Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elijah
Several months later
It looks like that article you wrote about Rowan did pretty well,” John comments, peering down at the laptop I bought him for Christmas last year.
He has our website pulled up, and in the comment section under said article are several messages debating the quality of Rowan’s work—and surprisingly, most of them are positive.
“Most of the people in town are still pretty rude to him, but the more he mingles, the more they seem to lighten up,” I add, smiling softly at the black and white portrait of Rowan that accompanies the writing on screen.
“You did a great thing for him, Eli.”
“The article was your idea, John,” I chuckle, walking away from his desk to place a folder in his filing cabinet.
We’ve just finished a series of interviews following Fort Myer’s Easter celebration, and John prefers to have paper logs of everything we do.
Sometimes I wonder why I bothered wasting money on that laptop after all.
“I’m not talkin’ bout that. I meant you getting him out of his house. Everyone can see that it’s your influence behind why he’s so much more sociable lately,” John insists.
“Well, I’m certainly not sitting inside all day, every day,” I joke.
John makes a humming noise in the back of his throat, once again absorbed into his work.
I make my way back to my station, taking a moment to check my phone for any missed messages. My screen is void of notifications, but I don’t mind.
Rowan has been pretty busy lately—he was gone for two weeks taking photos of different national parks, and now he’s stuck at home editing them. Apparently, he’s working for Callie and Casey’s Photography Outlet at the moment.
They were a big fan of the work he entered into their contest, obviously, so it’s not surprising the amount they were willing to pay him for this booklet they’re putting together.
Rowan has only been home for a week now, so I’ve only seen him twice. But we spent our birthday, the weeks leading up to Christmas, and New Year’s together.
On Valentine’s Day, he took me back to Cocktails and Consonances and even got onto the stage and sang a duet with me. He was terrible, and the entire experience was amazing.
Since the night of the fall festival, the two of us have been inseparable. Outside of the romantic moments where I find him watching me from his truck or random benches, taking my photo, we go out for dinner, lie together while we read, play cards, and drink beer.
I’ve found that my tolerance for alcohol has increased—my anxiety has lessened more and more over the past few months. I still have a hard time around sharp objects, and I don’t even want to think about heights, but progress is progress.
And I think a large part of that progression is Rowan himself. He is a walking anti-anxiety diffuser, constantly calming and placating me.
He is convinced it has everything to do with our past, and with every day that passes, I believe him more.
Actually, I believe that I’m mostly convinced at this point.
I haven’t had any more prolific dreams or visions, but with each one that Rowan has, he will call me or show up at my doorstep, ready to rehash every detail.
And every time he sinks into my body, or I feel his steady heart beating against my skin as he holds me at night, some small part of me screams with awareness. As if I, too, am returning home to him.
I’ve begun to feel a string tied tightly around my pinky, pulled taut whenever he roams too far.
I was so scared to believe; I was too hesitant to fall. But now, whether it is due to growing maturity or a fate I cannot see, I find myself ready to close my eyes and tip over the ledge.
It is no longer so terrifying when I know he will be there to catch me.
“Good evening, little angel.”
I jolt in my chair, my previously dissociated gaze snapping up to meet Rowan’s where he stands in front of my desk.
“Hey! When did you come in?” I ask him.
“A minute or two ago.” He grins. “Are you ready?”
Friday nights are date nights, and last week he was too busy to go out. So to say I’m excited is an understatement.
“Yep!” I begin to pack my work bag, essentially vibrating with excitement as I try not to distract myself by staring at him.
Rowan looks as amazing as ever.
With his silky black curls winding around the base of his neck and over his forehead, his full dark brows, and his vibrant green eyes. Plump, pink lips are pulled into that seductive grin as he watches me with an intensity I can barely breathe around.
He’s wearing a brown and white flannel with a black shirt underneath and blue jeans, and he smells as sweet as he always does.
My flower.
Every once in a while, when I’m feeling sentimental enough to refer to him in such a way in my mind, I remember that dream—vision—that I had at the festival.
Bluebird. I think… I think that is what I used to call him. In fact, I am almost sure of it. But the one time I said it outside of sex, he looked incredibly confused, so I kept it to myself.
And it’s kind of nice—having this one thing.
Rowan knows more versions of me than even I do, and that is kind of disorienting and saddening sometimes. The fact that there is someone in this world who knows me better than myself.
