Rowan #2
Milo tipped their head to the side and batted their pale lashes. “And why’s that? Is the infamous playboy striking out?”
Rowan’s hawk let out a cry that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
“I see my good name precedes me!” Ruben said, somehow managing to smirk at Rowan while simultaneously leaning across the bar to flag down Hank.
Rowan cleared his throat, putting on his “responsible brother” voice, as Raina liked to call it. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” Ruben gruffed before lifting his chin at Hank. “Can I get three waters?”
“Coming right up,” Hank said, setting out three flimsy-looking plastic cups and grabbing the soda gun.
If it were up to Rowan, he would have let the subject drop, but Milo made a “go on” gesture with their hand behind Ruben’s back.
“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Rowan pressed.
Ruben grabbed the first cup of water when it was only half full and chugged it, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand before putting it back down in the row of cups to be filled again. Hank didn’t even blink, just continued filling them up.
“Yeah, I’m just having an off night. This big guy I was dancing with pissed me off. Didn’t seem to understand the word no.”
The sound of the soda gun cut off, and tobacco and gin surrounded them once again. “Which guy?”
Ruben looked Hank up and down before turning to the dance floor. “Let me see if he’s still…ahh, yup, there he is. With the cute little black-haired shifter.”
Milo whipped around so fast, something in their back cracked. “Ray!”
“Alright, hang tight, Milo. I’ll call security,” Hank said, pulling a walkie-talkie off his belt.
From the limited time Rowan had known Milo, he knew there was a next-to-zero chance they would “hang tight” when it came to Ray.
They pushed off from the bar, but before they could get more than a few steps away, Ruben grabbed their wrist. “I’m assuming that Ray guy is a friend of yours? Trust me, you’re better off leaving it to the bouncers. It looks like he’s doing okay right now.”
Milo attempted, fruitlessly, to shake off Ruben’s hand. “I think I’ll be the judge of that, thanks.”
Ruben sighed loudly. “Rowan is really not going to like it if you get into a fight in the club, especially not one that I could have prevented if I’d said something sooner. It’s my fault; let me handle this.”
While Ruben definitely wasn’t wrong, he also wasn’t completely right. “I’d rather you not get in a fight, either,” Rowan said. “I can go—”
Ruben and Milo said no at the same time, in almost the exact same pitch and volume. They turned to look at each other, and before Rowan’s eyes, it was like some sort of truce was reached.
“If things go south—” Milo tried to say.
“I’ll wave or something,” Ruben said, releasing Milo and darting past them onto the dance floor.
Rowan’s hawk was on his feet again, feathers puffed up and ready to fight. Rowan had never so much as shoved another person before, not even his siblings, who used to roughhouse and wrestle in the backyard. His hawk was the same, but right now, he seemed ready to be deployed, talons, beak, and all.
Rowan took two big steps forward and met Milo where they stood frozen, watching as Ruben threaded his way through the throngs of shifters until he reached Ray and the large guy.
Ruben came right up behind Ray, who was dancing on the larger guy’s front, and pressed up against his back.
He said something in Ray’s ear, and Ray jerked his head to the side, craning his neck to look up at Ruben.
He was a good six or so inches taller than Ray, but still close to a foot shorter than the other shifter…
who did not look pleased to be interrupted.
Ray and Ruben stared into each other’s eyes before Ruben wrapped his arms protectively around Ray’s waist and wheeled him around, effectively shielding Ray with his body.
He glared up at the larger shifter, and although it took a moment, recognition dawned on the guy's face, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
For some reason, Ray was still dancing or at least swaying. Ruben seemed to be moving with him, even as he said something over his shoulder to the guy.
“Okay, security’s coming,” Hank called from the bar, pointing to two even larger shifters making their way onto the dance floor from the opposite side. It would probably take them a minute or two to get there, and Rowan wasn’t entirely sure Ruben had a minute.
“What’s he doing?” Milo breathed.
Rowan turned back to find the larger shifter glaring down at Ruben as he said something else, his hand on Ray’s waist sliding up to rest over his heart. The guy uncrossed his arms and gestured wildly before spitting on the floor between them and turning to leave.
“Oh gods, is he going to get away?” Milo asked.
“Not likely," Hank said, right as the taller security guard intercepted the guy, grabbing him by the bicep and walking him towards the door.
“Told you I’d handle it,” Hank said. “Even though it seems like things worked out for the best anyway.”
