Scythe & Sparrow (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #3)(99)
I bite down on a laugh. “I don’t know if I can cosign that one—” Rose levels me with a sharp glare through a film of tears. “Okay, okay. Dani and Renegade deserved their win, even though his made-up name sucked and his actual name is Brian and I’m also ninety-nine percent sure they cheated on that last challenge with the fish.”
“Fair,” she says with an eye roll.
We fall into a long silence as she fiddles with the card and weighs her thoughts. Part of me wants to crash into her and wrap her in a crushing embrace. But I can almost hear the war going on behind her eyes. The fear of being hurt a second time can be paralytic. My circumstances might have been different, but I know the power of heartbreak’s poison. I know that even if she does choose us, it’s going to take time, and maybe a little space to heal. So I don’t ask anything more from her. I don’t press. I just wait as long as it takes.
“I liked that time we kissed,” Rose finally says, and the first hint of doubt creeps into her expression as her gaze finally lands on me and sticks. “We’d have to dissolve that rule permanently too.”
“Thank God, because I fucking hate that rule. I’d like to break that one first, if you’d let me.”
Her mask comes undone as she nods, every emotion bursting through her broken facade. Tears blur my vision as I rush to close the distance between us. I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times over the last nine months, even when I tried to stop myself in case it never came true. The feeling of her damp cheeks beneath my palms. The taste of salt and sweetness on her lips. The warmth of her breath on my skin. Her scent, notes of spiced chocolate on the sea air. The reality of actually touching her is so far beyond what I’d truly let myself wish for. So I drown in her. I press my lips to hers and thank every god I can think of when her tongue caresses mine. Everything inside me that felt misplaced is realigned when she wraps her arms around my neck and her body molds to mine, like she was always meant to fit.
“I love you, Rose,” I say when we pull apart and I press my forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t have words, only emotion, just a shake of her head. We wrap each other in an embrace. I hold on. And she holds me back. It’s starting to get dark by the time we finally let go, with just enough light to see the path that leads back to the inn where fairy lights line a covered porch facing the sea. A storm of nerves circles my guts. All my medical training, and high-pressure situations, and now this time spent working with some seriously fucked-up people employed by Leander—all that cultivated calm seems to fly out the window when Rose looks at me with her dark, shining eyes. It’s as though the thought of anything to do with her has me reduced to a pit of anxiety.
I swallow and try not to tense as I point toward the inn just down the cliffs from where we stand. “Did you want to stay with me?”
Rose doesn’t answer. My heart folds in on itself.
“It’s … it’s got a nice view of the ocean …” She watches me, unmoving. “Umm … it has a pretty decent breakfast buffet. And waffles, you love waffles.” I grip a hand to the back of my neck when her brows raise like she’s expecting more. “It only has one bed though.”
Finally, her smile breaks free, as though she’d trapped it just to watch me squirm. “That was the selling point I was waiting for, Doc.”
We walk to the inn under the brightening stars, hand in hand. Every step we take makes me feel like I’m living someone else’s life. Like I could blink and learn this is all a dream, some delirium that will wear off, and then I’ll realize she was never here in the first place. And for a moment, I think it’s going to be an even worse fate when we get to the parking lot of the inn, and she looks toward Dorothy to slip her hand free of mine.
“Hold on a minute,” Rose says, taking a step back, and then another. “I’ll be right back.”
I nod. She gives me a flash of an unsure smile and then turns away, walking to the motor home with her hands shoved in her pockets. After a few brief moments inside, she returns with a backpack slung over one shoulder. “Just had to feed Barbara and get some stuff for the night.”
“Of course.” I hold out a hand and she takes it. Her touch is still hesitant, which seems unlike the Rose Evans I know, but I know it will take time to earn back the trust I tarnished. So I just stay steady, opening the door for her when we get to the inn, leading her to the room on the second floor that faces the sea. When we get inside, she goes to the windows and watches the ocean, sliding the backpack from her shoulder and onto one of the chairs.
“It’s a nice view,” she says, not turning away from the black waves that melt into the horizon.
“Yeah. It is,” I say, watching her. “Do you want something to drink? I’ve got tea. Bourbon.”
“Bourbon would be nice, thanks.”
I nod, but she doesn’t see, then turn to the small kitchenette to take the only two glasses from the shelf and fill them. I’m pouring the first drink when she speaks, her words turning my veins to crystals of ice.
“Dear Fionn,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper.
I turn around, a slow pivot on my heel. She has a letter in her hands. The edges of it quiver in her grip.
“I got your letters. I keep opening them. I finally decided I should write back. I’ve never gotten letters like yours before. And I’ve never written to anyone. It’s almost ironic that they have nowhere to go.”