Chapter 4
Rowan
The smell of bacon lingered in the air as I headed to the kitchen.
My mother was at the stove, and when she heard me enter, she turned. “Morning. Breakfast is almost ready.”
My stomach growled. “Morning.”
She looked me over, taking in the T-shirt I’d slept in for maybe two hours, my sweatpants, and my bare feet. My body felt like shit after the fight, the flight, and moving my stuff out of the rental, but I’d pushed through worse. Sore muscles were manageable, and bruises faded.
Everything else was the issue.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Please.”
“Sit. I’ll get it.”
“I can get it.”
“I know you can.” She turned back to the stove and flipped the bacon. “Sit anyway.”
Arguing with Mom before eight in the morning was a losing battle. I’d learned that somewhere between my childhood and basic training.
I sat in the chair I’d used growing up at the kitchen table, facing the backyard through the window above the sink. Except this time, my phone was off, my bags were in my old room, and I had no plan beyond getting through breakfast.
Mom set a mug in front of me. Black coffee, no sugar, no creamer.
I glanced up. “Thank you.”
I wrapped my hand around the mug but didn’t take a drink. The heat against my palm gave me something to focus on.
She went back to cooking as if it were any other normal morning. Like I hadn’t shown up last night and finally told her the truth about me, about Keaton, about the part of my life I’d kept locked down for years.
For a few minutes, I listened to the sound of bacon popping. Then she brought a plate to the table and set it in front of me. Eggs, bacon, toast, and sliced fruit, because no matter how old I got, Mom was still going to make sure I ate something decent.
“Eat.”
I picked up the fork. The first bite tasted good, even though I still didn’t have much of an appetite after going so long without eating.
Mom watched me for a moment, then looked into her mug. “How much sleep did you get?”
“Enough.”
“Did you turn your phone back on?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“Eventually.”
“That could mean after breakfast or next Christmas.”
I cut the eggs with the edge of my fork, making smaller pieces than necessary. “If you’re going to tell me I need to call him, don’t.”
“I wasn’t.”
That made me look at her, and she held my gaze. “I don’t think you’re ready to hear anything he has to say.”
“I know what he has to say.”
“No, you don’t.” She took a sip of coffee, calm as ever. “You know what you saw. That’s not always the same.”
I set the fork down. “Devon kissed him.”
“Yes.”
“Keaton didn’t push him off.”
“Did he kiss Devon back?”
Dad had asked me the same question the night before. Hearing it again didn’t make me like it any better.
I didn’t answer her, and she continued. “No. You saw enough to hurt you, and then you left before you could see anything else.”
“I had to get out of there.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t make it sound like I just ran.”
“Didn’t you?”
I leaned back in the chair. “No.”
She stared at me.
“Fine. I ran, but do you blame me?”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t be hurt,” she said. “If I’d seen what you saw, I might have reacted badly too.”
“You would have moved out in the middle of the night?”
“Maybe, but I’m going to say something you probably won’t like.”
“Can’t wait.” I snorted and took a sip of my coffee.
“You are twenty-three years old.”
I lifted a brow. “I know how old I am.”
“I know you do, but I don’t think you understand how young that still is.”
I looked down at the plate. “I’ve done more than most people my age.”
“Yes, you have.” Her tone stayed calm, but held more conviction now.
“You served. You trained. You’ve spent most of your life on mats, boxed in the Air Force, and still stepped into a cage last night.
You’ve carried responsibility, had grown men yell in your face, and learned to stand there and take it without blinking.
But that doesn’t mean you know how to love someone without making a mess of it.
” She leaned in a little. “And it doesn’t mean Keaton does either. ”
I pushed the bacon around with my fork. “He’s not a kid.”
“Neither are you, but you’re both still learning.”
“I know, but I fucked us up first in high school.”
She sighed and set her mug down. “Ro, guilt is not the same as accountability. You keep acting like because you hurt him at seventeen, every bad thing that happens now is something you deserve. That’s not accountability. That’s punishment.”
“I hurt him.”
“You did, but if you punish yourself before you know what’s actually going on, you can’t make it right. You just make another mess.”
“I know what I saw.”
“No. You know what you think you saw.”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“Maybe it does.” She waited until I took another bite before speaking. “I know you don’t want to hear this either, but Keaton might not be the only man you ever love in your life.”
