Chapter 177
Rowan's POV
"I love that you're strong enough to walk away from me," I said, my voice dropping. "And I'm asking—begging—for you to be strong enough to give me another chance. Not as your husband. Not as some obligation. As your boyfriend. As someone who wants to date you properly, take you to dinner, learn what movies you like, meet you for coffee, hold your hand in public, and actually deserve you."
Lena pressed her fingers to her lips, shaking her head slightly. "You don't—this isn't charity, is it? Or guilt? Because I don't want—"
"It's not charity." I took another step closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in her eyes. "It's not guilt. It's me finally pulling my head out of my ass long enough to see what was right in front of me the whole time. You. The way you are. The way you've always been. That's what I love. That's what I want."
"You're not very good at this," she said, but there was a watery smile on her face now.
"I know," I admitted. "I'm probably going to screw it up a hundred times. But I want to try. I want to be the kind of man who remembers your birthday and knows how you take your tea and doesn't make you feel like you have to be perfect all the time just to earn basic consideration."
She laughed, a small, broken sound. "You sound like a teenager asking someone to prom."
"I feel like one," I said honestly. "I feel like that guy in law school who was too stupid to notice when the smartest, most beautiful woman in the room was paying attention to him. Except now I'm noticing, Lena. I'm paying attention. And I'm asking—please. Give me a chance to do this right."
For a long moment, she just looked at me, tears still tracking down her cheeks, her hands twisted together. Then, so quietly I almost missed it: "I don't want pity."
"You won't get it," I promised. "You'll get me showing up. You'll get me learning your favorite things. You'll get me trying to be worthy of you, even though I'm starting from so far behind I might never catch up. But I'll try, Lena. I swear to God, I'll try."
Her breath hitched. "This is a terrible idea."
"Probably," I agreed.
"You're going to break my heart again."
"I'm going to do everything in my power not to."
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"So am I."
She closed her eyes, and I watched her throat work as she swallowed hard. When she opened them again, there was something different in her gaze. Something like hope, fragile and tentative but there.
"Okay," she said.
The word was so soft I wasn't sure I'd heard it correctly. "Okay?"
She nodded, and that was all the permission I needed.
I closed the distance between us and cupped her face in my hands, thumbs brushing away the tears on her cheeks. She looked up at me with those eyes that had seen too much pain, too much disappointment, and I made a silent promise to spend however long it took making sure she saw something better.
Then I kissed her.
It wasn't like the kisses we'd shared before—urgent and physical and carefully devoid of emotion. This was different. This was me pouring two years of regret and longing and love I'd been too blind to recognize into the press of my mouth against hers. This was her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer even as she trembled. This was both of us finally, finally letting the walls come down.
When we broke apart, both breathing hard, I rested my forehead against hers. "Can I stay?" I asked quietly. "Not—not like before. Just... stay. Be with you."
She nodded against me, and I felt something in my chest unlock.
We ended up in her bedroom, the space I'd invaded in the middle of the night just days ago but had never been invited into. Now she led me there, her hand in mine, and we lay down on top of the covers, fully clothed, just existing in the same space.
I reached for her hand, lacing our fingers together in the darkness. "Thank you," I said.
"For what?"
"For giving me a chance I don't deserve."
She was quiet for a moment, then squeezed my hand. "Maybe we both deserve a chance to start over."
I brought our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm not going to waste it."
"You'd better not," she murmured, but there was warmth in her voice.
We lay there in the quiet, listening to each other breathe, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Not because of a contract. Not because of obligation. But because the woman beside me had chosen to let me stay.
And I was going to spend every day proving that choice right.