Chapter 183
Rowan's POV
I left the office early. Told Jack I had a personal matter to handle and ignored the knowing look he gave me. The truth was, I couldn't concentrate. Couldn't stop thinking about the way Lena had looked when I'd dropped her off—calm on the surface, but with that particular tension in her shoulders that meant she was bracing for something.
When I pulled up outside her building at five-thirty, Rachel was locking the front door.
"Mr. Reynolds." She looked surprised to see me. "Lena's not here."
My stomach dropped. "Where is she?"
Rachel hesitated, clearly weighing how much to tell me. "She got a call from the psychiatric facility. Her mother's been causing problems. She went to handle it."
The psychiatric facility. Where Vivian was being held. Jesus Christ.
"How long ago?" I asked, already pulling out my phone.
"About two hours." Rachel's expression softened. "She seemed... I don't know. Like she was preparing for battle."
I didn't bother responding. Just got back in the car and pulled up the address for Silverton Psychiatric Care. Traffic was thick with rush hour, but I didn't care. I wove through lanes, ignored honking horns, and made the forty-minute drive in twenty-five.
The facility looked deceptively peaceful in the late afternoon light. Manicured lawns. Flowering shrubs. The kind of place that charged obscene amounts of money to warehouse the wealthy and mentally unstable.
I was halfway to the entrance when I saw her.
Lena was crouched against the wall about twenty feet from the building's main doors, one hand clutching her chest. Even from a distance, I could see she was struggling to breathe.
I ran.
"Lena." Her name came out rough, panicked. I dropped to my knees beside her, my hands going to her shoulders. "Lena, what happened? Are you hurt?"
She didn't answer. Didn't even seem to hear me. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her face pale except for two bright spots of color on her cheeks. Her breathing came in short, sharp gasps that made my own chest tighten in sympathy.
"Look at me." I cupped her face with both hands, tilting her head up. "Lena, look at me. Are you in pain? Do I need to call an ambulance?"
"No." The word came out strangled, barely audible. "No, I'm—I'm fine."
"You are not fine." I brushed my thumb across her cheekbone and felt moisture. She was crying. Lena, who I'd seen face down prosecutors and hostile witnesses without flinching, was crying. "Let me take you to the hospital. Please."
"I don't need a hospital." She tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip, holding her steady. "I just—I need a minute."
"Then take a minute." I shifted so I could pull her against my chest, wrapping my arms around her. "I've got you. Take all the time you need."
She went still for a moment, like she was debating whether to push me away. Then, slowly, she let her forehead fall against my shoulder. Her whole body was trembling.
I held her and tried not to think about what Vivian must have said to reduce her to this. Tried not to let the rage building in my chest show in my voice or my hands. Lena needed comfort right now, not my anger.
So I focused on keeping my breathing steady and even, on rubbing slow circles on her back, on being an anchor she could hold onto while the storm passed. Her tears soaked through my shirt. I didn't care. I would have stood there all night if that's what she needed.
Gradually, incrementally, I felt her breathing begin to slow. The trembling eased. Her fingers, which had been clutching my jacket like a lifeline, loosened slightly.
I don't know how long we stayed like that. Long enough for the sun to sink lower in the sky, painting the clouds pink and gold. Long enough for my knees to start aching from kneeling on concrete. Long enough for my shirt to be thoroughly soaked.
When she finally lifted her head, her eyes were red and swollen. She looked exhausted. Devastated. And so goddamn beautiful it made my chest ache.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't." I cupped her face again, making sure she was looking at me. "Don't apologize for being human, Lena. Not to me. Not ever."
She opened her mouth like she wanted to argue, then closed it again. Her eyes searched mine, looking for something I hoped to God she found.
"She said—" Her voice cracked. She swallowed hard and tried again. "She said she should have strangled me when I was born."
For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything but stare at her while white-hot fury flooded my veins.
Vivian had said that. Had looked at her own daughter—this brilliant, brave, beautiful woman who'd survived more than anyone should have to—and told her she should have been killed at birth.
I forced myself to take a breath. To unclench my jaw. To remember that Lena needed support right now, not my rage.
"And you still think you need to apologize for falling apart?" I tightened my arms around her. "Lena, you just cut ties with the woman who should have protected you and instead spent your entire life making you feel like you weren't enough. You're allowed to break down. You're allowed to need support. That's not weakness. That's being human."
A fresh tremor ran through her. I felt it in my bones.
"I thought I was ready," she said quietly. "I thought I could just... walk away and be done."
"You were ready," I said firmly. "You did walk away. But that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."
She pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were still wet, her lashes clumped together. She looked young and lost and so vulnerable it made something in my chest crack wide open.
"How did you know I was here?" she asked.
"Rachel told me you'd gone to the psychiatric facility. I couldn't—" I stopped, my hand moving to cup the back of her neck. "I couldn't just sit at the office knowing you were dealing with this alone. So I came."
I brushed my thumb along her jaw, feeling the delicate line of bone beneath soft skin. "You don't have to face things alone anymore, Lena. I know you're used to it. I know you've had to be strong on your own for so long. But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."
She stared at me like she was trying to decide whether to believe me. I held her gaze and willed her to see the truth in my eyes.
"Come on." I stood, pulling her up with me, keeping my arm firmly around her waist. "Let me take you somewhere."
"Where?"
"Somewhere you can breathe." I guided her toward the car, my hand never leaving her back. "Somewhere quiet. Just trust me."
She didn't argue. That alone told me how wrung out she was. I helped her into the passenger seat, buckled her in with the same care I'd use with something fragile and precious, and adjusted the seat so she could lean back comfortably.
Then I rounded the car, slid into the driver's seat, and reached for her hand.
"I've got you," I said quietly, lacing our fingers together. "Whatever you need, I've got you."
Her eyes closed. Her fingers tightened around mine.
I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, leaving that building and whatever poison Vivian had spewed behind us. Lena was silent beside me, her head turned toward the window, but her hand stayed locked with mine.