I stopped chewing. “Don’t say that.”
“Ro ...”
“I don’t want there to be anyone else.”
“You’re only twenty-three.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“There will be other men.”
I thought about Bradford before I could stop myself, about San Antonio and The Rusty Spur, where we’d sat across from each other, cold beers between us, his easy smile aimed right at me. He’d been hot, funny, and open in a way I hadn’t known how to be.
After that night, we’d exchanged texts. A few calls. A couple of times, we’d managed to meet up again when training, work, and life didn’t get in the way. He’d known someone else was taking up too much space in my head, and he never pushed me to pretend otherwise.
For a while, I’d tried to act as though that hadn’t been the case, but every time things got too close, every time I let myself think about taking one more step, Keaton had gotten between us.
There had been other men. Other chances.
But none of them had been Keaton.
“I don’t want other men,” I repeated to my mother.
“I understand that you don’t think you do right now.”
“No. I don’t want anyone else, and that’s not because I’m pissed or hurt or whatever you think this is. I didn’t want anyone else when I was gone either. I tried to move on. I told myself I should want someone easier, but it was always Keaton.”
“I believe you,” she replied.
“Good.”
“But I’m still going to say it because you need someone to remind you that your life is bigger than this one heartbreak, even if it doesn’t feel that way today.”
“It’s not one heartbreak. It’s him. My best friend.”
“I understand that.”
“I’m not sure how to come back from this.”
The words sat between us, and I hated them because I’d done it before.
At least, I’d told myself I had. After that night in high school, I shoved down every memory of Keaton and me: kissing in my room, sneaking touches when no one was around, and wanting things we were too young and too scared to name.
Then I left, followed orders in the Air Force, trained until my body gave out, and boxed when I needed somewhere to put the anger.
I built a life far away from him and pretended that meant I’d moved on.
But I hadn’t.
This time, I’d said what I should’ve said years ago.
I’d told him the truth about the past, about what I’d done, and about how much I hated myself for it.
I’d told him I loved him, and I’d let myself believe that maybe it could be enough.
That maybe this time we could have each other without that night hanging between us.
After all that, Devon kissed him, and Keaton didn’t stop it.
Maybe it was only a second. Maybe Mom was right, and I didn’t know the whole story. But that second was enough to make me feel like the biggest idiot for thinking we could ever get our relationship right.
“Maybe you don’t.”
I blinked up at Mom. “What?”
“Maybe you and Keaton don’t come back from this,” she continued. “Maybe you do. Maybe you make more mistakes before either of you figures out what you’re doing. That’s usually how being twenty-three works.”
I gave her a flat look. “That was supposed to be inspiring?”
“No. It’s meant to remind you that you don’t know the ending yet.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
She lifted her mug again. “That’s what I thought.”
I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my face. “I watched someone else kiss him.”
“Yes, you keep saying that.”
“And he let him do it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he froze, but you know better than most that a second can change everything,” she stated.
Staring at my plate, the eggs and bacon blurred together as another memory took over. I saw Keaton in that room at Ridgway’s party, blood on his mouth as he waited for me to stop being a coward long enough to choose him.
I hadn’t.
So maybe Mom was right, and maybe one second didn’t tell the whole story.
But it could still ruin one.
“I’m not ready to talk to him,” I admitted.
“Then don’t talk to him yet. If hearing his voice right now means you’ll go in angry and say something you can’t take back, then don’t call him.”
“I don’t know what I’d say anyways.”
“That’s probably why you shouldn’t start with a phone call.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “He’s probably pissed.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“Helpful.”
“I’m not here to make you comfortable, Ro. I’m here to tell you the truth.” She leaned back in her chair. “You left without giving him a chance to explain himself.”
“I know.”
“And maybe when you finally hear him out, you’ll still decide you can’t do this with him. But at least then you’ll be making a decision based on what happened, not on what fear told you happened.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I don’t want to forgive him just because I hurt him first.”
“You shouldn’t. If he hurt you, you’re allowed to feel that. What happened when you were seventeen doesn’t erase what happened last night. It also doesn’t mean you get to use last night as proof that you were right to leave before you know whether he actually betrayed you.”
The bathroom door opened down the hall.
Dad.
Mom glanced that way, then back at me. “You don’t have to fix this today.”
“I’m not sure it can be fixed.”