So I kind of like keeping little bluebird a secret. I know something about him, a piece of himself that he is oblivious to.
“Rowan!” John’s pleased voice rings out, and he marches from his office before pulling Rowan into a bear hug. “How are ya, son?”
“Hey, John,” Rowan laughs, returning his affection. “I’m great. Just here to steal your best employee for a date.”
“His only employee,” I add, rolling my eyes.
John waves me off. “Hush now, Eli. Rowan, have you been to the gym? Your arms are gettin’ bigger, yeah?”
John loves Rowan. They’ve interacted more than they’ve needed to since Rowan and I have started seeing each other exclusively, and I think John was counting down the days until they had this kind of relationship.
Rowan blushes, but he flexes his arms anyway. “Glad you noticed, John. Yes, I have.”
“Oh, very nice!” John laughs. “Look! Elijah is blushin’!”
“I swear to god,” I mumble.
“Come on, baby.” Rowan grabs my bag and waves goodbye to John, effectively saving me from my embarrassment.
“Have fun, kids!”
As we leave the Fort Myers Post, Rowan places a large hand on the small of my back and guides me toward his truck.
“Where are we heading?” I ask as we cross the grass in the middle of the town square.
“I was thinking we could go back to the karaoke bar. I had that dream again last night—the one where you’re singing?—and I feel like if I don’t hear you again soon I’ll die.”
To this, I laugh and flush some more. “Okay, but I want another Mermaid Water.”
Rowan gives me the response he gives anytime I demand something of him: “Whatever you say, Eli.”
At this point in the conversation, Rowan would normally either try to kiss me more or crack some insane joke, but today he’s staring straight ahead, and his lips are set into a firm line as he walks.
“What’s wrong, Row?”
He turns to look down at me, catching my stare.
“Nothing, I—” He pauses, reading something in my eyes that keeps him from brushing off the topic.
We’ve reached his truck, and he sets my bag on the ledge of the bed before he crowds my space, and I find myself pushed against the passenger door.
“What’s bothering you?” I try again.
Rowan’s hands trace my waist as he studies me, and I can see the fear and anxiety swirling in his green eyes. I want to crush it; I want to soothe him with my voice and my hands alone.
“I got a call from my mom today,” he starts, and I nod slowly.
“Okay?”
“My brother… he’s back.”
“What?!” I shout in surprise.
Rowan’s brother, Ramon, has been overseas for almost two and a half years now. He hasn’t heard from him at all, and they weren’t that close even when he was home.
Ramon has a different father than Rowan does, something he tends not to share with most people, so he didn’t grow up in Fort Myers the way Rowan did.
They saw each other on every other holiday growing up, and would sometimes call or text, but after he joined the Army, all communication stopped.
“Yeah,” he sighs. “And apparently, my mom wants everyone to meet up for dinner. They offered to come here, to Fort Myers.”
My fingers trace the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the smooth skin marked with the very beginnings of barely visible stubble. It’s here that I’m starting to notice the dark circles lightly outlining the skin beneath his eyes and the way his lips are slightly chapped.
Rowan is stressed out.
“Are you going to say yes?” I ask him.
Rowan’s eyes search mine again, as if he’s trying to find his own answer inside of me. Seeking some form of comfort and understanding, and I want to provide him with both.
“Should I?” Rowan answers my question with one of his own.
“Well… do you want to see him? Your brother?”
He thinks for a moment, nibbling gently on his dry bottom lip. I pull it free with my fingers, and he sighs again.
“I think so?" he says, but it sounds like a question. "I haven’t seen him in forever. And it’s not like we ever fought or anything. I really liked him, we just… disconnected, I guess.”
“Then say yes,” I say, and I try to make the answer sound easy, simple.
“If I do… would you come?”
Something in my chest squeezes tight at his vulnerability, at the fact that he needs me by his side when tackling something so difficult.
“Of course, Row,” I promise him.
His arms are around me a moment later, his nose buried deeply into the hair on the top of my head. Rowan breathes me in, his hands dipping under my t-shirt to settle over the dimples at the base of my spine.
“Thank you,” he whispers. And after a moment, when I say nothing—offering my body to him in a way to comfort him—he adds, “Maybe you could ask your family to fly out.”
“Huh?”
Rowan pulls back enough to look me in the eyes, and he’s nervous again as he peers down at me.