—Is everything okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
The truck’s headlights cut through the early evening gloom as we merge onto the road toward base housing. Snow lines the shoulders, gray and crusted in places from plows and boots. The mountains loom dark in the distance.
My heart is in my throat.
“Grant,” I whisper.
He exhales a long, slow breath.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “It’s about the appointment.”
My grip on his hand tightens.
“Okay,” I say, even though I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together, okay? You and me. We’ll figure it out.”
He glances over at me, and something softens in his eyes. Some of the tension in his shoulders eases.
“You really believe that, don’t you?” he asks quietly.
“Yes.” My voice doesn’t even shake this time. “Of course I do.”
He looks back at the road, jaw working. Silence stretches between us, filled only by the hum of the heater and the faint sound of the radio low in the background.
I’m terrified, but I refuse to let go of his hand.
I’ll hold on even if this is the part where he lets go of me.
We turn onto the base and stop to show our IDs before passing through the gate. The guard waves us through with a nod at Grant. They all seem to know him. They all know what he survived.
We pull into our housing area, the little row of duplexes and townhouses that all look vaguely the same. A few Christmas lights still hang from the eaves, even though the holiday is long over. A kid’s bike lies in a yard, half buried in old snow.
Grant pulls into our driveway and shifts the truck into park but doesn’t turn off the engine. The air feels suddenly too hot, too thick. I can hear my own breathing.
He stares straight ahead for a long moment, then lets out another breath and finally turns to face me fully.
“I love you,” he says.
The words hit me like a physical blow. My lungs seize. My heart stutters. For a second, I’m sure I misheard him.
“What?” I whisper.
His eyes are so blue. So serious. The faint light from the streetlamp outside hits the scars on his neck, the rough red lines disappearing beneath his shirt collar, and I’m struck by how… alive he looks.
Not empty. Not angry. Not distant.
Alive.
“I love you,” he repeats, voice rough. “I’ve been trying to say it all day, but… hell.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m not good at this.”
I stare at him, stunned.
He loves me.
He… loves me.
Not just cares about me. Not just thinks I’m a good investment, or a smart plan. Not just wants to help me reach my goals.
He loves me.
I suck in a sharp breath, my vision blurring.
“Grant,” I breathe.
He swallows hard, gaze dragging over my face like he’s memorizing every freckle, every line.
“I knew from the second I saw you,” he says, voice low.
“In that stupid clinic, with you smiling at every idiot who walked up to your desk, being patient and kind and… you. I knew you were it for me. I never believed in that before. I thought love at first sight was bullshit, but then you looked at me and asked for my name, and it felt like something in me snapped back into place.”
My heart thunders.
“I’ve been trying to tie you to me ever since,” he admits, a faint, rueful smile crossing his face.
“M-marrying me,” I say, my voice trembling.
“Yeah.” He nods once. “Marrying you. Making sure you moved in with me. Getting my hooks in as deep as I could before you realized you could do better and ran.”
“Grant.” My eyes flood again.
“I didn’t need a wife,” he says quietly. “The military likes those for paperwork. Housing. Pay. Whatever. Yeah, I’ve got the GI Bill, and it made sense to use it. But I didn’t need a wife. I needed you. Just you.”
Tears slip down my cheeks.
All this time, I’ve been telling myself this was business. A transaction. A favor. That he could’ve done this with anyone.
But he didn’t.
He chose me.
“I should’ve told you from the beginning,” he continues, voice getting rougher. “I should’ve been honest about what I felt instead of hiding behind the GI Bill and the practical bullshit. But I was… afraid.”
“Afraid?” I echo, because the idea of this big, strong man being afraid of anything, especially something as soft as love, feels impossible.
He huffs out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but not quite.
“Yeah, darling. Afraid,” he says. “I got blown up. Shot. Dragged off the field. I was sent here to heal, but instead, I panicked and picked up a girl from the front desk because she made the world stop spinning for a second. I thought if I told you how much I wanted you, how much I needed you, you’d run.
And I couldn’t risk that. I couldn’t risk losing you before I even had you. ”
He shakes his head, jaw tight.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry if it ever felt like this was just some arrangement. Because it’s not that for me. It never was. I need you, Rowan. Not just in my house. Not just to cook for, or drive around, or make plans with. I need you. I love you.”
He squeezes my hand again.
“I love you,” he says, quieter now. “So damn much it scares me. If that’s too much, if it makes you uncomfortable, if you don’t feel the same, I’ll back off. I just—”
“I love you too.” The words rush out of me on a breath, my heart racing.
His eyes widen.
“What?” he asks as if he didn’t hear me right.
“I love you too,” I repeat, stronger this time. “Of course I do. You think I married a stranger and moved into his house and let him see me first thing in the morning just for fun?”
A startled laugh bursts out of him. I keep going because the dam inside me has cracked wide open.
“I thought you didn’t feel that way,” I confess, my voice wobbling.
“You were always so… practical about it. Calculated. You talked about the GI Bill and benefits and how it made sense, and I kept telling myself not to fall for you because you weren’t really mine and this was temporary and one day they’d clear you and you’d leave and—”
“Rowan.” His voice cuts through my babbling, warm and gentle. His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. “Hey. Darling.”
I suck in a breath.
“I fell in love with you,” I whisper. “Somewhere between you feeding me breakfast in your car and carrying me over the threshold in Vegas and unpacking my dad’s recliner in your living room. I just… I didn’t think I was allowed to say it.”
His eyes go molten.
“Of course you’re allowed,” he says roughly. “You’re allowed anything with me.”
“But you didn’t say it.” And that still stings. “Not until now.”
He grimaces, thumb stroke never stopping.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I was a coward. I didn’t want to add that pressure on top of school and money and everything else. And I was afraid that if I said it out loud, it would become real, and you’d… realize how much power you have to crush me.”
“Grant,” I breathe, shattered by that.