21. Rowan
TWENTY-ONE
ROWAN
Harper called in sick to her job for the next few days, then coasted through the weekend without so much as a peep. The three of us tried to go on about our business like she wasn’t there, but that turned out to be the hardest thing we’d ever done, considering there was now a whole ass female living right under our noses. Somehow, there was no way to really ignore that, especially when you shared living space with one.
I put her up in the office and swapped out the loveseat for a bigger futon so she would have something more substantial to sleep on. She might be short, but cramming yourself into an S-shape to fit on a two-seater sofa was unhealthy for anyone. When Nash and I hefted it up the stairs and into the rooms, Angel huffed at us, rolled his eyes, and pointedly ignored us for the rest of the day. I could tell he wasn’t into the idea of keeping her here. Everything we did felt like another nail in his coffin, another piece of proof that she wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon.
Nash didn’t go out of his way to interact with her after the incident, but he didn’t avoid her, either, the result being some very intense, silent standoffs when the two of them were both awake.
I started to lose sleep. Pretending she wasn’t just a room away, wearing any manner of skimpy pajamas as she stretched out on my couch, her soft whimpers and occasional night terrors keeping me on edge as I waited for her to need me, it was all so difficult, almost unbearable. I’d drift off leaning against the wall with my door cracked, just in case.
She never once called out for me or came looking for a shoulder to cry on.
One night, after I managed to sleep through one of her night terror episodes out of sheer exhaustion and sleep deprivation, I found her in the kitchen with Angel, mocking him playfully as he smeared peanut butter on an apple slice, his go-to midnight snack.
The idea of her turning to Angel before she’d turn to me felt like a betrayal. We’d burned so hot in the hallway that I thought for sure she’d come looking for me later. Instead, she was putting more space between us with every day. I had to do something to distract myself, so I turned all my attention to my father. He wasn’t the kind to hide in the shadows and have others do the dirty work for him. Everything about this felt off, but what other possible scenario was there? Harper hadn’t been making hitman-level enemies in her seven years in hiding. And there was really no one else who might benefit from her death.
The pieces felt right. They fit like a puzzle you’ve been staring at too long. And if he knew, that meant he’d asked for us to complete the hit to make a point. He wanted us to know he knew. And I’d bet dollars to doughnuts he wanted something from it. Either that, or this was his way of punishing us for not taking care of things seven years ago.
Harper argued with Nash earlier, insisting she be allowed to return to her normal life. She was independent and headstrong, just like she’d always been, but she wouldn’t be safe. Especially when Father discovered we were protecting her.
I didn’t want her out of my sight.
And she wanted to be as far from me as possible.
What a conundrum.
My head hung over the back of the couch as I listened to them pick up where they’d left off, Nash pretending to ignore her while she muttered under her breath, clearly directed at him and easily loud enough for him to hear, but in such a way she could pretend she wasn’t waiting for him to snap and give in.
"Not a prisoner, he says, but I’m not allowed to leave this fucking nuthouse filled with murderers. And somehow, that’s safer than going to work and living in my apartment." She tossed a chunk of butter in the skillet on the stove, the telltale hiss of steam filling the room. "You ask me, I’d be safer out there on my own. Lasted just fine for seven years, but no, that’s not good enough ? —"
Angel plunked down next to me and swiped a piece of my chocolate bar. I’d been holding it in my hand, half unwrapped, without taking a single bite, for at least five minutes, so I didn’t bite his head off about it.
His eyes cut to mine, and he tossed his head in the direction of the kitchen. "They still at it?"
My head bobbed once, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling the beginning of a headache forming. "Yeah. At this point, I’m about to call Vegas and place bets on who gives up first."
"She couldn’t have picked a worse opponent for arguing," he pointed out, chewing the chocolate instead of letting it melt on his tongue. Fucking waste. It was expensive chocolate. "Nash is a pro."
"I can hear you, fucker," the man in question grumbled from his perch on the kitchen counter. "And you’re right. You’d better put that money on me, 'cause you know I don’t give up."
"Who said we were arguing?" Harper muttered, her back still to Nash. "Can’t a girl talk to herself while she cooks?"
Angel ducked his head, but not before I caught the slow-spreading smile on his lips that he quickly schooled into a scowl.
Harper had started getting under his skin, too. And I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d do that to all of us. Would she break apart what we’d become and force us to be something we weren’t? Were we really who we thought we were, for that matter, if she could change us so easily with nothing more than her mere presence?
Or were we just hiding from ourselves?
