Chapter 5
Jason
Rowan’s gone full-blown “And another thing!”
She’s jabbing her finger into my chest to punctuate the points I’m trying to hold on to, that I owe it to her to hear after refusing to listen until relations devolved to where we were yelling in each other’s faces.
But I’m struggling to keep up after the bucket of icy water splashed all over my blazing, key-dangling outrage. She’s here for him. For us.
I need to apologize.
On the next chest poke, I get it together and catch her hand, holding it less than a second, just long enough for her eyes to meet mine.
“I didn’t realize.” It’s hardly justification. “Shit, I should have listened, let you explain.”
Arms crossed, she glares at me. “Ya think?”
“I’m sorry.” Digging into my pocket, I pull out the key. “Here, take it. I’ll move your things back into Dad’s room, or if you’d rather I not—”
Her brows furrow, and she looks from me to the key in my hand. “I’ll do it.” She takes the key and heaves a breath she’s clearly trying to rein in. “Can you just… give me a minute.”
I nod and head out front, stopping before letting the screen door swing shut behind me. “I’ll be, umm, right here if you need anything.”
Anything other than me leaving the island, anyway.
But this is good. She can get settled in Dad’s room, and I can work on my apology. Not just “sorry,” because that’s bullshit. But a real apology.
I stand at the corner of the porch, far enough from the door that I don’t look like some creepy stalker with my face pressed against the screen, but close enough to hear if she needs anything.
From here, I can see out through a break in the trees to the water beyond.
Even with the clouds, it’ll be bright for hours this time of year.
There’s some muffled grumbling from within. A hiss and then, “Motherfucker.”
“You okay?” I call, heading in.
Rowan meets me at the door, jangling the key by her head just like I did. “It doesn’t work.”
“What?” It’s the right key. There’s only one.
“The key. Does not. Work.” She shakes it again, looking like she’s about to go nuclear. “So either you’re playing some messed-up game with me or—”
“I’m not. Here, give it to me, and I’ll get it open.”
Death glare. “Think I don’t know how a lock works, Jason?”
Man, I used to love when she’d say my name back in high school. It almost never happened. But on those rare occasions, it didn’t even matter what she said.
“Jason, are we out of yogurt?”
“Your shirt’s on inside out, Jason.”
“Jason, I think you just drove over your backpack.”
I loved it.
I should not be affected by it now.
“Not what I was suggesting.” I hold my hand out. “Let me try.”
She slaps it into my palm as I pass and follows me back. Leaning against the wall behind me, she watches as I slide the key into the lock I turned during my snit earlier.
It moves, but not all the way. “It’s old. A little sticky is all.”
“Hmm.”
She doesn’t sound convinced. And now that I’m actually thinking about it, I’m pretty sure these doors haven’t been locked once in my lifetime.
At some point, my dad may have said the same.
Shit.
Forty-five minutes later, we’re on our knees, aggravated, and taking petty delight in informing the other of whatever obvious thing they need to try before demanding another shot at it ourselves.
“Just— just move,” she says, shouldering into me like an opposing player. “I was getting somewhere.”
“You were getting nowhere.” I can feel the slightest give. The WD-40 is finally working. No way am I giving up the glory on this one.
I am going to be the fucking hero here. I have to be.
But then her hands are moving in as she tries to brush me out of the way. “I almost had it. You butted in.”
Her skin is so damned soft. “Uhh, pot, meet kettle.”
She snorts, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the smile she attempts to hide by turning away. “Can’t believe you just pot-and-kettled me.”
“If the shoe fits.” It’s just a smile.
“And now with the ‘shoe’ business too?” There’s a softness to her words that wasn’t there a minute ago. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say a fondness. “You sound like your dad.”
I swallow past the lump of emotion, managing a gruff, “Thank you.”
She nods.
And… click.
The key turns in my grasp— Or ours, really.
I let out a whoop, and Rowan squeaks, her eyes going wide as we look at each other and back to the lock that really did just need a minute, or forty-five of them, and then back to each other.
There’s no hiding her glee as she pushes to her feet, laughing with relief. “Oh my God, I thought—”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to admit it, but I was getting nervous—”
“Right? Can you even imagine—”
“No way.” Jesus, that smile is something else. I ought to cut my younger self some slack for the way it tied me up. “I’d have had to sleep with one eye open.”
She sighs, looking more relaxed than she has since this whole fiasco started. “Damn straight.”
I get up too, tossing the key and catching it in my hand.
Wait. That was weird.
Rowan is reaching for the knob as I look down and—
“Oh shit,” we say in unison.
Dread pools in my gut.
She turns an accusing glare on me. “You broke the lock?”
“Not exactly.” I open my palm. “I broke the key.”