26. Gil
CHAPTER 26
GIL
I had lapped town twice, gone up and down every side street and back alley and there was no sign of Fisher. I didn’t know how long he’d been missing for, and I didn’t think he would have been ballsy enough to go past the city limits, so against my better judgement, I headed back to the house. Rowan wasn’t there, which was surprising and not at the same time. The garage door was closed and the upturned bucket was still beside the wheel well of the Cougar where I’d last left him.
Rolling the bike into the garage, I cut the ignition and yanked off my helmet, cursing under my breath when I realized my fingers were shaking. I was worried about Rowan. I hadn’t seen a lot of Rowan besides when he was in my bed or bent over his own couch, but I’d never seen him as amped up and frantic as he’d been when he showed up at my house screaming about his missing son. And it wasn’t just Rowan who had me out of sorts. It was Fisher too, I realized. I was scared for Rowan’s missing son, and when the fuck had that happened? When had I started to care about Rowan’s kid as much as I’d started to care about him?
It was my turn to collapse onto the bucket, head in my hands and scar rough against my palm. For so long I’d been adamant, no kids, no kids, no kids. It was the only reason Philip and I had split up. Or if not the only reason, a main one. His family would have driven us apart eventually, but there’d been a good stretch of time when I liked to imagine our love was stronger than their hate. We could have made it through anything, if only we wanted to, but Philip was willing to pander to his parents and I wanted no part in that.
So maybe, I realized, it wasn’t that I hadn’t wanted kids.
I simply hadn’t wanted kids with him.
“Fuck.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket to call Rowan, but as soon as I had the device in my hand, I realized I couldn’t. We’d never exchanged phone numbers, never even sent a text. Our entire relationship was based on late night door knockings and quietly taking our clothes off so we didn’t wake Fisher up…so we had more time. And we had our ridiculous rules that kept him far enough away I wouldn’t fall in love with him, but it was probably too late for that too.
Wasn’t it?
I didn’t need to have taken Rowan Verne on dates to know I loved him. I loved the way he melted against me when we kissed, and I loved the way he didn’t ever want to leave angry—even if I hated the reason for it. I loved the way he loved his son, how he would put himself at a disadvantage to give Fisher the best of everything, to put himself at a disadvantage to give me the best of him. Though what I had of Rowan was far from whole, it was more than enough for me to know I wasn’t going to lose him over my own lost ideals about what I wanted in life, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to lose him to a choad named Brian.
I was seconds away from tugging my helmet back on and heading around the block to his house when Rowan’s car came barreling around the corner, skidding to a stop in front of my driveway.
“Did you find him?” I asked, discarding the helmet on the bucket and jogging down the driveway.
“He’s at the hospital.” Rowan choked on the words, barely more than a wet sob.
“Okay.” One of us needed to be cool, and it definitely wasn’t Rowan. Though, tears pricked the corners of my eyes as well, I fought to hold them back. I needed to be strong for Rowan…
For both of them.
“Slide over,” I said, heading for the driver’s side of the car. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
He didn’t argue, hauling himself awkwardly over the console to make room for me, but lord was he short. I adjusted the seat back enough to make room for my legs, used the app on my phone to close the garage door, then headed toward the hospital.
“What happened?” I asked after we made it around the corner.
“I don’t know for sure.” Rowan was trembling like a leaf, curled in over himself with worry.
“Put your seatbelt on, Rowan.”
He yanked the strap across his chest, struggling to get the clip into the latch. I came to a stop at a red light and reached over, taking it out of his hands and sliding the two pieces together with ease. His fingers were clammy, and his face streaked with tears. I took both of his hands in mine and raised them, dusting kisses across his knuckles, then gently tracing wetness from the curve of his nose. Someone behind me honked, and I saw the light had turned green. I gave them the finger for good measure, then returned my hands to the steering wheel.
“Is he…” I trailed off, not brave enough to ask the question.
“He’s fine,” Rowan said, a wet laugh gurgling out of his throat. “I should have opened with that.”
“It’s okay,” I told him, relief washing over me like waves in the ocean. “I was worried too.”
“He wrecked his bike,” Rowan explained. “The police said?—”
“The police?”
“He wrecked his bike and got hurt. Someone found him and called the cops. The cops called the ambulance. I got the call once they got him to the hospital.”
“How hurt?”
“They said he’s stable and to come down,” he muttered. “That’s all I know.”
“All of that’s good.”
I reached over the console and grabbed Rowan’s thigh, using him to anchor myself for the last few minutes of the drive. He covered my hand with his, dropping his head against the headrest and closing his eyes. I glanced over at him as I pulled into the parking lot, finding him calmer than he’d been before, but still actively crying.
I needed to tell him how I felt about him, the words so urgent it hurt to keep them in, but I knew it wasn’t the right time or the right place. He wouldn’t even hear me over the rush of his own fear, and what if I woke up the next morning and didn’t feel the same? Maybe this was all adrenaline confusing me and making me think I was in love with Rowan Verne when it was just the fight or flight kicking itself on.
