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Rowan fixed him with a wary look.
“Come in.” He dropped her arm and walked away, leaving her to follow.
The air inside the house had a lingering odor of burned toast, and all blinds were drawn. The usual bright and glossy interior of the place now seemed dull and lifeless, like a prison cell.
By the time she shut the front door behind her, Harry had disappeared into the bedroom. She followed.
A dark bath towel was pinned against the ceiling to cover the skylight. Only a single pillow and a fitted sheet were on the bed. The rest of the linens and pillows were heaped in the corner of the room. Five empty bottles of wine sat on his nightstand, next to a stack of bent photographs. Rowan couldn’t tell who was in the photos, but it was obvious they were frequently handled by rough hands.
Harry fished around in his top drawer, tugging the string at the waist of his scrubs. “Ready whenever you are.” He held up a condom, expressionless. Based on how the thin fabric of his pants tented and curved out in the front, his body was not as apathetic as his mind.
Rowan snatched the condom out of his hands and flung it away. “Did you not hear what I said? I came here because I missed you, not because I wanted a quick lay.”
Harry’s eyes were shuttered. “Same thing for you, isn’t it?”
“Not with you.” That swift admission was easier than she’d ever imagined. Now that the words were hanging in the air between them, she felt relieved.
“Don’t.” He thrust away from her to sit on the edge of the bed, hunched over.
“So, this is where you’ve been hiding for the past week?” Rowan gestured to the wine bottles. “People have probably been worried about you.”
“My family knew I needed some time.”
My family.
Nother.
When she was met with more silence, Rowan kicked off her sandals and climbed up to stand on the mattress behind him. She ripped the towel down and gathered the pushpins he’d used to attach it. One of the pins sank into the center of her palm, but she bit back the pain. Late afternoon sunshine blared in like a theater spotlight.
Harry leapt to his feet and growled up at her. “The fuck are you doing?” Finally, some spark in him. It was dim, like a flashlight with a dying battery, but it was there.
Twisting the towel around her hand, she balled it up and lobbed it at him. He flinched, caught it, and threw it aside.
Rowan jumped down from the bed and dumped the pins into an empty coffee mug on the dresser. “What have you been doing, Harry? Sitting in the dark, staring at walls, drinking yourself into oblivion?”
“It’s none of your business.”
Maintaining her grip on calm felt like trying to grasp seaweed during high tide.
“You’ve spent the last eight months making yourself my business, and now that I want to have a serious conversation about”—Rowan faltered—“us,you’re blowing me off.”
“Us.” He breathed out a bitter little laugh. Wouldn’t look her in the eye.
“I think you’re punishing yourself, punishing me, becauseyoublew past the boundaries I set. You went too deep, you went too hard, and now, I’m supposed to make you feel better about it? Is that how this works?”
He flattened a hand over his eyes and paced. “I thought I could play by your rules. I can’t. I fucking hate your rules.” His voice broke. “And I hate the way I treated you the other night in the greenhouse.”
“Andyou’re mad I liked it. Aren’t you?”
His head snapped up, eyes blazing pewter fire. “I hate thatIliked it.”
“Why? I loved it. I will always tell you if I don’t. Have youmetme?”
“This isn’t about you. The things I feel for you are—more than that. If that’s all you want, I can’t—” He sat down again on the edge of the bed. “I can’t.”
Rowan felt the ratcheting tension in the room—she had the sixth sense of emotional self-preservation all people with shitty childhoods had. It was telling her to leave, to cut this off, right now. His withdrawal, this potent anger—it was anout. Her paper was publishing this month, and she had postdoc interviews in two of her top programs in a matter of weeks. Some cosmic patron saint of commitment avoidance was offering her the perfect escape hatch, all but tied up with a pretty bow. She could walk out of there right now, and it wouldn’t have to be her making the call to end it.
Take the out, Rowan.
