9. Evie
Of all the miserable nights in my life, last night definitely made the top five.
There was that time when I broke my wrist playing volleyball as a kid and no one believed me, all so sure I was exaggerating, so I spent the whole night whimpering with pain before the swelling in the morning finally convinced them of the truth.
There was the time that my shitty apartment right out of college sprung a leak right over my bed, and I woke to grimy, gray water dripping on my cheek and soaking my pillow.
There was the time I got up in the night for a glass of water and found a rat the size of a small dog in my kitchen. Same apartment, actually. Nice place. That night I shrieked so loud the neighbors banged on the walls, then I had to chase the rat out with a broom.
Plus there were all those good old-fashioned nights of insomnia, lying awake staring at the ceiling and recounting all the things I’ve ever done in my life that make me cringe with embarrassment and shame. The usual drill.
But you know what? No. Last night takes the cake. It was a top tier suck fest. Lying on that lumpy twin mattress in that echoey hotel room, listening to the pipes gurgle and floorboards settle, replaying every detail of what happened with Rowan over and over until my chest seared with pain… that was the worst night of my life. Bar none.
The anger.
The bitter disappointment.
And the longing.
So much longing I could barely breathe.
Seriously. Did Rowan have to kiss me like that if he never planned to keep me? Did he have to casually ruin me for all other men, like it was no big deal? Such a jerk!
All night long, my fingertips reached up to brush my mouth again and again, like I might feel the ghost of his kiss left on my lips. And all night long, a needy hum buzzed under my skin—because the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge wound me up like a clockwork toy, then left me empty and wanting.
So. When the pale light of dawn creeps around the hotel curtains, I roll off the bed with a growl. The bed frame shrieks and the mattress springs all plink in a janky chorus, and I stomp to the bathroom, muttering.
I scrub at my teeth like I’m trying to sand them down to stubs.
I gargle mouthwash and spit viciously at the mirror.
And I take the angriest, most huffy shower that poky little cubicle has ever seen, muttering under my breath about stubborn mountain men and scrubbing my skin until it’s pink and raw.
Ten minutes later, I charge out onto the street, my backpack bouncing on my shoulders. My shiny new hiking books squeak with every step, rubbing at my toes and heels through my thick socks, but I don’t care.
The sting is good, actually. It distracts from the hole in my chest.
Goddamn Rowan.
My legs feel strong after yesterday’s hike, and my ankle doesn’t twinge at all after that stupid fall. As I lengthen my strides, finding a good rhythm, some of the stiffness in my hamstrings melts away, and the breeze drifts over my hot cheeks like it’s trying to soothe my temper.
My damp hair is braided back, with my crocheted headband keeping any flyaway strands out of my eyes. I’m in moss green leggings and a purple tank top, a gray sweater stuffed in my backpack with my other supplies in case I get cold.
Hard to imagine my core temperature dropping even a single degree. Not with this much anger boiling in my veins.
When I saw myself in the mirror this morning, I barely recognized myself. Since when has steel glinted in my eyes? Since when have I looked ready to cut a bitch? Evie Daniels has always been one of life’s peacemakers, more likely to soothe than snap. But here I am storming through town, ready to chew out a certain wild man.
The area map is folded away in my backpack, with my previous best guess for the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge’s location crossed on it in a big X. Could use it again, I suppose, since it sort of worked the first time, but for now I point my feet at the right mountain and march through the empty town streets.
My boots thud hollowly against the sidewalk. A dog walker passes on the other side of the street, nodding politely as their dog gives me a sloppy mutt grin.
Gusting out a long breath, I wave back and force a smile.
The tightness in my chest loosens a tiny bit when I step from the sidewalk to packed dirt. It loosens again when I reach the grassy slopes at the base of the mountain, my arms pumping and sweat already trickling down my spine. The air tastes like fresh spring water and pine.
Yes.
This is right. This is necessary.
