NATHANIEL
Rowan and I were out on her patio getting some fresh air. It was still chilly out, just barely beginning to hit the low warms of spring. Stanley was sleeping at our feet, and Rowan was curled up into my side—one leg over me in an almost possessive way.
This felt right.
Rowan’s fingers were under my sweater gently tracing the contours of my abdomen. I had to remind myself to relax and unclench my muscles. But her fingernail snagged on the raised edges of my scar.
Every time I saw it, it reminded me of how f*****g terrifying that was. How close to bleeding out I was. I still remembered some of the hazy details.
I remembered the surprise of red splattering all over. I remembered the pain that took a second to process. I remembered reaching down to touch my stomach a
