CHAPTER 8 Rowan
CHAPTER 8
Rowan
O nce the Land Rover is packed up with Charlie’s skis on top and a duffel and more ski equipment in the back, I figure we’re heading to the police station, but instead he pulls up in front of a mobile phone store.
I shift uneasily in my seat. “I don’t have money for a phone.”
Charlie waves a hand. “You need a phone,” he says in what I’m starting to think of as his command voice.
The command voice may be my favorite Charlie voice. I want him to command me to get down on my knees. I’d do it right here if he used that voice.
“But…”
Charlie’s eyes soften. “Let me do this, Rowan.”
I swallow past a lump in my throat and nod. A prepaid burner phone might not be that expensive.
He gets out of the car. I follow him inside and go to the display with the cheapest phone options.
He shakes his head and selects a more expensive phone. “Get the good one,” he says. “I’ll pay for it.”
It’s clear Charlie has some money, what with the home on the Westside, the fancy car, and the twelve million Ad/VICE followers. I still don’t like taking advantage of him.
I open my mouth to protest, but he won’t let me argue and ends up buying me a phone with a six-month prepaid plan.
I’ve never had anything good that lasted six months.
Once the phone is activated, he takes it and texts himself before we even leave the store. Then I grab his hand as we go out to his car. Charlie glances down at our joined hands and squeezes gently.
“If there’s anything else you need, get in touch with me. No more trying to mug people in parking lots,” he orders.
“Yes, Daddy,” I whisper, and he turns his head sharply but doesn’t say anything.
Might as well double down. While he’s looking, I let go of his hand and change his name in the contacts from Charlie to “Daddy,” being sure to hold the screen so he can see it. He rolls his eyes.
Then I text him.
Rowan
What color tuxedos should we wear at our wedding?
His phone pings, and he snorts when he looks at it. While he’s standing right next to me outside his car, I still like watching the three little dots dance as he composes his reply. Finally the message, shorter than it should be for how long it took him, hits my phone.
Daddy
No weddings
Rowan
Okay, we can discuss it on our second date.
Silence. I grin at him. He shakes his head, smiling that elusive smile .
But I’m not going to take no for an answer. And I think Charlie doesn’t want me to.
We get back in the car, and he puts the address of the police station into his map application.
“I may not have mentioned this last night,” he says, “but they’ll want to get your fingerprints so they can tell which ones are yours and which are the criminals’.” He reconsiders. “The criminals other than you .”
My instincts are screaming fuck the police , but I need my car back. And my plant. So I nod.
I still don’t like it.
“Don’t you have to be somewhere today?” I remind him as I buckle up.
“We’re not planning on skiing much today anyway, given the drive. Mostly tomorrow, and then I’m taking Monday off from work so we can get a morning session in before we head down the mountain.”
“Okay,” I say warily. I’m still wondering why he’s willing to spend half his day driving me around, but it beats hitchhiking to Lancaster, so I’m not going to complain.
At the station, after I show the cops “Pierce’s” ShareARide profile from the app on my new phone and give them as much information as I can remember, they do indeed fingerprint me. Even though Charlie warned me to expect it, I must make a face, because he raises an eyebrow.
“They already have my fingerprints,” I whisper, even though I don’t care that the officer can hear me. At Charlie’s questioning look, I say, “Juvenile adventures with the law. But it still feels like they’re taking something away from me.”
Charlie’s face morphs from his usual broody self to something softer. “I get it.”
“It’s funny,” I say, thinking about it. “I balk at fingerprints, and yet I sent in my DNA to one of those online services. ”
“There’s a difference between the cops and a private company, I suppose.”
“Yeah. True.”
“Did you find any long-lost relatives?”
“Nope. I have no matches. Zero relatives. Period.”
“You mean in the database, right? Not, like, your parents and siblings.” Charlie leans in closer, and I want to pull him closer still. I want him to wrap his arms around me and hold me tight. I want to dig my nails into his back and claw through his shirt until we’re locked together so tightly nothing can pry us apart …
Hmm, that’s maybe a little creepy. But I’m okay with that.
“I don’t know who my birth parents are. Either of them.” So now I’m spilling my guts to distract myself from the discomfort of being here. Great.
“Oh, wow. I had no idea. So you were … were you adopted?”
A lump forms in my throat. “No. Just a lot of foster homes and group homes.”
“That sounds really hard.”
I shrug, used to feeling rootless. “I just think it’s odd that I don’t even have a third cousin twice removed or whatever. Nothing. No one shows up with my DNA.”
