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Harry’s agitation finally detonated into anger, a living bomb. “I never blocked your number.” His voice boomed between the tile and high ceiling of the foyer. He jabbed a finger at her face. “I saw your name on my screen, every time you texted or called.Every fucking time,Rowan.” When he saw how badly his hand trembled in the air between them, he curled it into a fist and shoved it in his pocket. “I thrived on the pain. Ineededit to stay focused and remember why I left.”
“Surely you knew why I kept trying to reach you.”
“I stopped pretending I knew anything about you the day I said I loved you and you said ‘let me go.’” It bolstered him when her face fell. Confidence surged. This was what shewanted. No fucking strings. “I said I wanted tomarryyou, Rowan. And you rejected me. You rejectedus.”
She was still in his personal space. Harry knew exactly what he was denying himself by not reaching out to touch her. He shuddered with the effort of it.
“When I asked you to make things easy, I meant in that moment, asshole,” she hissed. “I didn’t mean for you to leave for good.”
“I know the words you said, Rowan. But I also heard what youmeant.”
She didn’t respond to that. She simply stood there, her chest rising and falling. The scent of her breath and her skin and her hair made Harry want to fall to his knees and scream.
“I hope your postdoc is everything you hoped it would be.” The words came out quieter than he’d intended.
“I didn’t accept, Harry. I was going to tell you as soon as I got home.”
Home.
He didn’t know what terrified him more—the fact that she was here pulling this stunt, or that he might have made the biggest mistake of his life when he’d left.
“This isn’t your home.”
She laid a hand on his chest. A thin arc of unshed tears gleamed in her startling topaz eyes. “It was.”
If he touched her, his resolve would vaporize, and he couldn’t risk it again. His life in California was bright and healthy and uncomplicated. He’d spent too many years waiting for Nicola to magically become the partner he needed. He wasn’t ever doing that again.
He needed to get the fuck out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Rowan
Please, please hold me,Rowan thought.Kiss me, show me we can heal.
Harry was so different now. His pants were tailored, snug around his thighs, falling to a perfect length above glossy square-toed loafers. Judging by the buttery fabric of his button-down, his clothes were expensive. His hair had been trimmed into a more professional cut, short enough now it didn’t need to be tucked behind his ears. It was still long enough to sweep up into familiar little ducktails at the nape of his neck, though. They made her chest hurt.
Gone was gentle, sensitive Harry. This Harry’s eyes were cold as granite, twice as hard. His skin glowed with California sunshine, and there were no hollows under his cheekbones. His frame was built now with the lean muscle it was meant to have.
Maybe he’d only loved her while he was fragile. Maybe—this strong, vibrant man didn’t need a woman like her.
Then there it was, in his eyes. The thing Rowan dreaded most.
Indifference.
Harry’s anger seemed to evaporate like steam on hot pavement after a summer storm.
He was going to walk away, and she couldn’t summon the courage to stop him.
With a disgusted shake of his head, Harry stepped around her, yanking the front door open. He whipped it shut behind him, rattling the windows along the front of the house.
She’d had him there, face-to-face, and it still hadn’t been enough.
For a few minutes, she stood there alone in the foyer. She imagined him sweeping back through the door, pulling her into his arms, telling her everything was going to be okay.
Panic twisted through her. Days ago, when she’d confessed her feelings to the Bradys, they’d boosted her up with such care and confidence she hadn’t even considered Harry may not come back to her.
Rowan’s arms hung limp at her sides. She shook her wrists to jostle sensation back into her numb hands as she returned to the dining room.
