“I know. That’s why I’m going to help you. But it has to be on these terms.”
“Okay.” Her voice cracks. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll do the program thing.”
Relief floods through me, mixed with wariness because I’ve heard her agree to things before. “I’m going to need you to mean that. Don’t waste my time or yours pretending.”
“I mean it,” she insists, and there’s something in her tone thatsounds more grounded than before. “I’m tired, Rowan. I’m so fucking tired.”
I believe her. Or at least, I believe she believes herself right now. “Alright. I’ll look into flights and facilities. Give me a day or two to sort it out, and I’ll call you back with details.”
“Thank you,” she breathes.
“Don’t thank me yet. Just be ready to do the work when I get there.”
We hang up, and I stand there for a moment, phone in my hand, processing what just happened. The weight that’s been sitting on my chest for weeks hasn’t disappeared, but it’s shifted to something less suffocating.
Violet rises from the hay bale, crossing to me with careful steps. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I slip my phone back into my pocket. “I think so.”
She slides her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. I tilt my head down, brushing my lips against the crown of her head. Her arms tighten, the warmth of her body grounding me.
“Violet…” I murmur. She looks up at me, green eyes soft but alert, reading every piece of me in a single glance.
I cup her face, bringing it toward mine, and press my lips to hers. It’s gentle at first, testing, but she responds with the same urgency I’ve been holding back. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, nothing else exists—not guilt, not the past. Just us and the trust we’re building together, brick by brick.
Pulling back just enough to see her face, I whisper, “You give me strength, Violet. You believe in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.”
Her thumb trails along my jaw. “You’re not your past, Rowan. And you’re not alone anymore. We’re in this together.”
I press my forehead to hers, letting the weight of that truth settle over us. Violet’s trust is something worth fighting for. Something worth staying for.
thirty-six
. . .
Violet
That ordeal with Rowan and Melissa a couple days ago threw me for a loop. I’m not naïve. I know Rowan has a past that doesn’t include me. There were people before me, experiences that shaped him into who he is today. But knowing it and seeing it play out in real time are two different things entirely.
Watching him wrestle with how to tell me broke my heart a little. That hesitation was layered with every single thing those six years apart had done to us. From kids stumbling through mistakes, to adults who carry the ghosts of those choices. I could see it all in him, and I wanted to take the weight off his shoulders, but I also knew it wasn’t mine to lift.
As heavy as that conversation was, a smile breaks across my face as I recall the evening afterward. We ended up ordering pizza, and somewhere between the second slice and the third glass of wine, Rowan pulled me into his lap and whispered all the things he wanted to do to me.
Boy oh boy, did he make good on his promises.
The door clicks shut behind me as I drop my keys in the bowl by the front door. Today was the longest day at work, consistingof too many awkward conversations with patients who think “vet tech” means “emotional sponge.”
Before I can make it past the kitchen, warm hands slide gently over my eyes from behind.
“Rowan,” I laugh, already leaning into him as his chest presses against my back. “What are you doing?”
“Shhh.” His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Trust me?”
“Should I be worried?”
“Only if you hate surprises.” He chuckles and gently nudges me forward. “Come on. Just a few steps.”
I let him guide me through the house and out the back door, the air carrying the scent of fresh hay and early evening sunshine. My bare feet skim across the porch wood, then grass, and my pulse picks up.
