Rowan chews at his lip as he deliberates. It takes him a long moment to settle on a question. “You were going to leave when we were in West Virginia and I killed Francis. Why didn’t you?”
The image of Rowan kneeling on the road bursts to the forefront of my mind. I’ve thought about it so many times, the way he rained relentless blows on the man clutched in the grip of his madness. I’d watched from the shadows, and as Rowan slowed and stopped, I backed away. Leaving was the smart thing to do. He was clearly unhinged. Dangerous. He’d grabbed me by the throat only moments before, and even though I was afraid, I still trusted him. Part of me knew he pushed me away from Francis and the car to hide me in the shadows. And when it was over, my mind screamed at me to run, but my heart saw a broken man on the road, struggling to find himself in the haze of rage.
And the first word to pass his lips was my name.
I hadn’t made it more than two steps backward. I never even turned away.
“You called out for me. It sounded like loss. I…” I swallow, and his touch finds me from the shadows, a trace of tingling warmth that flows up my arm and back down again. “I knew you didn’t just want me to stay. You needed me to. I haven’t been needed like that in a long time.”
His gentle caress finds my cheek, a contrast to the violence that carved scars into his knuckles that night. “It’s probably pretty obvious by now, but I’m glad you stayed.”
“Me too.” I lean closer and press my lips to his, relishing his familiar scent and the warmth of his presence. When I pull away, I say, “Can I ask you a question, even though I just lost rock-paper-scissors?”
Rowan’s laugh precedes a kiss to my temple. “I think I can give you a freebie. Just one though.”
“I remember you whispering to Francis before you beat him. What did you say?”
The pause of silence between us stretches on, and for a moment I think he’s not going to answer. Rowan slides his hand beneath my pillow and pulls me closer until my head rests on his chest, his heartbeat a comfort in the dark.
“I said the same thing that I told you just before I killed him,” he finally says. “That you’re mine.”
When that piece of the puzzle snaps into place, it aches a little, like my heart has to crack to make room for it to fit. It doesn’t seem like it could be true, but maybe Rowan really has been sure about us all along, about what we could be and what he wanted. He was patiently waiting for me to catch up.
I press a kiss to his chest and settle my cheek above his heart. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
My eyes drift closed, and the next time I open them, the room is washed in the dawn light that creeps in through the slatted blinds.
I’m still wrapped in Rowan’s embrace, his legs intertwined with mine and his arm slung across my waist. He’s fast asleep. I take a moment to just watch the twitch of his eyelids and the steady rise and fall of his chest, and then I untangle myself from his limbs and slide away. When I’m done in the bathroom, he still hasn’t moved, so I get dressed in silence and leave him to sleep.
The scent of coffee and sugary batter pull me down the hall. When I make it to the dining room, Rose is already there, her dark hair looped over her shoulder in a loose braid and a plate of waffles set before her. She looks up as I approach and gives me a bright smile, her big brown eyes welcoming.
“Morning,” she says. “There’s more in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
“Thank you. And I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Rose says around a mouthful of waffle. Her gaze darts around and she squints at me like she’s trying to work out if I stole something from her in the night.
“For being…loud.”
Rose just shrugs and drops her attention to her plate of food. “Honey, I’ve lived in a literal circus since I was fifteen. I could sleep on the Tilt-a-Whirl if I had to.”
I snort a laugh and head to the kitchen, pulling two mugs from the shelf to fill them with coffee. “The clown alley thing from yesterday makes more sense now.”
“Well, whatever was going on,” she says with a goofy, exaggerated wink as I meet her eyes across the kitchen island, “I didn’t hear a thing. But him, on the other hand…he looks a little worse for wear.”
I turn as Fionn enters the dining room in his pajamas, his hair disheveled, eyes half-lidded. He heads straight for the fridge and pulls a bottle of probiotics from a row on the door. When I glance at Rose, her smile is wicked.
“Good sleep, doc?” she asks. “I slept like a rock. Not sure about Sloane and Rowan though.”
Fionn gives her a dark look. But there’s a banked heat in it too.
“I’m sorry,” I say, my cheeks heating with fire beneath my skin. “You’ve been so kind to take us in on zero notice. We didn’t mean to keep you up with the whole uh… pent up… um. Stuff.”
“Don’t worry, Blackbird. He’ll be just fine. Doctor Blueballs is just a little jealous.”
Rowan approaches in a pair of low-slung sweats and nothing on top but a delicious spread of muscle and ink. My blush heats a second time as he stops by my side to lay a kiss on my temple.
“Put a shirt on, loser,” Fionn grumbles as Rowan slaps him on the back and pushes past him to grab the milk.
“Why? I figure it’s good to remind you periodically that even though you spend hours a day on your burpees, I can still kick your ass.”
Fionn looks like he wants to argue that point, but his gaze darts over his older brother’s muscled and scarred body before he seems to rethink that idea. “I thought I said something about taking it easy,” he argues instead. “Getting rest. No rough…sports.”
Rowan’s grin is nothing short of diabolical. “We weren’t playing sports. We were having sex.”
Rose cackles at the table and stuffs another bite of waffle into her mouth. “Amazing. I love these two. Can they stay?”
“No.” Fionn glares at Rose and then Rowan before shifting his attention to me, his expression taking on an apologetic quality. “I’m sorry. Under normal circumstances, definitely. But that prick over there,” he says, hooking a thumb toward Rowan, “he’s going to make my life hell for the nickname thing until he gets it out of his system. I need sleep at night. And so do you. In fact, you should probably take a couple of weeks off work until you’re out of the sling.”
“I’ve still got another week of vacation,” I reply. “I haven’t taken a sick day in almost two years, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’m going to write you a doctor’s note anyway, just in case. I want you to wear the sling as much as you can. And schedule some time with a physical therapist. No heavy lifting, no sports,” he says as he darts a pointed look to Rowan. When Fionn’s gaze returns to me, his brow furrows with worry. “Do you have someone who can help you at home if you need it?”
“She does,” Rowan replies before I have a chance to even mention Lark’s name. “She’s got me.”