CHAPTER 23 Charlie
CHAPTER 23
Charlie
S o, surprising no one, Rowan talks me into going axe throwing with him on Saturday night.
I have no idea how a business gets insurance to do this. It just seems like a recipe for someone to lose a toe. That could be a good thing in some contexts—it would be a place to start with those fuckers who hurt Rowan—but I have to think most of the customers here deserve to keep all their appendages.
A hot guy in a plaid lumberjack shirt shows us how to throw the axe—and he hits the bull’s-eye immediately both times.
Then Rowan and I do it, and Rowan gets a wild gleam in his eye. He’s such a damn menace. He follows the rules, to my surprise, and he hits the target, although not as precisely as the worker. I do the same and am just glad to hit the wood.
A group of tiny white-haired ladies has the booth next to us, and they’re cackling up a storm. “Go, Mildred!” one of them chirps.
Mildred, wearing a rose-pink tracksuit, lifts the axe and follows the prescribed procedure. She hits the wall but wildly misses the target .
I point a thumb over my shoulder and whisper to Rowan, “I’m digging our neighbors.”
“Me, too. I love it that this is what they chose to do today. I’ve always wanted a grandma.”
That makes something ache inside me. How much has he missed out on? There’s nothing I can say or do to make it all better, but I wish I could.
He picks up an axe and seems to contemplate its weight. “So I know your pet peeves. What are the things you love?”
His question makes me pause. Is there anything I love? A thunk sounds behind us as another party’s axe hits the target.
He chuckles. “You don’t know?”
“Not off the top of my head, no. I mean, my family, obviously.”
Rowan shakes his head. “That’s not ‘obviously.’ Some of us don’t have a family, and some people have families that aren’t worth loving.”
“Yeah. True. Sorry.”
He sets up and lets his axe fly. “It’s okay. But, apart from your family, what do you love?”
I pick up my axe. “I have no idea. Is that bad?”
“That you could list off things that bug you in two seconds, but you can’t think of anything you love?”
“Yeah.” I stand at the line and hold the axe behind my head. I glance over at the older ladies. One in a pale aqua sweater and black pants is openly ogling me. I turn my head back to the target and focus. This time, I manage to get the axe almost in the middle. Rowan claps, as does the entire group next to us. I give them an up nod. “Hello, ladies.”
“Hello, handsome,” a woman in all bright yellow, with a bright yellow turban, says. The rest of them whistle.
Rowan smiles widely. “Figures you’d be popular with the ladies. Should I invite them over so they can flirt with you?”
“I hate you,” I mutter. “Your turn.”
He walks up to the line and easily hits the target. “Maybe you’ve been focused on the wrong stuff. The things you don’t want instead of the things you want.”
“No, I’ve been keeping track of what I want. I just don’t think it’s what I love.”
“Okay, then what do you like ?”
“I like hiking, making and editing videos, being snarky with my friends, going to the club, fucking …”
“Much better,” Rowan whispers. “Now I’m getting the real Charlie.”
As we go on flinging our axes to the wall, we both get better and better at it. The ladies next to us are now drinking margaritas, and their axes aren’t going anywhere near the center.
“What about you?” I ask, ordering us beers from the QR code menu.
“I like manga and anime, the dirtier the better.”
“There’s dirty anime?” I ask, then shake my head. “Of course there is.”
“If you haven’t seen it, we can watch Goblins Cave together,” he says. “It’s basically porn, but a cartoon. The plot is ‘prince gets assaulted by large and small green goblins.’”
My voice drops, and I step closer. “Why do you like it?”
Rowan tugs at his collar. “I think it’s one of those fantasies I’m not supposed to have. Having your choice taken away in real life is truly awful, but the fantasy of ‘Oh, no, help’”—he says this part flatly—“‘I’m being taken against my will by these really hot green dudes with big peens.’” He fans himself.
“Where can we find the men with big peens?” rose-suited lady asks.
“It’s online,” Rowan calls.
“Shame,” she sniffs, and everyone laughs.
Rowan addresses me more quietly. “I guess the noncon thing hits my lizard brain just right.”
“Hmm.” Our beers are delivered, and we both take sips .
