Chapter 37

Rowan didn’t mean to end up at Harper’s house.

She told herself she was just driving. Just letting the road stretch out in front of her until the knot in her chest loosened enough to breathe around. She’d driven past her own street twice, then once more for good measure, the familiar turns blurring together until muscle memory took over and her hands turned the wheel without asking permission.

By the time she realized where she was, she was already parked crooked in Harper’s driveway, the engine ticking softly as it cooled.

She stayed there longer than necessary, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, eyes shut.

Lila still hadn’t texted back.

That was the worst part. Not the yelling, not the confrontation, not even the look on Lila’s face when she’d walked away. The silence after. The kind that stretched and echoed and let Rowan replay every second she wished she could rewind.

She’d seen it, felt it, the moment Lila realized Rowan hadn’t defended them. Hadn’t chosen her. Rowan had opened her mouth to explain, to chase after her, but the damage had already landed. Words felt useless after that.

Finally, Rowan opened the car door.

Harper answered in socks and an oversized hoodie, hair pulled into a messy bun, sleep still clinging to her face despite the early evening. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, then immediately softened when she really looked at Rowan.

“Oh,” Harper said. “That bad, huh?”

Rowan tried to smile. Failed. “Can I come in?”

Harper stepped aside without another word.

The house felt quiet in that comforting, lived-in way. A faint candle burned somewhere down the hall. Rowan kicked off her shoes and followed Harper upstairs, her chest tight like she was carrying something fragile she didn’t know how to put down.

They ended up on the floor of Harper’s bedroom, backs against the bed, knees drawn up. A half-open bag of pretzels sat between them, untouched. Rowan picked one up, rolled it between her fingers, then set it back down.

Harper leaned her head against the mattress. “So,” she said gently. “Did something happen with Lila?”

Rowan’s shoulders tensed immediately.

Harper noticed, of course she did.

“That obvious?” Rowan muttered.

Harper snorted softly. “You haven’t stopped staring at your phone since you walked in, and you look like someone ripped something important out of you and forgot to tell you how to survive without it.”

Rowan swallowed. The words pressed hard against her throat. “I screwed up.”

Harper turned her head, studying Rowan’s profile. “How?”

Rowan stared at the wall across from them, jaw tight. “Someone asked if we were… together. If something was going on.” Her voice dropped. “And I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no either, but—”

“But you didn’t choose,” Harper finished quietly.

Rowan nodded. “She heard me. She was standing right there. And I knew—” Her breath hitched. “I knew the second I saw her face that I’d lost her.”

Harper exhaled slowly, processing. “And she left.”

“Yeah.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. Harper had always known when to let Rowan sit in the truth before pushing.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Harper said finally.

Rowan frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you’re unraveling,” Harper replied. “You’ve dated before. You’ve had relationships, situationships, whatever. But you’ve never looked like this after someone walked away.”

Rowan scoffed weakly. “You don’t know that.”

Harper turned fully toward her, eyes steady. “I do.”

Rowan opened her mouth to argue, then stopped. Because Harper was right. She’d been sad before. Frustrated. Annoyed. But this felt different, deeper. Like something essential had shifted out of place.

“I’ve never seen you love someone,” Harper continued, voice soft but sure. “And yeah, I know you love her. Because you have those eyes when you look at her. Anyone could see you love her, Rowan.”

That hit Rowan harder than she expected. 

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” Harper asked gently.

“Because if I say it out loud,” Rowan whispered, “then I can’t pretend this isn’t real.”

Harper didn’t argue. “Rowan, it’s already real.”

Rowan pressed her palms into her eyes, heat stinging behind them. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “I don’t know how to choose someone when it means everyone else gets to see. Comment. Decide who I am.”

Harper nodded slowly. “And Lila?”

Rowan laughed, broken and breathless. “She chooses me anyway. Every time.”

“That’s the thing,” Harper said. “She’s not asking you to be fearless. She’s asking you to be honest.”

Rowan let her hands fall into her lap. Her fingers were shaking now, visibly. “I keep thinking if I protect myself, it’ll hurt less,” she said. “But all I’ve done is hurt her instead.”

Harper bumped her shoulder lightly. “Then stop protecting yourself at her expense.”

Rowan stared at the floor. “What if I lose her?”

Harper didn’t sugarcoat it. “You might. If you don’t fight for her.”

That settled something inside Rowan.

“I don’t just like her,” Rowan said quietly. “I think about her all the time. I plan my days around seeing her. When she’s not around, everything feels wrong. Empty.”

Harper smiled softly. “Yeah. That’s the part where it gets terrifying.”

“And worth it,” Rowan added.

Harper nodded. “Exactly.”

Rowan picked up her phone again, thumb hovering over Lila’s name. Her chest hurt: aching, heavy, but there was clarity there too.

“I don’t know if she’ll even want to hear it,” Rowan said.

Harper shrugged. “Maybe not. But she deserves to know. And you deserve to stop hiding from yourself.”

Rowan took a deep breath. Then another.

“I love her,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Harper smiled, warm and knowing. “I know. Now go prove it.”