Chapter 38

Rowan didn’t leave Harper’s house right away.

She stayed sitting on the bedroom floor long after Harper padded downstairs, knees pulled tight to her chest, phone resting uselessly in her palm. The room felt too quiet now, like the sound had been sucked out of it, leaving only the echo of everything Harper had said.

I’ve never seen you love someone.

The words kept circling her mind, relentless. Because once they were said, Rowan couldn’t pretend they weren’t true. Couldn’t hide behind semantics or half-feelings or the comfort of ambiguity.

Lila’s name glowed on her screen.

Rowan typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.

I’m sorry felt pathetic. Can we talk? felt cowardly. I miss you felt selfish.

She locked her phone and leaned her head back against the bed frame, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above her. Her chest ached in that deep, hollow way that wasn’t physical pain but something worse… regret, layered with fear.

She’d always known how to take hits. On the field, pain was simple. You got knocked down, you got back up. But this? This wasn’t something you could ice or tape over. This was the kind of damage that came from not choosing fast enough.

From choosing yourself instead.

Rowan stood abruptly, decision cutting clean through the noise in her head. Grabbed her jacket, keys clinking sharply in the quiet room. She didn’t look back when she walked out of Harper’s house.

She didn’t text Lila.

She drove.

The streets blurred beneath her tires, streetlights streaking gold across her windshield. Her hands were steady on the wheel, but her thoughts weren’t. Every red light felt like punishment. Every green one like a dare.

She replayed it over and over, the way Lila’s voice had cracked when she asked if she’d ever be enough. The way she’d tried to stand tall even while breaking. Rowan had seen pain before, but she’d never been the cause of it like that.

She pulled up outside Lila’s house and sat there, engine idling, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might fracture her ribs. Doubt surged, sharp and suffocating.

What if she doesn’t want to see you?

What if you’re already too late?

Before she could spiral further, the porch light flicked on.

Rowan’s breath caught.

Lila stood in the doorway, wrapped in a sweatshirt that swallowed her frame, hair loose around her shoulders like she hadn’t bothered tying it back. She didn’t look angry. That would’ve been easier.

She looked tired. Guarded. Like someone who’d already cried and didn’t want to do it again.

Rowan killed the engine and stepped out of the car, the night air cold against her skin. Every step toward the porch felt deliberate, heavy with meaning.

They stopped a few feet apart.

“I’m not here to argue,” Rowan said quietly, breaking the silence. “I just… needed to see you.”

Lila crossed her arms loosely, more like she didn’t know where to put them than like she was defensive. “You didn’t text.”

“I didn’t trust myself to say this in a message.”

Lila studied her for a long moment. “Say what?”

Rowan swallowed hard. This was it. No safety net. No hiding.

“I panicked,” Rowan said. “And I hate that it hurt you.”

Lila’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away.

“I’ve always known how to show up when there are rules,” Rowan continued, voice low and steady despite the tremor in her chest. “When there’s a scoreboard. A playbook. A right move.” She shook her head. “This didn’t come with instructions. And I froze.”

Lila let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “So you left me standing there.”

Rowan nodded. “And it’s been killing me ever since.”

The honesty cracked something open between them.

Rowan took a step closer. Then another. Careful. Like she was approaching something fragile.

“I didn’t say no because I don’t want you,” Rowan said. “I didn’t say yes because I was afraid of what choosing you would cost me. But that fear—” Her voice broke. “—that’s mine. Not yours.”

Silence stretched between them, taut and aching.

Then Lila spoke, barely above a whisper. “Then why wasn’t I worth it?”

The question hit Rowan straight in the chest.

She closed the distance without thinking, stopping just short of touching Lila, like she was afraid she might break her if she did.

“You are,” Rowan said fiercely. “You are worth everything. I just didn’t know how to be brave fast enough.”

Lila searched her face, eyes glossy but sharp, like she was looking for cracks, for lies. Rowan didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“I don’t want anyone else,” Rowan said. “I don’t care who’s watching or what they think. I just—” She inhaled shakily. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Lila’s breath trembled. “Then say it.”

Rowan’s heart slammed violently against her ribs.

The word burned at the back of her throat, hot and terrifying.

“I lo—”

She stopped herself.

Fear surged, fast and instinctive. Not fear of Lila, but fear of the weight of the word. Fear of saying it wrong. Fear of ruining something sacred by rushing it.

Lila noticed immediately.

Her brows knit together. “Rowan…”

Rowan exhaled, shaky and raw. “I like you,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I like you a lot.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full, charged, tender, fragile.

Lila tilted her head slightly, studying her. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

Rowan swallowed. “I know.”

“But you meant it.”

Rowan nodded once. Slow. Certain.

“I just want to do this right,” Rowan said. “I don’t take words like that lightly. And I don’t want to say them until I can stand behind them without fear.”

Lila stepped closer then, close enough that Rowan could feel her warmth, could smell the familiar citrus of her shampoo. “I don’t need perfect,” Lila said softly. “I just need you to stay.”

Rowan’s throat tightened. “I can do that.”

Tentatively, Lila reached for her hand.

Rowan laced their fingers together like it was instinct, like it was something she’d been waiting to do all along.

For the first time in days, the ache in Rowan’s chest eased, not gone, not healed, but quieter. Like a wound that had finally been acknowledged.

And standing there, hand in hand beneath the porch light, Rowan knew one thing with terrifying clarity:

She wasn’t running anymore.