“That part still feels a little unreal,” she admits quietly.
I understand the feeling. The warehouse hasn’t left my head yet. I can still see the glimmer of the overhead lights, and still hear the echo of gunfire against the metal walls.
Rowan repositions beneath the blanket. The movement pulls my attention back to her.
“You saved me,” she whispers
I pull her a little closer against me. “There wasn’t another outcome.”
My hand slides slowly down from her cheek and rests against the side of her shoulder. I pause briefly before moving it down her arm.
“You’re being very cautious this morning,” she notes.
“You were dragged across a concrete floor.”
“That keeps coming up.”
“And it’ll continue coming up,” I reply.
Her quiet laugh fills the room. The sound feels warmer than anything else in the apartment.
Rowan rolls onto her side so she’s facing me more directly. The blanket slides with her, revealing the faint band of purple bruising along her ribs before she pulls the fabric back into place.
Then her eyes drop to the center of the blanket between us and slowly lift again. “You’re thinking about the baby.”
“Yes.” I don’t bother pretending otherwise.
Rowan studies me carefully. “Still processing?”
My hand moves up to the back of my neck, rubbing slowly before dropping back to the mattress. “Among other things.”
Rowan moves again, settling into the pillow more comfortably. “You’re taking this very well.”
I lean closer. Releasing her hand, I carefully slide mine beneath the blanket, resting it lightly against her stomach.
“This child,” I tell her quietly, “is not a problem.”
Her breathing slows slightly.
“It’s a gift,” I continue.
The words feel simple when they leave my mouth. But they’re the truth.
Rowan’s eyes soften. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
She studies me for another long moment before her hand lifts, resting against my chest, directly over my heart. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“There wasn’t much to think about.”
Her lips curve faintly. “That might be the most reassuring thing you’ve ever said.”
I lean down and kiss her. The contact is slow and meaningful, nothing rushed about it. Rowan leans into the kiss with a soft breath. When we pull apart, her forehead rests briefly against mine.
“I’m glad it’s you,” she whispers.
My hand slides along her back. “There was never going to be anyone else,” I breathe.
