Chasing the storm

Chapter 43: The Edge of Control

(Rowan's POV )

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She should've left.

She should've walked away when I told her to.

But she didn't.

Instead, she stood there—bruised, exhausted, stubborn as hell—holding onto my wrist like she wasn't afraid of what I might do.

Like she wasn't afraid of me.

And that?

That made everything worse.

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My fingers curled against her waist, my grip tight but not nearly as tight as the pressure in my chest.

I should've let go.

I had to let go.

But she was standing so damn close.

Her breathing was uneven, her pulse flickering at the base of her throat. And despite everything—despite how I had just thrown half this room apart—she was still looking at me like she could handle me.

Like she wanted to.

That was dangerous.

For both of us.

"Sienna," I muttered, my voice rough, wrecked.

She swallowed. "Yeah?"

My jaw tightened. I wanted to shove her away.

Instead, I pulled her closer.

A sharp inhale. Her hands pressed against my chest now, her fingers barely grazing my shirt.

"Tell me to stop," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't.

I exhaled harshly, my forehead pressing against hers for just a second—just long enough to feel her warmth.

Then I forced myself to step back.

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She blinked up at me, her eyes searching mine.

I clenched my fists at my sides. "You should've left."

She frowned. "You know I wasn't going to."

I let out a humorless laugh. "That's the problem, Sunshine."

Her breath caught.

I saw it.

Felt it.

Like that stupid nickname meant more to her than it should.

Like I meant more than I should.

I dragged a hand through my hair, pacing to the other side of the room. "You can't keep defending him."

She sighed. "Rowan, I wasn't—"

"You were." My voice was sharper than I intended, but I didn't care. "I know exactly what I saw."

Her hands curled into fists. "And what was that, huh? Me stopping you from beating Caleb to a pulp in the middle of a goddamn storm?"

I gritted my teeth. "He deserved it."

"For what?" she snapped. "For trying to help me?"

The word help made something ugly twist in my chest.

I turned toward her again, my voice dangerously low. "I don't like when people touch what's mine."

Silence.

Her lips parted slightly, her breath uneven. "Rowan…"

I shook my head. "Forget it."

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She watched me, her expression unreadable.

Like she knew there was more to what I just said.

Like she was waiting for me to admit it.

I wouldn't.

Not now.

Not ever.

I exhaled slowly. "You should go back to the others."

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides.

Then—finally—she turned toward the door.

But before she left, she spoke without looking at me.

"You don't scare me, Rowan."

I let out a slow breath, running a hand over my jaw.

She should be.

She really, really should be.

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