Chapter 184
Rowan's POV
The lake came into view about fifteen minutes later, a wide expanse of dark water that reflected the sky like a mirror. The road curved along its edge, narrow and tree-lined, until it dead-ended at a small clearing. And there, nestled among the pines with its back to the water, was the cabin.
It wasn't much to look at—just a simple wood-frame structure with a covered porch and large windows that faced the lake. My father had bought it decades ago, back when he'd still been trying to convince himself he could balance family life with whatever the hell he'd been doing overseas. He'd never used it much. But my mother had kept it maintained over the years, and I'd claimed it as my own sometime around age twelve.
I pulled into the gravel driveway and killed the engine. For a moment, neither of us moved. Lena was staring at the cabin, her expression unreadable.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"Somewhere I used to come when I needed to get away," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "Come on. I'll show you."
I got out and rounded the car to open her door, offering my hand. She took it without hesitation, which told me just how drained she was—Lena Grant didn't accept help easily. I kept my grip firm as I guided her up the porch steps, fishing the key out from under a loose board and unlocking the door.
The inside was exactly as I'd left it the last time I'd been here, maybe six months ago. The main room was open and airy, with a comfortable couch facing a stone fireplace, a small kitchen tucked into one corner, and floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the lake like a painting. Bookshelves lined one wall, crammed with everything from legal theory to science fiction, and there was a worn armchair by the window with a reading lamp angled over it.
Lena stepped inside slowly, her gaze sweeping over the space. I watched her take it in—the simplicity of it, the quietness—and saw some of the tension ease from her shoulders.
"Sit," I said, gesturing to the couch. "I'll get you some water."
She obeyed without argument, sinking onto the cushions like her legs had finally given out. I filled a glass from the kitchen tap, grabbed a blanket from the closet, and brought both over to her. She accepted the water with a murmured thanks and drank half of it in one go, then set the glass on the side table and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.
I sat down beside her, close enough that our knees almost touched but not so close that she'd feel crowded. For a long moment, we just sat there in silence, the only sound the faint lapping of water against the shore outside.
Then Lena spoke, her voice still rough but steadier than before. "How long have you had this place?"
"Technically, my family's had it since I was a kid," I said. "But I've been the only one using it for years. I used to come here a lot when I was younger."
She turned to look at me, curiosity flickering in her eyes despite her exhaustion. "Why?"
I hesitated, then decided there was no point in holding back. If I wanted her to trust me, I needed to give her the truth. All of it.
"My father was gone a lot when I was growing up," I said, leaning back against the couch and staring at the darkening lake through the window. "He had... business overseas. Things he couldn't talk about. My mother did her best, but she was running the company, managing the board, putting out fires. She didn't have a lot of time for a kid who just wanted someone to notice he existed."
Lena's gaze sharpened, and I felt her attention lock onto me with the same intensity she brought to cross-examining a hostile witness.
"So I'd come here," I continued. "Pack a bag, tell my mother I was going to a friend's house, and just... disappear for a day or two. Sometimes I'd bring books and read until my eyes hurt. Sometimes I'd work on model kits or puzzles. Anything to keep my mind occupied so I didn't have to think about how empty the house felt."
I paused, my jaw tightening as old memories surfaced—ones I'd buried under years of carefully constructed detachment.
"I learned pretty early that if I could just focus on myself, on the task in front of me, I didn't have to deal with the mess of emotions that came with wanting things I couldn't have. Like my father's attention. Or my mother's time. So I got good at shutting it all out. At being efficient, logical, detached."
I turned to look at Lena, and the understanding in her eyes nearly undid me.
"I carried that into adulthood," I admitted. "Told myself that feelings were distractions. That keeping people at arm's length was safer, smarter. That if I could control the variables, I wouldn't get hurt."
My throat felt tight, but I forced myself to keep going.
"And then I met you. And you were everything I'd taught myself to avoid. You were messy and complicated and you felt things so deeply it terrified me. So I did what I always did—I built walls. I treated our marriage like a contract because contracts were safe. Predictable. I could manage a contract."
I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers.