Chapter 29

Lila didn’t realize how tightly she’d been holding herself together until Rowan’s room gave her permission to stop.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. No sudden rush of emotion or collapse. Just the quiet awareness that her shoulders had finally lowered, that her breathing had evened out without her noticing. The room felt lived-in in a way that was deeply Rowan’s soccer posters half-taped to the wall, a pile of clean laundry folded neatly on the chair and left there anyway, a faint lemony scent from detergent clinging to everything.

Lila lays on her side, head tucked against Rowan’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of her breathing. It grounded her in a way nothing else ever really had. Outside, a car passed. Somewhere down the street, a door slammed. The world kept moving, but here, here felt held.

She traced a slow, absent line along the hem of Rowan’s shirt, not trying to be distracting, just needing the reassurance of touch. Rowan didn’t flinch. If anything, her arm tightened around Lila’s shoulders, protective and instinctive, like she’d been waiting for that exact movement.

She does this without thinking, Lila realized again. She stays.

The thought softened something in her chest, but it also stirred everything she’d been pushing down since practice ended.

Seeing Evan had done that. Cracked something open.

Lila hadn’t wanted to admit how fast her brain had jumped to conclusions. How quickly she’d gone from this is fine to this is how I lose her. Not because Rowan gave her reason to, but because old fears didn’t care about fairness. They just wanted to survive.

She shifted slightly, testing the quiet.

Rowan hummed, low and unconscious, like a response wired straight into her nervous system. Lila smiled despite herself.

“Hey,” she murmured, barely louder than a thought.

Rowan tilted her head down. “Yeah?”

Lila hesitated. She could keep this light. She could let the moment stay warm and uncomplicated. But she’d promised herself, after everything, that she wouldn’t build something real on half-truths.

“Can I say something kind of… ugly?” Lila asked.

Rowan’s brow creased faintly. Not annoyed. Concerned. “You can say anything.”

That made Lila’s throat tighten.

“When I saw Evan,” she said slowly, “my first instinct wasn’t anger. Or jealousy.” She swallowed. “It was panic.”

Rowan shifted onto her side, so they were facing each other fully now, attention locked in. “Panic about what?”

“That you’d see him,” Lila admitted, voice quiet but steady, “and remember a version of yourself I don’t get to touch. Or that I’d suddenly feel like I was standing in someone else’s shadow.”

She rushed on before Rowan could interrupt. “I know that’s not rational. And I know you’ve told me what he was like. I just—my brain went there anyway.”

Rowan didn’t pull away. Didn’t dismiss it. She just listened.

“That scares me,” Lila continued. “Not because I don’t trust you. But because I care. And caring makes everything louder.”

Rowan reached up, thumb brushing beneath Lila’s eye where emotion threatened to spill. The touch was so gentle it almost undid her.

“Thank you for telling me,” Rowan said. “I don’t want you carrying that alone.”

Lila laughed quietly, the sound a little breathless. “You’re really good at saying the right thing.”

Rowan shook her head. “No. I’m just tired of people guessing what I mean instead of hearing it.”

That landed deeper than Rowan probably intended.

They lay there for a moment, noses almost touching, the space between them alive with everything they weren’t saying yet. Lila watched Rowan’s gaze flicker, like she was standing at the edge of something and deciding whether to jump.

“You know,” Rowan said slowly, “I keep thinking about earlier. About whether I said enough.”

Lila’s chest tightened. “You did.”

Rowan exhaled. “I don’t think I did.”

She looked away for half a second, then back. “I’m still unlearning things. Like how reassurance isn’t a weakness. Or how caring out loud doesn’t mean I’m setting myself up to lose.”

Lila reached out, fingers threading through Rowan’s like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t have to be perfect at this.”

Rowan smiled faintly. “Good. Because I’m not.”

Her thumb traced the back of Lila’s hand, grounding, deliberate. “I don’t want you wondering where you stand with me. Ever. I don’t want you filling in blanks that don’t exist.”

Lila swallowed. “Then tell me.”

Rowan inhaled.

“I choose you,” she said simply. “Not out of convenience. Not because it’s easy. Because it’s you.”

Lila felt tears prick behind her eyes. She hated how quickly emotion rose when she felt truly seen but she didn’t fight it.

“I don’t feel like I’m waiting with you,” Lila whispered. “I feel… met.”

Rowan’s gaze softened, something tender and almost frightened flickering there. Her mouth opened.

“I—”

Lila held her breath.

Rowan stopped. Closed her eyes for a beat. When she opened them again, there was a flush high on her cheeks.

“I like you,” Rowan said, the words careful but sincere. “I like you a lot.”

Lila smiled, slow and knowing, even as her heart raced.

“You almost said something else,” she murmured.

Rowan groaned quietly. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s not a no,” Lila teased gently.

Rowan laughed, then sobered. “I just want to say it when I can stand behind it without fear.”

Lila leaned in, resting her forehead against Rowan’s. “You don’t owe me a timeline.”

Rowan’s arm wrapped around her again, tighter this time. “I just don’t want to lose you by rushing.”

Lila closed her eyes, letting the warmth of Rowan’s presence sink in. “You won’t,” she said softly. “Not like this.”

They stayed like that for a long time with no rush, no pressure. Just two people learning how to be careful with something precious without being afraid of it.

And for the first time in a while, Lila let herself believe that what they were building wasn’t fragile.

It was real.