Soren's hand tightened around mine, but he didn't say anything. Just waited.
“I didn't tell anyone for months. Didn't even really admit to myself that it was abuse because men aren't supposed to—” I cut myself off and shook my head. “Tess figured it out eventually. Saw bruises I couldn't explain away. She helped me get out, but the damage was already done.”
“Rook,” Soren said softly, and there was so much compassion in his voice that it made my throat tight.
“Sex with her was — she used it as a weapon. As control. And she'd get rough in ways that felt more like punishment than pleasure, and I just — I learned to shut down during it. To let it happen and not be present.” I turned my head to look at him. “That's why I panicked in Montreal. After the hotel. Not because I didn't want you. Because for a second my brain couldn't tell the difference between want and control, and it terrified me.”
He lifted our joined hands and kissed my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. “I'm sorry that happened to you. And I'm sorry I didn't know.”
“You couldn't have known.”
“I know. But I'm still sorry.” He shifted closer, pressing his forehead against mine. “Thank you for telling me.”
We stayed like that for a long time, just breathing together, and I felt a thing inside my chest finally start to unclench. I'd carried this alone for years, letting it shape how I moved through intimacy and relationships and my own body. But Soren washolding it now too, carefully and without judgment, and that made it feel lighter somehow.
“You're not her,” I said eventually. “Nothing about you is like her. I need you to know that.”
“I know.”
“And what we just did — that was different. That was good.”
“Yeah.” He smiled against my skin. “That was really fucking good.”
I kissed him again, soft and slow, and he melted into it with a sigh that sounded like relief. When we finally pulled apart, the room had gone fully dark except for the light creeping under the door, and I could hear the ocean through the window.
“Stay,” I said, even though I knew he would.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Soren said, and I believed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
no more halfway
ROOK
Finn knocked on the door at ten in the morning, which was either perfect timing or terrible timing depending on how you looked at it. Soren had been up for an hour, moving slowly through the house like he was still learning how to exist in a space that wasn't actively trying to kill him. I'd made coffee and scrambled eggs that he'd picked at without much enthusiasm, and we'd settled into a comfortable silence on the couch overlooking the ocean when the knock came.
I opened the door to find Finn grinning at me with Jamie standing beside him, bouncing on his toes with the kind of energy only eight-year-olds could pull off before noon.
“We brought pastries,” Finn announced, holding up a white bakery bag. “And emotional support. Also Jamie wanted to see his favorite drum teacher, so here we are.”
Jamie looked up at me and signed, “Is Soren here?”
I signed back, “Yeah, he's inside. Come in.”
The kid's face lit up and he immediately pushed past me into the house, leaving Finn and me standing in the doorway.
“Thanks for letting us come by,” Finn said, his voice dropping into that lower register that meant he was being serious for once. “I know he probably needs rest, but Jamie's been asking about him since I told him Soren wasn't feeling great.”
“It's good you're here,” I said honestly. “He could use the company.”
We walked inside to find Jamie already on the couch next to Soren, signing rapidly about a new rhythm pattern he'd been practicing. Soren's whole face had transformed, the exhaustion still there but buried under genuine warmth as he signed back just as fast. Watching them together made my chest do weird shit, and I had to look away before the feeling got too big to ignore.
Finn caught my eye and raised an eyebrow, clearly reading more than I wanted him to, but he didn't say anything. Just set the pastries on the kitchen counter and I poured him coffee and handed it over, watching him take a sip and make a face.
“So this is the famous coast house,” Finn said, looking around with obvious appreciation. “Very nice. Very 'successful captain who has his shit together.' I'm jealous.”
“You're twenty-two and making league minimum,” I pointed out. “Give it time.”
