As the pleasure begins to recede, a tightness in my chest takes its place, along with a burning behind my eyes that has nothing to do with physical sensation. A sob builds in my throat, and this time I can’t swallow it down.
It breaks free, ragged and raw, followed by another, then another, until I shake beneath Rowan, tears flowing. My hands, which had been clawing at his back moments ago, now clutch at him, as if he might disappear if I let go.
Rowan rolls to his side, taking me with him, keeping our bodies connected. His arms wrap around me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other tracing soothing patterns on my spine.
“It’s all right, I’m here,” he murmurs, his lipspressed to my forehead. “You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.”
I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his pheromones as the sobs continue to wrack my frame. I don’t understand what’s happening, why this release of pleasure triggered a deeper reaction of grief and relief.
Rowan murmurs into my hair, too quiet to catch.
I don’t ask him to repeat it.
Because part of me is afraid I already know what he said.
13
Iwake hollowed out, scraped raw from the inside, with sunlight warming my puffy, swollen face.
Slowly, the memory of last night floods back. My breakdown, the sounds I made, and the tears I couldn’t stop. Embarrassment heats my neck as I grind the heels of my palms over my burning eyelids.
The sheet slides across my bare skin as I roll to check the time and find it’s past ten in the morning. I never sleep this late on weekdays, and my pulse leaps. Did Lena get up for school on time? I didn’t check her homework.
My muscles protest as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, the soreness in my lower back a physical reminder of everything I surrendered.
I shuffle to the bathroom, avoiding my reflection until I’ve splashed cold water on my heated skin three times. When I lift my head, a puffy-eyed stranger stares back at me, lips chapped and swollen, hair sticking up in tufts.
I touch my throat where bruises bloom in the shape of Rowan’s mouth above the cheap nape guard, now mangled as if it’s been fed through a crimper.
After I brush my teeth, I shuffle out to the closet and pull one of my high-collared shirts from the hanger and find a clean pair of sweats to put on. Dressing hurts as every movement pulls at muscles I didn’t realize could ache. The soft cotton catches on my skin, still tacky from dried sweat we didn’t wash off.
When I enter the kitchen, Lena sits perched on a stool at the island, her school uniform crisp and her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. I gape at her, then at the spread of food before her. It looks as if it belongs in a magazine, with fresh fruit arranged in spirals, pancakes stacked in perfect towers, bacon laid out in rows, and pastries from a bakery, not a box.
“Well, well,” she says, fork paused halfway to her mouth. “You finally decided to join the living.”
I grunt in response, beelining for the gleaming coffee pot on the counter. “Why aren’t you at school?”
“Late start,” she reminds me with a note of amusement that scrapes over my raw nerves. “Rowan said you needed rest and not to wake you.”
The mug is heavy in my hand as I pour, black liquid steaming into blue ceramic. “Where is he?”
“In the office upstairs.” She points to the iron staircase that leads to the floating platform as she studies me over the rim of her orange juice glass. “Have you been crying? Your eyes are all puffy.”
The coffee burns my tongue as I drink. “Mind your own business.”
“Sorry for caring.” She puffs her cheeks at me before returning to her pancake, cutting it into neat triangles. “You’re extra grumpy today.”
Before I can respond, footsteps sound on the stairs, and Rowan appears, hair still damp from a shower, wearing a button-down shirt that molds to his broad chest. His scent reaches me first, clean soap and pheromones triggering memories of last night. Heat floods my body, clashing with embarrassment.
He crosses to me without hesitation, his hand finding my hip in a casual claim as his lips brush my temple, warm breath tickling my ear. “You should have slept longer. You wore yourself out.”
I step back, putting space between us. “I’m fine.”
His fingers trail along my arm as I move away, not willing to let go.
Lena stares at us with undisguised interest, her fork abandoned beside her plate. “You guys are so cute. I’ve never seen my brother let anyone touch him like that.”
I narrow my stare at her. “Shouldn’t you be leaving? Even if you catch the bus now, you’re going to be late.”
