Chapter 178
Lena's POV
I lay there in the dark, fingers laced with Rowan's, trying to make sense of what had just happened. My chest still ached from the intensity of it—his confession, his plea, the kiss that had felt like both an ending and a beginning. The room was quiet except for our breathing, and I could feel the warmth of him beside me, solid and real in a way that terrified me.
He loves me.
The words echoed in my head, foreign and fragile. Part of me wanted to believe it so badly it hurt. The other part—the part that had survived two years of careful distance, that had learned to protect itself by expecting nothing—was screaming warnings I couldn't quite silence.
What if this was just another version of guilt? What if he'd convinced himself he loved me because it was easier than admitting he'd been cruel? What if I was setting myself up for the exact same heartbreak, only worse this time because I'd gone into it with my eyes open?
I turned my head slightly on the pillow, studying his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. His eyes were closed, but I could tell from the tension in his jaw that he wasn't asleep. He was waiting. Giving me space to process, maybe, or bracing himself for me to change my mind.
The silence stretched between us, not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy with all the things neither of us had said yet. I could feel my pulse in my throat, could feel the question building there until I couldn't hold it back any longer.
"When did you fall in love with me?"
His eyes opened immediately, turning toward me with an intensity that made my breath catch. For a moment he just looked at me, and I saw something flicker across his face—surprise, maybe, or vulnerability.
"I don't know if I can pinpoint an exact moment," he said quietly. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of my hand. "I think... I think I was falling long before I let myself recognize it."
I wanted to believe that. God, I wanted to. But doubt crept in, cold and familiar. "Or maybe you just figured out I can't let you go." The words came out sharper than I'd intended, defensive. "Maybe you're just... banking on that. On me being too far gone to walk away again."
Rowan's expression shifted—not anger, but something that looked almost like pain. He turned onto his side fully, facing me, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my cheek with a gentleness that made my eyes sting.
"Is that what you think?" His voice was low, careful. "That I'm manipulating you?"
"I don't know what to think." I hated how small my voice sounded. "These past few weeks—living with you again, having you here—it's been... I've gotten used to it. To you. And that scares the hell out of me, Rowan, because what happens when—"
"When what?" He shifted closer, his gaze locked on mine. "When I leave? When I prove you right about me being incapable of this?"
I couldn't answer. The lump in my throat was too thick.
"Lena." He said my name like a prayer, like an apology. "I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not counting on you being 'too far gone' to leave. I'm counting on me finally being present enough, attentive enough, worthy enough that you might choose to stay."
The sincerity in his voice cracked something open in my chest. I wanted to pull away, to rebuild the walls, but his hand was warm against my cheek and his eyes were so unguarded I could see straight through to the fear underneath.
"You're cute when you're overthinking," he murmured, and the corner of his mouth lifted in the smallest smile.
I blinked at him, thrown. "What?"
"You." That smile widened just a fraction. "You're lovely. The way your forehead creases when you're trying to logic your way through emotions. The way you bite your bottom lip when you're deciding whether to trust something."
"I'm not cute," I protested weakly, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "I'm—"
"You're full of surprises." His voice softened, turned almost wondering. "All these layers I never bothered to look for. Different sides of you I'm only just discovering." He paused, his expression turning rueful. "I was an idiot, Lena. So focused on my own narrow view of things, so goddamn arrogant. I thought I had you figured out—thought I knew what our arrangement was, what you wanted from it. I never stopped to consider that maybe you were a whole person with desires and fears and dreams I knew nothing about."
His thumb traced along my jawline, and I shivered despite myself.
"I'm only starting to see you now," he continued quietly. "Really see you. And every time I discover something new—like the way you have your meal, or that you hate being the center of attention but you lit up tonight when people showed up for you—I realize how much I missed. How much I threw away by being too self-absorbed to pay attention."
My throat tightened. I wanted to make a joke, to deflect, but the rawness in his voice held me captive.
"You said you're scared of depending on me," Rowan said, his forehead nearly touching mine now. "I get that. I've given you every reason to be. But Lena... I'm terrified too. Terrified that I'll mess this up again, that I won't be good enough, that you'll wake up one day and realize I'm still that same guy who couldn't see past his own bullshit."
"You're not," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them. "The same guy, I mean. Or maybe you are, but... you're trying. I can see that you're trying."
His eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again they were bright with something that looked dangerously close to tears. "I'll keep trying. Every day. I'll keep showing up, keep learning, keep proving that this—us—is what I want. Not because I'm trapped, not because I owe you, but because you're the person I want to come home to. The person I want to know everything about."
I felt my own eyes burning. "Even the messy parts?"
"Especially the messy parts." He pressed a kiss to my forehead, soft and lingering. "I don't want the version of you that's perfectly composed and untouchable. I want the version that overthinks at three in the morning and stress-organizes case files and loves terrible reality TV."
I let out a choked laugh despite myself. "I don't—how did you know about the reality TV?"
"Martha mentioned it." His smile was gentle, almost tender. "See? I'm paying attention now."
The weight in my chest shifted, lightened just slightly. I was still scared—terrified, really—but underneath the fear was something else. Something that felt like hope, tentative and fragile but undeniably there.
"I'm going to hold you to that," I said quietly. "The showing up part. The trying part."
"Good." Rowan's hand found mine again, squeezing gently. "Hold me accountable. Call me out when I'm being an ass. Don't let me get away with taking you for granted ever again."
"I won't." I squeezed back, feeling the solid warmth of his palm against mine. "I can't afford to."
We lay there in the quiet, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself just be—not analyzing, not defending, not preparing for the next blow. Just existing in this moment with him, breathing in sync, fingers intertwined.
"Lena?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you." He brought our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "For giving me another chance. For letting me stay."
I turned my face into the pillow, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill over. "Don't make me regret it."
"I won't." The conviction in his voice was absolute. "I swear to you, I won't."
And as I finally let my eyes drift closed, his presence beside me steady and warm, I allowed myself to believe him. Just for tonight, I let go of the fear and the doubt and the voice that said I was setting myself up for disaster.
Just for tonight, I let myself hope that maybe—maybe—we could get this right.