Even as I parked the car and followed Rowan into the emergency room, I knew that was a lie. I was hopelessly in love with him, and one good sleep wasn’t going to change that.
I hung back while he gave his information to the nurse at the desk, hesitant to try and come after him because I wasn’t family. But Rowan reached behind him and took my hand before I could finish the thought. He pulled me down the hallway and around the corner, past a row of curtains until we reached a bed on the end that held his son, looking smaller and more scared than I’d ever seen him.
Fisher’s relief when he saw his dad, and then me, was the straw that broke me. I shook free of Rowan’s hand and covered my face, turning my back to the bed so neither of them saw me cry. Fisher’s arm was in a sling and he had a nasty scrape across his cheek, but other than that…
He was alive.
I pressed my finger and thumb against my scar, one against the top and the other against the bottom, tapping until my heart rate slowed. It was an old habit from the early days after my accident, when I wanted to measure the distance of my disfigurement. It never grew and it never shrunk. Instead it was a permanent reminder of the night I’d almost lost my life because I let my emotions get the better of me.
Swallowing heavily, my limbs began to tingle. My adrenaline was finally starting to crash. I left Rowan and Fisher alone in their curtained-off room and found a chair in the hall, collapsing into it before my knees gave out. I fell forward, resting my elbows on my knees, taking deep breaths to manage the anxiety that had already begun to creep up from the base of my spine. Another technique I learned after the accident, one my therapist recommended because nightmares kept me up at night.
I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing, losing track of time, ignoring the smell of sanitizer, and the uncomfortable arms of the chair digging into my hips. I got so lost in my own head, I didn’t hear Rowan come out for me.
“Hey,” he said gently, fingers tentatively working through my hair.
Without looking up, I reached for his wrist, giving him a squeeze.
“He’s okay?” I asked.
Rowan hummed, sounding so much more at peace than he had when we’d gotten to the hospital.
“Broken arm that they’re going to cast now that I’m here,” he said. “Some road rash on his face. A sprained finger.”
Slowly I lifted my head, keeping Rowan’s hand in place so I could kiss his fingers when my mouth made it to his hand.
“I’m glad,” I whispered against his ring finger.
Rowan huffed and licked his lips. “He’s asking to see you.”
“What?”
He nodded.
“He specifically said to me I want to talk to Gil now. ”
There weren’t words that would ever encompass the way that made me feel, so I didn’t try to find any. I simply nodded and let Rowan walk me back into the curtained cubicle.
“Hey, Fish,” I said. “Gave your dad quite a fright.”
He shrugged, then whimpered. Rowan went to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and fussing over the way the sling rested against his chest.
“Dad said you went and looked for me.”
I nodded.
“Did you find my bike?” he asked.
“No. Did the cops take it when they brought you in?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Where is it?” I asked. “I’ll go get it.”
Fisher frowned, looking far younger than twelve. “I don’t think we’ll be able to fix it.”
“I can fix anything,” I assured him.
Rowan looked at me and smiled softly, and I hoped he knew I didn’t just mean that about the bike. I could fix anything, and I would fix anything. I’d fix everything, especially my relationship with the two of them.
“It’s up near the top of the vista,” he said, and an unexpected bubble of anger bloomed and exploded in the middle of my chest.
“The vista?” My voice was louder than it should have been, but Fisher needed to know how stupid that was. “There’s too many cars up there. The roads are too winding. You could have…”
“My dad already told me all this,” he said, and Rowan glared at him for good measure.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” I rasped.
“My dad said that too.”
I took a step back and let out a breath, bracketing my hands around my waist so I didn’t strangle the kid in front of me. That felt like a very not fatherly thing to do, and I wondered how our relationship was going to change once Rowan and I got serious with each other. Of course, assuming Rowan even wanted to get serious with me. We’d both been in agreement about what things were supposed to be, and he might not want…
Oh, God, what if he didn’t want me?
“What did you want to ask him?” Rowan said softly, brushing Fisher’s hair away from his face.
“If you’d go get my bike,” he said. “I lost an earbud up there too.”
He held up one of his hands, one white bud in his palm.
“I’ll go look,” I told him, “But I wouldn’t have high hopes for the earbud, kid.”
“Aw, man.”
“You never even have music on anyway,” I reminded him, rolling my eyes.
“Wait.” Rowan looked from Fisher to me, and back to Fisher. “What?”
That wasn’t a conversation for me, so I checked my pocket for Rowan’s car keys. “Are you good if I take your car to go get his bike? I’ll come back and hopefully he’ll be all casted and we can get you two home.”
“Home?” Rowan asked, almost to himself before nodding and clearing his throat. “Yeah. Thanks, Gil. That sounds good.”
“Alright.” I gave them both one last look, wanting more than anything to wrap them both in my arms, and then in bubble wrap, but deciding instead to turn away without another word. Just in case I said something I couldn’t take back.