Charlie’s expression is dubious. “Maybe your relatives don’t feel comfortable putting their information in databases like that. Like you with the fingerprints.”
“Could be.”
It feels like he doesn’t believe me. I pull up the website on my brand-new phone, log in—I thankfully remember my password—and show Charlie the whole lot of nothing that pops up connected to me.
“See? It’s so weird. You’d think I’d have someone .”
“Yeah, that’s pretty weird. I haven’t used the site, but I’ve heard of people using it to find out about secret infidelity. A friend learned she had a cousin when he showed up with the right percentage of DNA matching. I suppose it’s possible that there’s no one living who is a blood relative.”
“I guess. But it seems far-fetched, don’t you think?”
I review and sign the police report when they hand it to me, not liking that they have so much of my information: my brand-new phone number, my address, and my fingerprints. But I suppose this is what I have to do if I want any hope of getting my car back.
“Do you think the tools who took my car just went for a joyride until they ran out of gas?” I doubt it. That’s not the kind of luck I have. But I might as well try to be optimistic while I can.
“It’s possible. I think you’ll get it back.”
It’s nice to have someone by my side. More than nice.
A couple of hours later, Charlie’s pulling up in front of my crappy apartment in Lancaster. Built in the eighties, remodeled never. The stucco siding is falling off in places, and everything is faded from the harsh desert sun.
“Um. This is me,” I say, trying to grow a backbone.
Charlie looks over at me, his face tough to read. He opens his mouth and closes it.
I swallow hard. “Thanks. For everything.”
He nods. “Take care. And like I said, text me if you need something.”
“Oh, I’m gonna be texting you even if I don’t.”
Charlie chuckles at that. Then he reaches down, fumbles under his seat, and hands me my knife. “Use this carefully.” He tilts his head. “Or don’t.”
I unbuckle my seat belt and crawl across the center console into his lap. “If you think this is the last you’re seeing of me, you’re very, very wrong, Charlie Cooper.” Then I kiss him hard. He leans in, kissing me back just as fiercely. His hands steady me, but what I want to do is topple over with him on top.
That’s not all I want. I want to cut his clothes off with the knife he’s just returned to me. I want to draw his blood and suck his cock and make him scream. I’m probably better off not telling him those parts. Yet.
I settle for “We are very, very right together.”
“How can you be right for me?” he whispers. “You’re not in my plan.”
A knife blade bigger than the one I carry around lances through my stomach, and I scoot back, accidentally hitting the horn. We both flinch. “What plan?”
His cheeks redden. “When I was twenty, I came up with a ten-year plan for myself. It had stuff on it like going to school, buying a house. It was ambitious at the time, but I’ve gotten most of it done. The only things I haven’t checked off are to get a husband and a cat.”
I try not to laugh. I got “baby boy” tattooed on my neck as an attempt to manifest my future, so who am I to judge anyone else? At the same time, is he rejecting me? “What kind of man did you imagine you’d marry?”
He clears his throat. “Taller than me.”
Not what I was expecting as the first criterion. “Shut up.”
“It’s true.” He squirms under me. “I wanted him to be rich and well-dressed and to be at least five years older than me.”
I wince, and he sees. “Well, your plan is wrong, because I’m none of those things, and yet I’m the one you want in your bed. And your life. You’ll see.”
His eyes flick to the heavens. “Uh-huh. You’re great, Rowan, but this was just a one-night thing.” Then he bites his lower lip. “There’s a guy I’ve been seeing. He’s … I guess you’d call him a long-term hookup. We’re not exclusive or anything. But he’s everything on my list …”
And I’m not. He doesn’t have to finish his sentence. I know what he’s thinking. My chest hitches, and my arms fall to my sides, heavy and tired. A cold sweat breaks out along my hairline, and my nose starts to run.
I tighten my fists and press my lips together. Because even though Charlie’s saying he doesn’t want me long term, his body doesn’t lie. He wanted me this morning, and he wants me now. He can deny it all he wants, but I know the truth.
Sensing my inner turmoil, Charlie says, “Look, I’m just being honest with you. Isn’t that for the best?”
“Sure,” I say, biting my lip. “Who’s this guy you’re seeing? And any other hookups. I need a list of the ones I can meet.” And kill.
Charlie chuckles. “You don’t need to know. They’re not serious. That I swear.”
Whoever his hookup is, he’s not Charlie’s husband, partner, or boyfriend. So he’s no threat to me.
But getting Charlie to realize we should explore this thing between us is going to take time. Time we don’t have right now.
I know how to get out of a situation where I’m not welcome. I’m just unsure of whether this is one of those situations. With a flourish, I open my knife and hold it under his chin. “For old time’s sake.”
