Page 109 of Fighting Spirit

His hands move to my shoulders, the tips of his fingers kneading tight circles into the muscles at my back. I focus on the feeling, urging my body to relax just an inch.

“That’s it. There we go. I got you, I got you,” he murmurs, dipping so that we’re face to face. “Eyes on me, I’m right here.”

I’m slowly able to get my body to obey, and it’s not until I’m breathing marginally better that Rowan speaks again.

“Tell me what happened.” It’s a low command.

In fits and starts, I relay the evening. Rowan’s body turns into a block of ice and I can tell he’s fighting to keep his hands gentle. With every word, his eyes get darker, and when I’m done, he’s breathing hard, his shoulders squared and the tendons in his neck popping.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment as he gathers himself, but when they open they’re not looking at me. Instead, they’re fixed at a spot over my shoulder, and from the venom in them, I can only assume that Marshall hasn’t left.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

He moves to step around me, but I latch onto his elbow. “Rowan, don’t,” I say.

“Let go.”

“He’s not worth it,” I plead.

“You are.”

I grip him tighter, desperate to stop him doing whatever he thinks he needs to do. Not out of any loyalty to Marshall, I’d beat him into the ground myself if I had the energy, but because if Rowan gets in trouble, it could fuck with his standing on the team. I won’t have him risking his spot- and by extension, his job for next year- out of a misguided need to defend me.

“Please just take me home.”

“Ruth-“

“Please, I just want to go.”

Those must be the magic words because his shoulders slump. He drops his forehead to mine, our faces so close that we’re sharing the same breath.

“I’m really fuckin’ mad,” he says.

“I know, me too.”

“You sure you don’t want me to break his legs? I’ll fuckin’ do it.” If this was anybody else, I’d have thought he was joking. But this is Rowan. If he was left to his own devices, Marshall would be ending the night in a ditch.

“I just want to get out of here.”

He sighs, gathering himself. “Then let’s go.”

I turn to see Clara watching us warily. She runs over to give me a quick hug and whispers in my ear, “this is Mr. Football Guy?”

I let out a watery laugh, shocked that I can manage it. “Yeah.”

“He’s gonna take care of you?”

“I am,” Rowan says. Clara and I break apart and Rowan takes the opportunity to pull me against him.

Clara nods, satisfied. “You’d better.” She fixes me with a stare. “You call me once you’re feeling alright.”

“Ok.” I give her a weak smile, all the fire burned out of me.

“I’m gonna take her home.” Rowan grabs the edges of my coat and pulls them tighter around me, pausing to do up each button before we start toward the truck.

“You better not do anything,” I warn him, knowing how much he’s hating walking away.

I can feel the eye roll emanating off of him. “Pinky swear.”

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