“You don't have to be careful with me,” he murmured after a second, his thumb brushing my jaw. “I promise I'm not made of glass.”
I started to argue, but he shook his head slightly and kept going.
“I know what's going on in your head. I know you worry, and I understand why. But I’m not going to break." He let that sit for a second before adding, softer, “Especially not with you.”
My throat tightened, but he didn't let me look away.
He leaned in just enough that our noses brushed, and his expression sobered again. "I've always felt safest with you. I need you to know that. If it were anyone else last night, it wouldn't have happened. You didn't do anything wrong."
I didn't know what to say to that. So instead, I wrapped my arms around him again and pulled him close, pressing my face into the side of his neck. He melted into it with a quiet exhale and settled into the space I made for him.
His words steadied something deep in me. I always knew he trusted me. He'd shown it in a thousand quiet ways over the years. But hearing him say it out loud so plainly made it hit different. I didn't take that kind of trust lightly – and I wasn't going to waste it.
For now, I didn't let myself think about what I read in that folder. Or how much it hurt to know he'd carried that alone. I just held him. Let everything sink in slowly instead of all at once. I felt his warmth, the solid press of his body against mine, the quiet strength in how tightly he held me back.
Eventually, I eased back a bit to look at him. My hand drifted up to rest over his heart. "You know what? We should go see the fireworks."
He blinked. "Fireworks?"
"Yeah. Next week, for New Year's." I smirked. "I mean, unless you got something better planned."
He rolled his eyes. "When you put it like that..."
"I do put it like that. Because it's gonna be fun. Fireworks, hot chocolate. And most important, making fun of tourists trying to take selfies in the dark."
That earned me a small, amused exhale. "That does sound tempting."
"Sooooooooo we're going, then?"
He let out an exaggerated sigh. "Yeah. Yeah, we're going."
A triumphant smile tugged at my lips. "That's my boy."
His face turned red immediately. "Eli..."
But I was already laughing and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his forehead before he could properly tell me off.
I couldn't fix what happened to him. I couldn't go back and stop Marcus before he ever got his hands on him. But I could be here with him now. I could remind Rowan that he wasn't alone anymore, that his life wasn't just a patchwork of bad nights and things he wished he could forget.
And that there was more waiting for him than just what Marcus left behind.
Rowan
40
Eli rifled through the dresser with increasing frustration. He shoved aside a hoodie, then yanked open another drawer. "Where the hell are my gloves? Ijusthad them."
I tugged my coat tighter around me as I watched from my seat on the bed. "You say that like you're ever organised."
He sent me a look over his shoulder with an expression caught somewhere between a smirk and mild offence. "I'll have you know that I have a system."
"Chaos is not a system, Eli."
"Controlledchaos," he corrected, lifting a finger as if he was making some grand point. He glanced into the drawer he just opened, then abruptly pulled his gloves from between a pile of shirts with a goofy triumphant expression. "See? I knew they were in here."
I rolled my eyes, but the warmth in my chest lingered as I watched him tug them on and adjust his coat. He'd just gotten back from spending a couple of days in London to pack up the last of his things, and sometimes I wondered how he ever found anything in that flat. Every time I'd been there, it looked like someone had started unpacking and then gotten distracted halfway through.
Then again, maybe it didn't matter. He probably didn't spend much time there, anyway. Not enough to need a system.Or maybe this whole "controlled chaos" thing was just a side effect of being an artist. Creative brain, cluttered life.