“It feels really subversive, too,” he continues. “Because it bucks what’s right. I know what’s right: consent and safe sex and all that. But deep down, some part of me wants to be thrown around by a daddy who has his way with me.”
“Shit, Rowan, you need to stop.” I gesture at my zipper. “We have to change the subject, or we’re going to give our neighbors a show.”
“I think they’d be into it.” He gives me an assessing look. “So you do like the idea of taking over. You weren’t just saying it before?”
“I’ve never done anything without consent. But part of me wants to … find out what it’s like. As long as I know the consent is actually there, underneath.” My cheeks heat. This feels extremely personal.
“Good.” Rowan widens his eyes all innocent and leans against the wall, his body on display for me.
“Knock it off, baby boy. Seriously, change the subject,” I hiss. “You said you liked metal and pop music. Why those?”
“My moods are either black or pink. No in-between.” He gives me an accusing look. “You just listen to whatever’s on the radio, don’t you.”
“Kinda, yeah.” I pause. “I do like picking music out for a video, though.” I shiver. “When the music beat drops in time with the video? That’s the best. I don’t care what the music is. If it works, it works.” I heft the axe in my hand. Then I fling it.
“If you could do anything at all, what would you do?” Rowan asks me, sipping his beer. “I mean besides me.”
“I told you: not be a lawyer. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I need to make money to pay my bills.” I pause. “I think there’s something else, too. I’d feel ashamed giving up my law license. Mom and Dad are so proud of having two lawyers in the family.”
“Do they want two lawyers? Or do they want happy kids? ”
I don’t answer him. He knows he’s right. I don’t need to confirm it. “At that bonfire where you tried to mug me?—”
“I was successful?—”
“No, you weren’t.” I glare. “At any rate, they were doing this funny ritual where they were burning bad decisions or bad memories from the past. And all I could think was that my supremely bad choice was going to law school.”
“It doesn’t sound like it was that bad. It got you here.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “I’m whining. I’ll stop.”
“You can whine to me,” he says.
“Many people would kill for the life I have. I got an excellent education in a prestigious field. I work at a cutting-edge law firm that does things I support.”
“But are you happy?”
I stare at him for far too long. “With you, yeah.”
He smiles. “What about at work?”
I shake my head.
“I want to help you to be happy.”
“I’ll be happy if I can make a bull’s-eye,” I mutter.
“They let us project an image of someone we want to throw axes at,” Rowan says.
“How will you possibly choose just one?”
We end up displaying a photo of the dude who stole his car, who hasn’t closed his ShareARide account, and Rowan seems happier when he gets the guy in both eyes and the throat. The ladies next to us clap loudly.
I close my eyes and shake my head. “You’re so into violence.”
“This is a healthy outlet for it. You don’t want to know what I’d do if I had the money to fund my vengeance list.”
Our time is up, and as we walk through the lobby area to the exit, I hear a gasp.
“OMG, are you Charlie Cooper?” someone says from a group of several young men on a couch, waiting their turn. At my side, Rowan stiffens .
“Um, yes.” I give them a smile.
Rowan’s hand is in his pocket, and I’d bet he’s fingering his knife. I squeeze his arm.
The most eager-looking guy in the group grins widely. “I love your Ad/VICE account. You and your brother.”
“Oh. Thanks,” I say. While I wanted the social media attention, I’m never quite sure what to do when people approach me in real life. Cam gets stopped more than I do, simply because he’s on camera more than I am. But this happens to me from time to time, too.
“Do you mind taking a selfie with me?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rowan open his mouth to say something snarky. I lean down and kiss his neck, and he melts against me. “It doesn’t mean anything, babe,” I murmur. “You okay with it?”
Rowan shakes his head, then changes his mind and nods.
The guy gets up, and we lean close to take a photo. He squeezes my ass as we part, and Rowan hisses, “I will murder him.”
“No, you will not murder my fans,” I say.
“Yet.”
When we get home, I go down the hall to my office and pull out a file folder. Rowan snorts at the P-touch label. “‘Ten-year plan’?”
I nod. “Open it. I want to show you this.”
He slides out the single sheet of paper and reads the things I wanted to accomplish by the time I was thirty. “This has been my guiding principle since I was twenty.”
“This is a very ambitious list. Most people would be happy with one or two of those things.”
“I’ve always had a lot of ambition. I wanted to distinguish myself.”