Milo let out a soft bark of a laugh that sounded equal parts relieved and incredulous. Rowan felt the same way as he watched Ruben begin to sway his hips in time with Ray, who was still dancing.
Either the omega didn’t know what was good for him, or somehow, against all odds, Ruben made him feel safe enough to keep going?
“You know,” Milo said. “I don’t mean any offense to your brother, of course, but he is exactly Ray’s type.”
Rowan’s hawk gave a loud kee-aww. He had somewhat relaxed his posture, tucking his wings back against his body, but he was still agitated. He shifted from foot to foot, raising and lowering his tail feathers like the rudder on a plane.
Ruben really was Ray’s type, down to the love ‘em and leave ‘em relationship style. Although Ruben claimed he was always very clear with the people he hooked up with, he’d dealt with his fair share of juggling broken-hearted shifters over the years.
“They always seem to get attached, even when I’m honest up front!” Ruben often said, and Rowan really hoped that second part was true.
What would happen if Ray and Ruben started hooking up and Ray got attached? Would he blame Ruben for breaking his heart, even if Ruben was up front about his lack of interest in relationships?
Would Ray blame Rowan?
Would Milo?
The volume in the club increased, and the overwhelming scents of pheromones, sweat, and body spray clawed at Rowan’s throat. There wasn’t enough space in here to breathe, let alone think. It was like his thoughts were spinning out of control, colliding and falling over each other.
Rowan stumbled back a few steps until his lower back hit the bar top. Hank had reserved their cups of water for them, and Rowan snatched one up and downed it.
Milo was still standing a few feet away, staring at the dance floor with a pinched expression.
As if he was seeing the future, Rowan could picture Milo turning that expression on him.
There would be no more dates, friend or otherwise, no more good morning texts or voice messages before bed.
Whatever it was they were becoming would wither on the vine like crops planted out of season.
Because maybe this wasn’t actually their season.
Rowan had wondered, more than a couple of times, what the odds were that they would run into each other at the movie theater and then again at the café.
Probably the same odds that they would all be here tonight and that the same jerk would dance with Ruben and then Ray.
Things were just as likely to fall apart as they were to work out. Rowan knew that firsthand. He’d watched the one thing he really cared about growing up fade away, and if the look Ray was giving Ruben over his shoulder was anything to go by, he had a pretty good idea what was going to happen—
Rowan’s hawk shrieked in warning, and Rowan stumbled away from the bar, just in time to avoid Hank’s hand coming down on his shoulder.
“Woah, sorry, buddy,” Hank said, throwing both his hands up in front of him in a “I surrender” gesture.
“I was just trying to get your attention. I think you might be adrenaline crashing. I see it far too often after fights break out, and before you try to argue with me, yes, even witnesses can crash. Drink this.”
He pushed a drink that looked a lot like Milo’s across the bar towards him, but Rowan shook his head. “I don’t think I need any more alcohol.”
“It’s not,” Milo said, appearing at his side. “It’s a Shirley Temple mocktail. I don’t ever drink when I’m out with Ray for exactly this reason.”
Milo’s lips were pressed together in a thin line, and their eyes were the darkest gray Rowan had ever seen.
“Although I guess it didn’t matter tonight. I’m really grateful to you and Ruben. I don’t know what would have happened if you both weren’t here.” Milo mustered up a small smile, which he gifted to Hank. “And of course you, too, Hank. Thank you.”
“Anytime. I’m glad things seem to have worked out for the best,” Hank said. “They look really happy, and now you two can enjoy the rest of your night.”
Sure, yeah, totally. Rowan would just go back to his evening like nothing had happened. He cast a desperate look at the dance floor, but Ray and Ruben were still there, with Ray’s arms wrapped around Ruben’s neck. They seemed to be talking more than dancing, both grinning widely at each other.
“Rowan?” Milo called, but it sounded like he was far away.
He should probably be trying to drink up every moment he had left with Milo, but instead, he found he could barely look at them.
“Sorry,” Rowan muttered, picking up the sweet drink and taking several slow sips.
The sugar exploded on his tongue, and he had a distinct memory of drinking these as a kid.
He couldn’t remember who had made them, maybe his omega mom or Raina when she came home from college?
Her visits were few and far between, but Rowan had always looked forward to them.
“Everything turned out okay,” Milo said softly, and Rowan’s hawk gave a plaintive cry.