He stares at me with eyes like fire. Then, with a smile, he says, “Get the hell out.”
Closing the knife again, I kiss him long and deep with lots of tongue, until we’re panting. We break apart, and he squeezes my ass one more time. I get out of the car with just my phone and knife. Oh, and an erection.
I slam the door shut, but he rolls down the window. “Take the leftovers.” I grab the small Styrofoam cooler. Charlie’s suede bomber jacket is lying next to it, and I help myself to that, too.
He gives me an up nod and puts the car in gear. He drives slowly back down the street, and I watch him until he turns at the corner. I go up the steps and knock on my own door, hoping my roommate will let me inside .
I need my fucking keys.
I need my goddamn car.
I need Wilbur.
I really need Charlie. But he doesn’t need me.
My neck bends forward, and my shoulders curl over my chest. I tug at my T-shirt hem. My body feels broken, my skin too tight.
Fuck. Why did I ever meet Charlie?
After a few excruciating minutes, Floyd lets me in. The house is skunky with the familiar scent of weed. Floyd’s in his late twenties. He does cleanup on construction job sites when he can get the work and gets hauled back into prison when he can’t.
At least that’s the snapshot of his life I’ve gotten from him. I try not to talk with him too much. I give him rent every week—I’d never have enough to pay the whole thing at the beginning of the month—and otherwise leave him alone.
Floyd is lanky and badly dressed, with permanent red eyes from all the drugs. I have no idea how he gets jobs on construction sites. They must not test. I always ask him for the addresses where he’s working so I know not to ever go inside those buildings.
Floyd doesn’t ask me where I’ve been or whether I’m okay. He doesn’t ask me why I don’t have a house key anymore.
No one worries about me.
“Hey, Floyd, can I borrow your key? I need to get another one made. Someone stole my keys. And my phone. And my car.”
“I’ll do it. Just give me the money,” he says. “Oh, and that sucks.”
Wow. Such empathy. “Do it, and I’ll Venmo you. It can’t be more than my last ride paid, right?” Ugh. Having no money sucks.
“Yep.”
I walk into my room. There’s an empty spot where I usually put Wilbur. I bite my lip and press my fist to my chest. I miss him.
Something inside me drops out, and I feel … empty. I slide to the floor and draw my knees up to my chest.
I’m not sure how long I stay there, but eventually I figure I’d better get to sorting out my life.
I finish setting up my new phone and look more carefully on the ShareARide app to see if there’s a place for it to record my car’s location. There is, but the last entry is not far from Pierce’s pickup location on PCH. Guess he was smart enough to ditch the phone right away. I cash out the pitiful amount in my driver account, then find my friend Xavier on Ad/VICE. I had his number in my old phone, of course, but that does me exactly zero good.
X and I have known each other since he was thirteen and I was seventeen. We were both in the same group home for a while. He’s the only person I’ve really stayed in touch with, in part because I always want to protect him, and in part because he’s a computer genius who’s helped me with my eternal search for my birth parents.
Rowan (on Ad/VICE)
Hey, I have a new phone number. Tell me yours, and I’ll text you.
Xavier
Here you go:
Rowan (via text)
It meee.
Xavier
What happened?
Rowan
Long story. Short version is, my car got stolen, and I manifested the daddy of my dreams.
My phone rings, and I answer with a chuckle. “Hey.”
“What the actual fuck?” X says.
I summarize the past day, leaving out the sex. And Charlie’s beau .
Beau, fuck buddy, whatever. Charlie’s dude who’s perfect for him. Who’s not me.
I can’t keep the sigh out of my voice. “Daddy’s six foot two inches of tall, dark, and handsome perfection.”
“When are you going to see him next?”
“That’s a problem without my car.” I rub my neck.
“What are you going to do?” X asks.
“I guess wait until the police find my car? If they do. I did have insurance, thankfully. Crappy insurance, but still. Maybe I can get a different crappy car.”
“Send me the profile of this Pierce dude. Let me see what I can find.”
“I will.”
“Would you still want to drive for ShareARide, after something like that?”
“Hell no. But what I want to do won’t pay the bills.”
He snorts. “How many times do I have to tell you that being the main character in your own life is only a good gig if you’re famous?”
I grimace. “Yeah. I know.”
I just wish I had a second main character in my life to love.
Could that be Charlie? Part of me thinks so, but if what he said in the car is true, he doesn’t want me for more than what we did. He’s got Mr. Perfect already.
But I’m not going to stay away. Charlie’s going to be mine.
He won’t know what hit him.