“Do youtrustme, Addison?”
She bites her lip. “Yes.”
“Good,” I keep my joy contained as we share ourmoment. “Because I would never let anything happen to you. You know that, don’t you?”
“It took me some time, but yes. I still don’t know if I can fully trust someone other than myself…” Worry seeps into her tone, and it’s like twisting a knife in my chest. If I could take it all away, I would.
“And that’s okay,” I say. “I’ll always be there to catch you.”
She nods. “Can I wear one of your shirts to sleep?”
“Of course,” I smile before giving her a peck and standing. I pull out one of my fresh shirts from the dresser and present it to her. “From the Rowan collection.”
She snorts before taking it from me. “You’re such a dork.”
My smile fades slightly as I realize she hasn't seen my back yet. Our trust is rocky, but I want this. I wanther.
I’ve never shared this side of myself with anyone. No one knows what I hide under my clothes—the trauma that's carved into my skin. It’s a constant reminder of the hell I faced, and something I tried to cover up with tattoos. I quickly learned that no amount of ink could conceal the past.
“Is something wrong?” Addison asks, concern leeching into her eyes.
I swallow, looking away from her as if seeing her reaction will break me. “Um, my back…”
She tilts her head in question. “What about it?”
I take a breath before turning around and pulling my shirt over my head. I close my eyes in pain when I hear her soft gasp.
I feel bare—vulnerable.
I expect pity or the twisted expression of someone disgusted, which is why my muscles tense when I feel her delicate fingers hover over one of the rugged gouges carved under my shoulder blade.
“Rowan…” She sounds like she's on the verge of tears, and it makes my chestpang.
“My dad wasn't a good person,” I chuckle humorlessly asher hand trails along my back. Her touch doesn't hurt, but the ghosts of my past still linger with every scar.
I feel something soft press between my shoulders, and my lips part in shock when I realize she'skissingme. She’s kissing the very marks that made me feel unwanted. She’s giving me soft, caring touches over something that bleeds the ugliness of my childhood like a painted canvas.
There is no disgust or pity.
She’s heartbroken for me.
Her hands, gentle and tender, turn me back towards her, and my eyes widen at the tears welling. The green in her irises pops out, snagging my heart in a fist.
“How could he do that to you…” As the first tear slips from her enchanting eyes, I catch it with my thumb.
“It was a long time ago,” I say softly.
She shakes her head as her mouth screws up. “I’m so sorry you have to go through that, Rowan.”
Her words punch me in the gut. No one has ever been enraged on my behalf like this woman has. She’s upsetforme, and something shifts. It’s profound, and life-changing—like an eye-opening moment.
I’m in awe of her as I silently intertwine our fingers and lead her to the bed. She climbs in before lifting up the covers for me, completely unaware that she’s transformed before my very eyes.
She’s it for me.
She’s the one.
I slide into bed beside her and watch as she slips the shirt over her head. It swallows her, but she looks comfortable as she slides her legs under the covers, and I pull the duvet over us. I spoon her, and I notice how perfectly we fit together.