I can’t let Rowan go without a fight, damn it. That stubborn jerk is mine.
Arms swinging, thighs burning, I climb and climb without even stopping to gasp for air. As birds burst into song all around me, blasting out their dawn chorus, I climb the base of that mountain like the freaking Terminator. And only when I’m past the tree line, with trunks stretching high to the sky all around, do I finally stumble to a halt with a gasp.
Because charging down the mountain path between the trees, a look of fierce determination etched on his features, is Rowan.
A blue flannel shirt covers his broad chest, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and he’s wearing boots again. There’s some kind of leather satchel slung across his back, and god, I forgot how unfairly handsome he is now with his hair and beard tamed. That jawline is sharper than a hunting knife.
Rowan falters too when he sees me, relief and uncertainty and regret flitting across his face in rapid succession. His steps slow, and his piercing gray eyes watch me closely as we meet on the path.
Silence stretches, filled instead by the birds and the breeze through the trees. I’m panting from the climb, sweaty and red-faced, and yeah, now I wish I’d gone a little slower, reining in my rage.
At least then I’d be cool and composed when I faced down the man who broke my heart. Instead I’m clutching at a stitch in my side.
“Going for a pre-breakfast wander?” I snap. Something about seeing him this morning, all handsome and solemn and not winded at all by his hike, makes me want to tear out my own hair and kick him in the shins. If I thought my anger was bad before… well, now it’s choking me.
“No.” Rowan grips his satchel strap. That broad hand took my waist yesterday, tugging me against his body; it squeezed my hip and slid around my back. “I was on my way down to find you, Evie.”
Ha!
“Well, I was right where you left me.” Rowan winces as the words land, but still watches me steadily. Gone is the agitation that twisted him up yesterday; he’s calm. Sure of himself.
Unlike me. What the hell has gotten into me this morning?
I’m not an angry person. I never, ever stomp or yell, and usually when I get annoyed it fades as quickly as it came. But now it’s like meeting Rowan, longing for Rowan, has cracked open deep wells of emotion I never knew I had.
“You’re not in your hotel room now,” he notes. “Did you come up here looking for me?”
Yes.“No.”
Can’t admit that now. Can’t make sense of any of this, not when my exhausted brain has barely slept a wink and my broken heart is slumped inside my ribs. Why is he here? Why is he wearing a shirt and boots?
“Are you sure?” Rowan asks gently.
Ugh.
Why did I come up here? What was I gonna do, drag Rowan back to town with me by his earlobe? Then what?
He didn’t want me. Not enough to try, anyway, and storming up here like this is just another humiliation to add to the pile. Worst of all, it’s like he reads all these thoughts flitting across my face, because Rowan’s mouth turns down and he steps forward, arms reaching.
“Evie—”
“Don’t!” A rock skitters as I stumble back a step. If he holds me again, if he pretends to want me again then takes it back, I will lose my freaking mind.
The birds go quiet for a few moments, like they’re eavesdropping on the drama below. The morning wind whistles through the tree trunks and cuts right through my tank top, and shoot, it is cold up here. Forgot that, somehow, in my red haze of rage.
Because I nearly froze in Rowan’s cave only two nights ago. Nearly lost my damn toes. And he built up that fire and spooned me on his pelt until warmth spread through my body again, soothing me to sleep.
My face crumples at the memory.
Rowan makes a low, anguished sound.
“I’m sorry, Evie. I’m so fucking sorry.” His deep voice rumbles through me, settling that agitated buzz that’s been gnawing on my bones. Gray eyes bore into mine, pleading for me to listen. “Those—those episodes always mess me up, always leave me so raw and on edge. I can’t think straight right after them. Can’t shake off the sense of doom. It’s like anything I touch will turn to dust, and I’m so sure that’s true, so fucking sure, that I can’t trust myself with anything good. And you’re not just good, Evie. You’re perfect.”
Empathy throbs in my chest, but I stare up at the Wild Man of Starlight Ridge, not speaking. I need to hear this. Need to let him get it all out.
