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His eyes close. “I look forward to meeting him.”
My chest tightens, and tears bead in my eyes. A shaky smile lifts my lips. “Yeah.” My throat closes. “He’ll love you.”
When Rowan kisses me again, I release my inhibitions until there is only me, him, and no space for grief between.
Chapter 19
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Grumpy/sunshine>>>
Rowan
I’m lost in a pool of heat, riding the tides of everything that happened before Briar fell asleep in my arms. I don’t know if minutes or hours have passed since exhaustion stole her gentle words and soft laughter from me. I haven’t found the strength to get up, turn the light off, or move away.
Sprawled in my bed with her, I carefully push a few damp strands of her hair from her brow and swallow, hard. The hem of her shirt has ridden up to display a slice of her toned stomach, and I don’t know what I would have done if she’d taken it off.
Even now, while she’s asleep, my eyes can’t stop tracing the bleeding heart printed on the dark fabric. It moves, like a weak beat, with her every inhale, and I am hypnotized.
The ghost of her hands sear my flesh, iron prints and nail bites pricking my raw nerves.
I’ve never experienced anything like this.
My body is buzzing, desperate, starved, yet I could spend an eternity wanting if it’s an eternity where I get to continue holding her.
It is impossible for you to become the monsters you’ve feared.
Impossible, huh?
From where I’m looking on, it doesn’t seem that impossible.
She is a tapestry of torture.
Kisses and bruises speckle her skin, branding her with enough me to ease the still-burning ache in my chest. I was not gentle.
You listen, and you care.
And I would have stopped. I would have. If she indicated in any way that she wanted me to, but she didn’t.
I trace her cheekbone with my thumb, dwell on the way her soft skin contrasts my rough print.
I chart her freckles, connect the constellations, map every mark.
She’s spent enough nights in my bed that even lying atop the blankets like we are, her scent taints my every shallow inhale. I’m trapped in a pillow of lemon and vanilla. I never want to be free.
You are good, Rowan.
Good.
I circle a bruise on her neck with a fingertip, and I don’t know what her definition of good is, but I’m not oblivious to the weight of her feeling safe enough to fall asleep with me. She’s made it so clear she doesn’t consider me a threat, but I never considered my parents a threat either.
They, too, were careful when they covered me in scars. They made a point of my pain never being a punishment. It was always a learning experience. Always a matter of pride. Always a lesson in loyalty. They turned my feelings of justice against me to justify what they did to me.
Every step of the way, they played games with my mind and led me to trust them in spite of their abuse.
I know now they were skilled narcissists.
Only after I met Corbin a handful of years ago did I become aware how wrong it all was, but by that point it was too late. My childhood was long over. My tangled flesh had been numb for over a decade. The wounds had healed, the scars remained, and there was no reason to fight.
