A soft, broken sob filters through the door. “The article…”
“Billy is an asshole,” I growl. “I don’t know how he got in, but I know you had nothing to do with it.”
“It was my fault.”
My chest tightens. Old fears claw at me. “What?”
“I found something, like…a putty substance, on my key once. He must’ve made a copy. I didn’t realize until the article came out. He’d been snooping.”
“Fucker,” I grit out. “Row, babe… none of that is your fault.”
“I had the key. I should have protected it.”
“No.” My voice is firm, absolute. “You are not carrying this. Not anymore. Not tonight.”
A shaky breath. “I can’t work somewhere that encourages their employees to do whatever it takes to get the story, Jaxon.”
“You’re quitting?” My mind races. “What will you do?”
“Follow my dreams,” she whispers.
Before I can ask what those dreams are—if I’m still part of them—bright lights bloom at the end of her street. A large firetruck rolls quietly into her driveway.
I step back from the door. “Go upstairs, Rowyn. To your bedroom.”
“Jaxon, what’s?—”
“You’ll see.” I force a smile she can’t even see and jog through the downpour toward my buddy, Owen.
“Thank you for coming,” I say, breathless. “I know this isn’t an actual emergency but?—”
He grins. “It’s absolutely an emergency, Jaxon.” He winks. “Love is always an emergency.”
He turns to his crew. Orders fly. The ladder extends, reaching toward her window like it’s been waiting its whole life for this exact moment.
Seconds later, I’m climbing, rain streaking across my face, adrenaline burning through my veins. I reach the window and spot her sitting on the edge of her bed, hands wringing, lip trembling.
I tap gently. Her eyes fly wide.
She rushes over and slides the window open. “Jaxon. What are you doing?” She glances at the truck below. “You called the fire department?”
“Owen owed me a favor,” I say with a shrug. “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” She starts to step back, then pauses, eyes widening. “Wait! What if I blind you? That’s what happened in the original Rapunzel when the prince climbed the tower.”
Her voice is less fearful and holds more hope, and I laugh softly, rain pouring off me. “I was blind until I met you, Rowyn.” My gaze locks on hers. “I’m coming in.”
And then I step through the window—into the room, into whatever comes next.
She steps back, rainwater streaming from me, pooling at my feet. I turn and give the guys a grateful wave. They nod once before lowering the ladder and driving away. The moment the window shuts, it’s just us—silence, tension, breath.
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding in the pieces. “I know your private life is private. I wanted to tell you about the baby, I really did. I pictured it a thousand times…but then the article came out, and I panicked, and I thought?—”
I gently place my hands on her shoulders. “Tell me about your dreams.”
She blinks, surprise flickering, then something else. Hope. “I want to follow my dreams,” she says, voice trembling with equal parts nerves and excitement. “I don’t want to live the life my mother thinks I should. I don’t want to carry guilt I never asked for.” A breath. “I want to write children’s books, and illustrate them.”
Emotion swells in my chest. “Rowyn, that’s perfect. That’s you. And you’ll be incredible.”