My flesh is a mess of scratches and bruises, all of the marks darker and more obvious than they were hours ago. His gaze drifts over every inch of my exposed skin as though I’m something precious yet damaged, a broken revelation. It might not be how he expected, but I know he’s imagined me like this before, bared and vulnerable to his gaze, his touch. Just like I’ve imagined him. But it’s different to feel it in the heavy silence that stretches between us. I couldn’t have expected the way my blood would charge through my flesh, or the way the whole world would shrink to this pinpoint, this moment in a mirror.

Rowan’s gaze rests on my throat, his navy eyes nearly black, his pupils consuming the color until only a thin band of blue remains. It traces a line down the center of my body, his attention so slow and deliberate that it feels like a touch against my skin. It flows over the ridges on my sternum. It veers left and slows over my heart. It traces the rose gold piercing encircling my peaked nipple. Gooseflesh rises on my arms and I shiver as his gaze crosses my chest to the other side and the matching piercing on my right breast.

“Something caught your eye, pretty boy?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says, his voice pained. “God, yes, Sloane. All of you.”

Rowan drags the shirt down my uninjured arm first, then takes his time to pull it from my swollen shoulder, his eyes remaining steady on the reflection of my body. The fabric falls away and pools at my feet. He takes a deep breath before he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of my leggings and pulls them over my hips. His fingers wrap around my ankle to raise my foot from the cool tile and tug the fabric free of one leg and then the next. When he rises to his full height behind me, I can see every strained breath in his chest, every thump of his heart as his pulse surges in his neck.

“I need to get my shit together,” he mutters, his voice low and gritty, the words not meant for me. He holds out a hand for me and I take it. “Come on. Into the bath before I fucking die.”

I drag my feet as he tugs me toward the cloud of white bubbles shimmering in the tub. “Would that mean I’d get an extra win?”

“I’m about ready to forfeit every game, Blackbird,” he grumbles. “I don’t think we need to go to the extreme of killing me off just yet.”

We stop at the edge of the tub. Rowan keeps hold of my good hand as I dip one toe into the warm water. When I take my first step in, I glance up, expecting to catch him focused on the details of my body. But he’s not. His eyes are on mine, a crease notched between his brows as though this whole experience is excruciating.

“You okay?” I ask as I steady myself with his hand and place my other foot in the water to stand in the small tub, my faint smile only serving to deepen his frown.

“Not really.”

“You’re doing great.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Probably.”

“Just get in, for the love of God.”

“I am in.”

Rowan drags his free hand down his face. “How do you still have the energy to take the piss out of me?”

“I always have the energy for that. Your suffering is my number one priority.” My smile starts out bright but falters when Rowan’s gaze shifts from me to the corner of the room as though he can’t bear to keep his attention on my face for a moment longer. “What is it? Rowan…?”

“I’ve been suffering for four years, Sloane. I’m begging you here. Get in the fucking bath.”

My eyes don’t stray from his profile as I slowly lower myself into the water. Every inch that I fall, I hope he’ll meet my eyes, but he doesn’t, as though he suddenly can’t. Like he’s put himself into a box that wasn’t there just a moment ago.

I submerge myself until the bubbles consume my chest, only my shoulders and upper back visible above their diaphanous embrace as I curl forward and hug my knees. Rowan’s long exhalation is unsteady above me. It takes a moment before he squats down to my level. My gaze is still fused to him, and he still avoids it.

Rowan takes a facecloth from where he laid it out at the edge of the tub to saturate it in the bathwater. He’s careful not to touch me beneath the surface. He withdraws the cloth and slides it across my uninjured shoulder to cleanse the grime from my skin with slow strokes, and though I stay perfectly still on the outside, my thoughts churn with the force of a hurricane.

I swallow, still unable to look away from Rowan. My voice sounds small when I say, “Four years?”

Rowan’s eyes darken, their focus snagged on the motion of his hand as he sweeps the cloth across my skin. He doesn’t graze me with his fingertips, not even once, despite repeating the motion of the cloth until the water in it cools. “You already know. I told you at Thorsten’s.”

My heart lurches. Rowan dips the cloth through the cloud of bubbles and into the water, this time grazing my hip in a fleeting touch that might have been intentional. Before I can be sure, the cloth is out of the water and sliding over my spine.

“You…you remember that?”

Rowan doesn’t answer. I don’t think he will. So when he dips the cloth into the water for a third time, I grab his wrist beneath the surface, and finally his eyes meet mine.

“Hey,” I say, my voice gentle. “I’m right here.”

“Sloane…” Rowan presses his eyes closed and takes in a long breath as though hoping to wash away the pain. When he meets my gaze, he looks just as agonized as he did a moment ago. “If I touch you again…” He shakes his head. “It took everything in me just to get you undressed without bending you over at the bathroom counter and fucking you until you beg me to stop.”

My cheeks pink, but I try on a cocky smile, one that only darkens the agony in Rowan’s eyes. “Not sure I see the problem with that idea at the moment.”

“You’re injured.”

“Just my shoulder. And my face. Okay my ribs are a little sore too, but I’m fine, really. Hazards of the job, right?”

“I need to look after you. It’s my fault you’re like this. The game was my dumbass idea.”

“Hey, do not shade the game. It’s the most fun I’ve had since…maybe ever. As long as I can remember. It’s the thing I most look forward to every year,” I say, the amusement slipping away from my voice with every word spoken as the truth rises to the surface. “You are the thing I most look forward to, Rowan.”

He swallows, his expression a thin veil over whatever conflict is chewing him up on the inside. When he shakes his head, the sting of sudden, restrained tears burns in my nose. Maybe his suffering isn’t what I wanted, as much fun as that seemed just a few heartbeats ago.

“I wanted to play,” I continue, my voice still sure even though I don’t think it will be for long. “I was scared when we started, afraid that I was making a huge mistake. But finding someone who could understand me for all the shattered pieces beneath the mask? I needed that. Before you came along, something was missing. You, Rowan. You were missing. You made it safe to feel seen. Safe to play on our terms. Safe to have fun, even though our fun might not be everyone’s idea of a good time.”

His jaw clenches, like it’s a struggle to not bite out his next words. “That is the problem, Sloane. It’s not safe. It’s the farthest thing from it.” When I open my mouth to argue, Rowan grasps my chin with his hand to trap me in his stern glare. “I almost lost you,” he says, every word punctuated by a pause, as though he’s trying to push each one into my head.

“I am right here,” I reply in the same cadence. My fingers fold around his, guiding his palm to my heart to lay it flat against the surging beat. “Right here.”

“Sloane—”

I’ve had enough of words.

I close the space between us and press my lips to his. He stalls with shock and I squeeze his hand where it’s still damp and hot on my chest, my tongue a demand against his lips. Let me in. I realize at this moment that I’ve always been in, in Rowan’s thoughts, in his plans, maybe even in his heart, and now it terrifies me that he could suddenly shut me out.