The office felt smaller than ever, the air dense with the aftermath of their fervent kisses, resting against the closed door where shadows draped over them, their breaths mingling as they clung to the simple presence of one another. Rowan lifted his head to meet Enya’s gaze, the clarity of her wide eyes anchoring him, cutting through the fog of desperation and desire.
Beep. Beep.
Cockblocking, fuckers. Jeez.
He yanked his phone out of his pocket and glared at it. before he answered. “I said give me an hou?—”
“It’s been an hour and a ha?—”
Shit, he still hadn’t told her about El Pastor. She lived in the same house as the war-room. He didn’t want her to hear what happened without some bit of warning.
“I’ll be there soon.” He ended the call and tossed his phone across the room.
“I don’t think you were supposed to do that.”
“Enya,” he started, his voice a rough whisper, “I need you to know something. It’s important.”
She blinked up at him, confusion knitting her brows. “Okay?”
Fuck. I hate this.
I don’t want fucking nightmares between us.
Rowan’s heart pounded beneath his ribs. He knew he should have told her sooner, under different circumstances, but the opportunity had slipped through his fingers as he’d been swallowed whole by the intensity of them together. Now, with Gael all up his ass for the debrief to begin, he had to just get it done. “You know I was in a country I can’t name chasing bad fuckers to rescue someone, right?” he began, watching her face carefully. “The man we were sent to rescue was taken by El Pastor’s network.”
The mention of that name, the name that had haunted her nightmares and shredded her peace, made her stiffen. Her eyes widened, fear and memories flitting briefly across herexpression, but she stayed silent, her fingers clenching his forearm as if willing him to continue.
“I—” Rowan hauled in a breath, grounding himself with the vehemence that surged through his blood, remembering that final confrontation, the raw, animalistic rage that drove him past any semblance of mercy. “He’s dead, Enya. I made sure he can never come after you again.”
For an instant, relief flickered across her features, the understanding of safety taking root. Then, as swift as lightning, it shattered, giving way to a storm of emotions. Her eyes welled up, tears spilling over and rolling down her cheeks.
Rowan’s gut twisted; he hated being this powerless to help her navigate the wreckage of her reaction.
“Darlin’…” His voice faltered as he cradled her face in his hands, thumbs wiping futilely at the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I— I thought it would help, knowing he can’t hurt you.”
But her sobs intensified, wracking her slender frame with a grief too complicated for words. It cut straight through him, the sight of her unraveling, and every tear was a punch to his chest. Every shaky breath a reminder of how deeply she’d suffered under the bastard’s orders.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, clinging to him like a lifeline in a turbulent sea. “I’m sorry,” she choked out between sobs, burying her face in his chest. “I don’t know why—I just…”
“Hey, hey,” Rowan murmured, holding her tight, his hand stroking the back of her head, trying to steady the trembling. “You don’t have to apologize, not for this.”
He wanted to say the right things, wanted to be everything she needed right then and there, but he had no freaking clue how to traverse the murky waters and the unfamiliar tide of emotions. This wasn’t a battlefield he understood. There were no orders, and he had zero clear objectives. What he did have was the woman who meant more to him than anyone ever had before, breaking apart in front of him, and he was fucking helpless to fix it.
“It’s over,” he kept saying, like a mantra, hoping against hope that the repetition would help or at least make sense. “He can’t get to you anymore, Enya. He never will.”
Her sobs eventually subsided into quiet hiccups, and Rowan coaxed her to sit, their bodies folding into the worn couch by the wall. He tugged her onto his lap, his arms enveloping her, creating a cocoon against the chill of the air sneaking through the half-open blinds.
The gentle rhythm of her settling heartbeats under his touch, combined with the steady rise and fall of her chest, brought him a glimmer of calm amid the tempest of his thoughts. Her vulnerability was laid bare before him, yet paradoxically, it was her resilience that shone brightest, clawing its way in through the cracks on the crumbling wall around his heart.
When Enya could finally speak, her voice came out small, but stronger somehow, her fingers idly tracing patterns on his arm. “I think… I think it’s just the finality of it. Knowing he’s really... gone. It’s like I can breathe, but it’s overwhelming all at once.”
He rubbed his chin on the top of her head. “Yeah, I get that,” he murmured. “It’s gonna take time. I’ll be here though, through every step, okay?”
She nodded, a shaky little smile breaking through as she leaned against him, her body softening against his, like an echo of all the whispered reassurances they’d exchanged in the kitchen, in the barn, under a blanket of shared aches and nightmares.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her warmth seeping through his bones like a balm. “For telling me. For… everything.”
Rowan tilted her chin up, brushing his lips softly over her forehead, letting the gentle touch speak to all the things he couldn’t yet put into words. “Always, Enya. I’m not going anywhere.”