“To keep up with your brother and sister? ”
“Maybe. I don’t know the psychology of it. I just have always had this drive, you know? I wanted to make myself be better. Do better. I needed to show the world that I was someone.”
“And did you have to be perfect to do that?”
“Of course. I don’t know any other way.”
“I’ve always thought being perfect was a form of fear. Like, fear that other people would judge you to be lacking. I just kind of embraced the fact that other people would find me lacking—I mean, they were going to anyway, so I leaned into it. Too short and small? I wear clothes that emphasize how small I am. An outsider? I make myself look even more of one with all my body art and dye jobs.”
“You definitely make an impression,” I say.
“I’ll note that your husband requirement is very specific.”
My cheeks burn. “Yeah, well. That’s what I wanted when I was twenty.”
“What’s a Cartier Love ring?”
“Cartier has these bracelets that you put on someone else with a screwdriver. The rings are the same design—simple. I just like them.”
“Do you have to screw on the rings?”
“Nope.”
“How do you feel about the social media followers?”
“At some point, it gets to be overwhelming. I’m not in love with having people ask me for selfies, though I guess it doesn’t bother me as much as it bothers you. The online part is easier. I don’t even read most of the comments anymore. I just like posting the videos. And I don’t engage with online bullies.” I let out a breath. “I had bullies growing up, too.”
Rowan studies my face. “The night we met, you said you hated bullies.”
“That’s because they did some vile things to me when I was young. I was scared to tell my parents that I was gay and that kids were picking on me because of it. I was smaller than I am now— obviously—but I was smaller and younger than the other kids, too. When my brother found out what was happening—the teasing, locking me in rooms, making me piss my pants—he beat some of them up. But I didn’t like him having to fight my fights for me, so I asked my parents for tae kwon do lessons. I learned self-defense. But I didn’t end up having to use it more than once or twice.” I scrub my face. “My parents never knew that I had problems, and I wanted to keep it that way.”
“It sounds like you were always trying to be perfect. Maybe so they wouldn’t be upset that things weren’t going well with you.”
“Maybe.” I grimace, now feeling super awkward. “Just … you shared things with me, and I wanted to share things with you. Things that suck.”
Rowan leans in and kisses me gently. “Thank you.”
“Actually, I’m questioning whether I want anything on my list anymore,” I admit. “Fuck ten-year plans that are basically me regurgitating every success magazine article I’ve ever read.”
“Definitely. No wedding for us. Got it.” His face falls.
“It doesn’t mean I don’t want a committed relationship. We’re exclusive, baby boy,” I assure him.
“I’m just never going to be Rowan Cooper. Fine.” Rowan mock sighs, but I can hear the hurt behind it.
“If you really want to change your name to that, you can. I can’t stop you.”
“Hmm.” He worries at a nail. “I’ll think about it. Jones as a last name has never suited me, I don’t think. But you’re right. I can change it without marrying anyone.”
“You’re not marrying anyone else,” I growl.
“Sheesh, Daddy. Possessive. I love it.” Rowan spins to look at me and pokes me in the chest. “With a husband on your ten-year plan, I figured you’d be a secret romantic.” I go to shake my head, but Rowan holds my face. “You don’t want the big proposal and the wedding and all that?”
“No, I don’t,” I say. “I see my friends with their happily ever afters. They’ve all found their perfect person, and most of them are married or are getting married. But I don’t know that I want what they have—although I do want a partner. Club culture was getting a little boring and repetitive for me. I’d like someone to settle down with—but my own version of settling down.”
“And that someone isn’t me?”
I take both of his hands in mine and stare into his dark blue eyes. “Rowan, it very well may be you. Things are moving super fast with us. I just don’t want to get married.”
“But we can still be together?”
I don’t like how insecure he sounds. Knowing his history, though, I appreciate how vulnerable he’s being with me. He’s letting me see his fears. It makes my heart expand to fit him all the way inside. “Definitely. It’ll just be up to us to say what that means. No more influence from anyone else. We’re going to do only what we want to do, and that’s it.”
“Can I get a ring?”
“You can have one for every finger. Just not your ring finger.”
He leans up and kisses me. “Deal. I promise to never marry you.”
“And I promise to never marry you,” I say.