We won’t be able to move forward until he does. Until I can trust that he means what he says.
“It’s not real, though. I know those thoughts aren’t real.” Rowan’s chest lifts as he sucks in a deep breath. “And I know I can do better for you… if you’ll let me.”
My throat is tight as I swallow. My feet ache as I shift my weight.
Already, I feel lighter.
“Do better?” I scrape out, my voice so quiet on the mountainside.
What exactly does Rowan mean, he’ll do better? As in, he’ll work on it up here in his cave? He’ll let me come visit him sometimes? He’ll start some caveman journal to process his feelings? What?
“There’s a cabin,” Rowan says, barely blinking as he stares at me. Like he can’t bear to miss even a split second of having me in front of him. “Down near the treeline. A thirty minute hike from town—a middle ground, like you said yesterday. It’s for sale, and I want to buy it. If you think you’d like that.”
My bruised heart stutters. I sway in my boots. “If I’d like that?”
Rowan’s jaw firms. “Yes. Because I want you there with me.”
This time when he steps forward, I place my hands on his shoulders and let his arms wind around my waist. My pulse flutters in my throat.
He’s so strong. So warm. So sturdy.
As I gust out a long sigh, a whole load of my agitation slips away too. Because how can I hold a grudge over this? My wild man is wounded—I knew that. Life has not been easy on him, has it?
But he’s here, charging down the mountain path at first light for me. Looking for me, wanting to try again. To fight for this.
All I need is that he’s willing to try. Because I know, even if Rowan has his doubts: he’s a fighter. He can overcome anything—even the demons that have haunted him for so long.
“So you want me in this cabin as your roommate?” I tease, warmth spreading slowly from my core to the tips of my fingers and toes. It’s impossible to stay cold when Rowan looks at me like that, with fierce hunger and longing, like I’m an angel sent down from heaven just for him. Yeah, he’s never gonna let me go again—it’s clear from his possessive grip on my waist.
“Fuck that,” he says, and I burst out laughing. The birds are singing up in the branches again, bored now that the tension is melting away down here on the path. “You’re not my roommate, Evie. You’ll be my heart. My woman. My wife. If you’ll have me.”
Vulnerability flickers across his face, and I can’t stand the sight of it. Can’t stand the answering pinch of pain in my chest.
Of courseI’ll have Rowan.
Of course I’ll fight for him too. What else am I doing stomping around this mountainside?
We’re made for each other, him and I.
“I have one very strict condition,” I tell him, cupping his smooth jaw. He must have shaved it again this morning, neatening himself before he came down to find me, and that sends a tingly glow through my insides. My thumb strokes his cheek, the contact making him shiver, and I can hardly believe this is happening.
Rowan’s offering me a new life on the mountain? A life in a cabin, with a bed, and in walking distance of a town where I can make friends? A town where I can find a better job than with shitty Pretzel Media, then go home every night to the man I love?
I don’t need to think about this at all. It feels so right.
“Anything,” Rowan rasps. “Name it and it’s yours.”
Clearing my throat, I fix him with my most serious look. “I want another fancy bath, Wild Man.”
There’s a stunned pause—then Rowan throws his head back and laughs, the sound booming through the trees. Above us, birds explode from the branches and flap away, crying out to each other.
“You startled them,” I say, watching them go.
“You startled me.” Rowan picks me up easily, slinging me into his arms like I weigh nothing, and carries me off the path into the trees. “They’ll live.”
“Where are we going?”
Rowan arches an eyebrow. “Where do you think? We need privacy, Evie. Privacy for all the things I’m going to do to you. No random hiker is going to see you like that, not on my watch. Besides, I have a bathtub to fill.”
His cave.
Of course.
A pleased rumble reverberates through Rowan’s chest as I lean up and kiss his neck. He can take me there if he likes, but you’d better believe I’m gonna tease him the whole way.