"You can mutter over there until you’re blue in the face," Nash taunted, leaning back until he was stretched out across the island counter like a dead fish, "it doesn’t change the fact that I know you’re talking to me, and I don’t give a fuck. "
"That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?" Harper spun around, grease flying from the spatula she held. I watched with interest out of the corner of my eye as she shoved it in his direction threateningly. "Fuck. That’s all I ever hear from you, Nash. Fuck this, fuck that, motherfuck fucking fuck fuck fuck." She jabbed him with the spatula tip right in the fucking gut as he lay there taking it. "Don’t you know anything else? Maybe you’ve just gotten lazy. The old Nash had such a vast vocabulary. Now, you’re like a little kid."
He propped himself up on one arm, watching her turn to the food again. I had to swallow a laugh when he grinned like a fucking loon and stuck his tongue out at her back. It was something the old him would have done, back when he still held all that cocky confidence of a man who was used to drowning in pussy with a strum of his guitar and a flip of his curls. "I can promise you, there’s nothing little about me, ya brat." His hand moved to his crotch, which he grabbed for emphasis. "But you already know that. You’ve seen it before."
"Yeah, yeah," she muttered again, refusing to indulge him. "I’ve seen bigger."
His eyes narrowed, and I prepared to pull him off of her if things got heated. Angel had abandoned all attempts to look like he didn’t care and now also hung over the back of the couch, watching the two of them.
Nash threw his hand over his heart. "You wound me, woman."
Harper grinned over her shoulder at him, and shot Angel and I a salacious wink. "On your brother."
Ah, hell.
Nash’s eyes couldn’t have popped out of his head any further if you put his skull in a vice grip. "Which one?"
"A lady never kisses and tells, Nashville," she teased, and for a split second, I struggled to understand why she’d called him that. It was easy to forget his full name was Nashville when he’d spent his whole life shortening it. "I’ll take the secret to the grave."
Nash rolled his eyes and leaned back over the counter until he was looking at us upside-down. "Okay, assholes, drop 'em. I don’t believe her."
The childish way he said it dragged a bubble of laughter from my throat, and I buried my face in my hands to hide it. "You’re a fucking fruitcake, man. I’m not showing you my dick."
"Incest was never my thing, Nashville," Angel taunted him dryly. "Sorry to disappoint."
He was off the counter in a heartbeat, on his feet and crossing the floor like a panther on crack. "You think you’re funny, don’t you, asshole? I could choke the life outta you like I did the other day, and this time, Harper won’t fucking stop me."
In a heartbeat, the woman in question had her hands against Nash’s chest and was shoving back against him, trying to keep distance between him and Angel. "Nash, Nash, come on, now, let’s not start shit, I’m almost done cooking?—"
Nash shoved her off like she was little more than a fly on a horse’s ass, moving around her with ease to get in Angel’s face. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Angel?" He shoved our middle brother, who had moved from the couch to stand nose to . . . well, top of the head, with Nash. Their height difference wouldn’t deter Nash, though. He had pounds of muscle on Angel, and where Angel was quick, Nash was ruthless. He played dirty, and he didn’t hesitate.
"Alright, assholes," I started, moving to stand in between them, for all the good it would do me. "Let’s just chill the fuck out and let Harper finish cooking, so we can eat. Then you two can go off and do your own shit and?—"
"No, fuck that. If he wants to start shit, let him start shit, Ro. Don’t get in the way this time, or I’ll take you with him." Nash tried to move me out of the way like he had Harper, but I wasn’t as light, and I was used to his tactics .
"Nice try, Nash. Why don’t you go take a cold shower or something?—"
"If he wants to die, Rowan, today is as good a day as any." Angel put a hand on my shoulder, glancing over it at Nash’s murderous face. "I can take him. And he knows it."
Out of nowhere, Harper was behind him, and she pulled his arm off me and dragged him to the door. "Rowan, you deal with that one, I’ve got the skinny one," she said, and then like a bolt of lightning, she yanked Angel by the arm out the door and slammed it in her wake.
I turned my attention to Nash, who I promptly shoved onto the couch. "You have to fuck everything up, don’t you?"
The crossed arms and tilt of his nose made him look like a kid throwing a temper tantrum. And I didn’t have the patience to be his fucking father right now.
Nash huffed and rolled his eyes. "I wish you’d let me beat his ass just once, Ro. He’s got it coming with that fucking attitude."
I shoved a finger in his face. "Not happening. We acted like perfectly civilized men before Harper came on the scene, and now, suddenly, you’re at each others’ throats. What gives?"
"I don’t really care to discuss it with you, Mr. High-and-Mighty." His gaze turned inward for a second, and then he was up and off the couch, hustling across the room to grab his jacket. "I’m hitting the fucking club. You know where to find me if you need me. But I’d prefer it if you don’t."
He was gone in a flash before I could think of a way to stop him. It was getting to the point where if things didn’t come to a head soon, they’d explode, and we might all be caught in the crossfire if a man like Nash blew up in our midst.
My locs bounced off the sides of my face as I shook my head and returned to the office to make some calls.
Someone here had to keep their cool. It might as well be me.