His posture suddenly changed. His whole body pulled inward, his gaze dropped, and the tension crept back into his shoulders. His hands twitched, and I watched his fingers curl tight around the blanket until his knuckles went white.
He wouldn't look at me, didn't even acknowledge what I just said. The room felt colder somehow, and I didn't know why.
Then, so quietly I almost couldn't hear him, he whispered, "You don't... You don't have to stay."
"What?" The word slipped out, sharper than I meant. When I tried to meet his eyes, he turned his face away from my hand.
"This isn't your mess to fix, Eli." His words were raw, almost resigned. "You've got your own life in London. You don't need to deal with this."
His tone set off a warning bell in my head.
I tried again, gentler this time. "Rowan... Hey. Look at me."
He refused. He just hunched deeper into himself, his shoulders creeping up to make himself smaller.
My frustration flared. "You really think I'm just gonna leave you here to deal with this by yourself? I'm not goinganywhere."
His jaw tightened, but otherwise, I saw no sign that he even heard me.
Then I remembered. The concussion. Of course.
He wasn't processing this right. He wasn't pulling away because he didn't want me here. He was pulling away because my words were getting scrambled in his head.
Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?
It felt like someone had thrown ice water on me. He thought I was blaming him.
I softened my tone. "Rowan, that's not what I meant. You didn't do anything wrong. You hear me?"
Still no answer. But when I reached for his hand again, he yanked it back. "Just go, Eli."
The sudden force behind his words knocked the air out of me. "Rowan – "
"Go!" His breathing picked up again, and so did the heart monitor. The look on his face made it clear how much pain it caused him just to find the air to speak. "You don't have to ... to pretend to care. I'm fine. Just – just go back to London."
He was barely holding it together. I wanted to reach for him, to try to make him understand, but I knew it wouldn't help. Not right now. He wasn't thinking straight and couldn't make sense of what was happening. Pushing would just make it worse.
I took a slow breath to keep my own emotions in check. "Okay," I said quietly, even though it killed me to say it. "Okay, I'll give you some space."
Still nothing. Just that tense, guarded posture. I couldn't stand the sight of him curled in on himself like that.
Against my better judgment, I forced myself to step away and headed toward the door. Rowan made no move to even acknowledge me leaving. I hesitated with my fingers on the handle and glanced back one last time, but he was stillstaring at the wall, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard.
Reluctantly, I slipped out into the hallway. The latch clicked shut behind me, but my unease didn't go away.
I leaned against the door as I tried to figure out how to handle this. If I wanted to help him, I had to be smart about it. He needed time to get his head on straight. The concussion had twisted his thinking, and until he could see things clearly, it wouldn't matter what I said or did.
If I gave him some space, just for a little bit, maybe he'd settle. But I couldn't just sit around and do nothing. I'd go back to London as I originally planned, but only long enough to take care of a few things. Then I'd come straight back. Maybe by then, he would be in a place to actually hear me. I could make sure he truly understood that I refused to let him deal with this on his own.
I wasn't giving up on him. I just needed to be patient.
And yet, as I made my way toward the exit, I couldn't shake the idea that leavingat allfelt like walking away from the one person who needed me most. The only thing that kept me from turning around was knowing the hospital wouldn’t let Marcus within a mile of him.
The cool night air bit through me when I stepped outside, but it didn't do a damn thing to calm my anger. I took a few fast steps away from the building until I reached the car park, then I forced myself to slow down. My hand went to my pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up, and I squinted at the time.
2:17 am. No wonder I was so fucking tired.
I'd been running on pure adrenaline for the past twelve-plus hours, and now it was catching up to me. My arms and shoulders hurt from carrying Rowan, to the point where I had trouble just gripping my phone. My legs didn't feel much better from the speed walking. Honestly, I didn't know how I was still upright.
