I looked at the papers inside. At first, I didn't fully understand what I was seeing. A cover page, the hospital letterhead, clinical formatting. Then I started to read, and certain words caught my attention. Toxicology. Positive. Underneath it looked like some notes from a medical exam.
My eyes kept moving. I saw phrases like disoriented, memory loss, unable to recall several hours, suspected non-consensual sexual contact, Rohypnol. One line had a time and location. Another mentioned evidence collection.
I stopped reading when I realised I was holding my breath. Rohypnol. That was...
I stared at that part again, as if rereading it might suddenly make it say something different. My gaze landed on the date written in the corner – and my stomach turned. Late August. That was when I saw the bruises. When Rowan kept trying to get out of telling me why he looked so rough.
My hands clenched around the folder, but I forced myself to close it gently. My jaw hurt from how tight I was clenching it.
Rowan hadn't moved from his spot next to me. His shoulders were tense, his posture too straight. He stared off in some random direction, as if he didn't want to see my face while I processed what I was reading.
Don't yell. Don't lash out. Don't make this harder on him.
My voice came out quiet and tight with the effort it took to keep it level. "Did he...?"
Rowan didn't say a word. Didn't even nod. But the tiniest shift of his shoulders gave me the answer.
I didn't mean to throw it. One second, the folder was in my hands – the next, I'd flung it to the floor, pages scattering in a sharp burst of flying paper.
I saw Rowan flinch out of the corner of my eye. That snapped something in me, but I couldn't stop myself. I shot to my feet and started pacing, heat crawling under my skin so hot I couldn't breathe right. "I'll fucking kill him."
Every instinct in me screamed for blood, screamed to storm out the door and confront Marcus and put him in the ground myself. I didn't even care if it landed me in prison. Not when all I could see in my head was Rowan broken, drugged, and violated – and me too fucking blind to realise it back then.
"Eli, stop."
The words weren't loud, but they broke through my murderous rage long enough to get my attention. I turned sharply to find Rowan had stood and grabbed my arm, and I braced for the guilt. I must've scared him, set him back, made everything worse.
But he didn't flinch from me. His grip didn't loosen, and there was no fear in his face. Just urgency as his eyes searched mine. Then it clicked.
He wasn't scaredofme. He was scaredforme. Of what would happen if I let this drive me into something I couldn't undo.
Despite that, the anger continued to pulse in my ears. I wanted to put my fist through the goddamn wall. I wanted Marcus in front of me so I could break his face. I wanted – I didn't even know what I wanted, but it was violent and furiousand helpless all at once.
Rowan's grip on my arm tightened. "Don't. You can't let it do to you what it already did to me."
I stared at him. My jaw tightened again.
To my surprise, he wrapped his arms around my neck and pulled me down into a tight hug. "You couldn't have known, Eli. I didn't let you."
The rage inside me twisted and flipped. Suddenly, I wasn't angry at Marcus. I was furious at myself.
Returning the hug, my voice cracked when I said, "Is that what you were going to tell me? Before he...?"
"Yeah." The quiet way he said that nearly wrecked me.
Somehow, I resisted the urge to act on the fury still simmering in my bones. Instead, I pulled Rowan in tighter and held him firmly against my chest. He sank into it immediately.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. To focus on the way he felt solid against me. To remind myself that he was here and that he felt safe enough to finally tell me what happened. That was what mattered.
Neither of us spoke for a long while. At some point, I felt the last of the tension ease from my body, and I let out a slow breath. Before I could bite my tongue, I muttered, "I'm going to start keeping you in bubble wrap at this rate."
He let out a quiet huff of laughter and pulled back to look at me. "You'd pop all the bubbles just to annoy me."
"Well, duh."
His smile faded into something softer as he studied my face. His hand lingered at my shoulder, then slid up to rest against the side of my neck. His eyes scanned mine like he was making sure I was okay. Not just calmed down, but really, truly okay. Whatever he saw must've satisfied him because the nextsecond, he leaned in.
The kiss wasn't heated or teasing. It was slow. Gentle. Grounding. His lips moved with a tenderness I felt all the way to my chest, and a pulse of calm spread through me. When he pulled away, he let his forehead rest against mine.
