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“The one thing my mother did to show she even cared about us a little was shoot that man in the dick when she found out what he was doing to my brother.” I remembered the gunshot, how loud it was. The sounds of his screaming. The smell of the blood.
“No charges were made against her, of course,” I told Rowan, looking at him but not really seeing him. “And maybe she was a little more careful about the men she got involved with after that. But there were always men. Because my mother did not want to live in squalor. Nor did she want to do the work required to get her out of squalor.” I shook my head in disgust, thinking about the woman who birthed me.
That’s why I’d worked so hard my entire life, why I would never let a man take care of me, lest I have anything in common with her.
“It worked for her, though,” I continued. “She married up. Got all the crap she wanted. House. Car. But we were teenagers by the time we got things like health insurance, almost about to graduate high school. It was ingrained in me then, to worry about every little thing. The way that shit manifested was this...” I held my hand out to the hospital bed. “Me thinking that I had something wrong with me constantly. It began when things started going well. Well, being when I got out of my mother’s house and never saw her again. I’m conditioned to worry about something being wrong or whatever. So, I’ve always got pain. But it’s in here.” I tapped my temple. “I learned how to deal with it since I definitely did not want this overwhelming anxiety to become my identity. Didn’t want people thinking I was weak.”
I gripped the blanket, looking down in shame. There it was, what I had hidden from Rowan. Which he probably wouldn’t understand because it wasn’t something comprehensible to a man who was capable, strong and always in control.
Rowan leaned forward to grasp my chin, to tilt it upward so I couldn’t escape his penetrating gaze.
“You are not weak,” he growled. “Fuck, Nora. You are the strongest person I know. The shit you’ve been through?” He shook his head. “Fucking hate that you had to live that, baby. That mother of yours has a lot to answer for.” His eyes became murderous at the mention of my mother. “A fucking lot. And she’ll answer for those sins eventually because karma is real. The life you’ve given yourself proves that. It wasn’t some unseen entity that created it. You built it. Literally. You built a life with your bare fucking hands.” He lifted our intertwined hands to his mouth and kissed my fingers. “You radiate love, Nora. Warmth. From your fucking pores. You don’t see it because of what that woman did, but there is a light inside you. You attract people. Your bakery isn’t as successful as it is just because you know how to make fuckin’ great shit. Which you do. It’s successful because of who you are. People in this town love you, baby. I love you.”
I gaped at him, dumbfounded by everything he’d just said but especially the last three words he’d uttered.
“What?” I whispered.
“I love you,” he repeated without hesitation. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. And I’ve only loved you more since I got to touch you, kiss you, make you mine. Every new thing I discover about you is yet another reason why I’m a fuckin’ goner. Why I’m yours for life. Hate that you deal with that shit, fuckin’ hate it. But you’ve been dealin’ with it alone for all these years. Making you a promise right here, right now… From this moment on, you’re not dealin’ with anything alone again.”
Tears were running down my cheeks by that point. Tears of joy, of disbelief. Though maybe I shouldn’t have been shocked. Rowan hadn’t hidden his feelings from me. Had repeatedly made it clear how much I meant to him, had told me how long he’d liked me. But hearing it out loud… on top of the drugs, the pain and the overall drama of the situation, I couldn’t help the waterworks.
Rowan wiped my tears away with his thumb, not waiting for me to say the three words back. “Gonna need you to make me a promise, though.”
“Anything.”
“Need you to promise you’re not gonna hide pain from me. Even if you don’t think it’s real.”
I bit my lip. That was a hard promise to make. Not just because that would mean exposing a very vulnerable, soft part of me to the strongest man I knew, but also because it took me to a dangerous place.
I’d never looked for sympathy, empathy or attention from anyone when it came to this part of me. Not even my friends. Not even Ansel. Because when I used to talk about feeling sick, worried or weak, my mother would shame me. She would make me feel small and pathetic, and that was a feeling I promised myself I would never experience again.
