Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Chance
I drove into my garage after seven Tuesday evening and felt a pang at the empty bay next to mine. After killing the engine, I sat there in the dark, wondering how the hell I’d gotten so used to Rowan’s presence in so little time.
When she’d packed up everything and left Sunday evening, I’d been stunned at both her haste to get out and that she’d found a place to go so quickly. I still didn’t know where she was staying and refused to ask, but it was killing me not to know. Killing me more not to have her in my home.
Though we’d both been at work yesterday and today, Chloe had Rowan working closely with her on a project. Was it intentional to keep her from having to talk to me? I had no way of knowing and pretended it didn’t matter.
Thinking about our middle-of-the-night conversation made me sick to my stomach.
I’d been a complete asshole. The panic attack I’d had before it didn’t excuse anything.
The expression on her face in that instant when she’d accepted I wouldn’t change my mind—of hurt, disbelief, and disappointment—was seared into my brain.
I hated myself for making her feel that way, especially knowing how much grief and sadness she’d been through so recently with her grandmother.
And fuck was I sick of feeling like this, but I didn’t know a way around it.
I got out of my SUV and made my way inside, dreading another quiet night alone. When I entered the house, the first thing I noticed was the smell of food cooking, maybe Italian. I hurried into the kitchen, wondering if Rowan was back.
“Hi, Dad.”
Of course Rowan wasn’t back. Why the hell would she come back here? I’d made sure of that.
“Sam.” I hoped that half-second of disappointment that she wasn’t Rowan didn’t show.
What kind of dad did that make me? Of course I was happy to see my daughter, particularly because she seemed warm instead of sullen.
“What’s going on?” I asked, confused.
My daughter took a steaming, bubbling casserole dish that smelled like heaven out of the oven. “I made lasagna. Rowan gave me her Gram’s recipe.”
I looked from her to the pan and back. “You made lasagna? From scratch?”
Sam used to help me cook when she was younger, but I couldn’t remember the last time she’d willingly made a meal for anyone other than herself.
“What’s the occasion?” I asked, perplexed.
“Could you get us some plates? You got home just in time.”
Still trying to make sense of this welcome surprise, I grabbed plates, forks, and napkins and put them on the table. Sam carried the pan to the table with two oven mitts and set it on a trivet. She went back to the kitchen, picked up a slotted spatula, returned to the table, and sat down.
I stood behind my place, probably with my jaw gaping.
“Do you want to eat?” she asked, snapping me out of my stupor.
I sat down. “Lasagna’s a lot of work. Doesn’t it take a couple of hours?”
“I started around five. I was worried it wouldn’t be ready when you got home, but then you worked late.” She cut generous squares of pasta and gestured to me to move my plate closer to the pan. When I did, she served me, her smile seeming unsure.
“I was finishing the social media calendar,” I said.
The one that didn’t need to be done for another three weeks, but I didn’t admit that.
Sam might get the impression I was avoiding coming home, which, of course I was, but it had nothing to do with her.
Normally she spent all her time in her basement hideaway, popping up for fifteen minutes tops when dinner was ready.
Had I known my daughter had surfaced and was preparing dinner, I wouldn’t have worked so late.
It was Rowan’s absence I’d been hiding from.
“It smells amazing,” I told her. “What made you decide to go to all this effort?”
She served herself, sat back down, and scooped a bite on her fork. “What happened between you and Rowan?”
I’d been blowing on my food to cool it, but I stopped. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Dad. I’m fourteen. Stop treating me like I’m four.”
Did I treat her like she was four? Hell, I didn’t mean to. Maybe I did? She was still my little girl. Would always be my little girl.
“Rowan always planned to find her own place,” I said. The truth. Well, at least it’d started out that way.
“She didn’t move to her own place.”
So Sam had been in touch with Rowan at some point. I was heartened to learn that, but at the same time, it hit hard that I was the outsider now.
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask my daughter where Rowan had moved. I bit down on it.
When Sam finished a mouthful of food, she scowled. “I’m not stupid. You spent almost every evening with her since she moved in. It was super obvious you two were involved. She moved out suddenly, and you’ve been sad ever since.”
Well, then. My daughter picked up on a hell of a lot more from the basement than I’d ever guessed. Apparently I was the stupid one.
“I’m sorry if I treat you like a little kid,” I said, meaning it. “I don’t have any experience being a dad of a teenage girl. I didn’t understand teenage girls when I was a teenager myself, and it hasn’t gotten any easier.” I tried to make the comment light, but it fell flat.
“What did you do to make her mad?”
“Your age aside, my relationship with Rowan is private, Sam.”
“This is why we aren’t close, Dad. We can’t talk about anything except my stupid grades and whether I’ve spoken to Lacey. I haven’t, by the way, and I’m not going to. She’s mean and only cares about herself.”
“I don’t know Lacey well, but I think you’re right.”
“I don’t care about her anyway.”
We both stuck another bite of lasagna in our mouths. I welcomed the minibreak so I could try to figure out how to navigate this situation.
“You like Rowan, don’t you?” I asked.
Sam nodded, then swallowed. “I miss her.” She tilted her head and studied me. “You love her, don’t you?”
I was about to scoop up another bite, but my fork froze. My mouth went dry, and a knot tightened in my gut. “What makes you say that?”
“I can just tell by the way you are around her. Like, you’re lighter somehow. Definitely happier.”
This was not a comfortable topic, but I’d just been accused of treating her like a child.
What I really wanted to do was divert, change the subject.
She might be right that I’d been treating her like a child.
I suspected she’d see right through me if I refused to answer.
As vulnerable as it made me feel, I decided to try being open.
I tapped my fork on my plate as I considered my response. “I care about Rowan,” I finally said. “Obviously I find her attractive or we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Please don’t tell me gross details,” she pleaded, making me grin briefly.
“There’s a lot to like about Rowan. She’s smart, funny, caring, compassionate…
” I stopped myself from listing more, even as several other of her good traits came to mind.
“She’s carrying my child, and that connects us in a lifelong way.
But love?” I set my fork on the table, my mind going eight hundred miles per hour.
I shook my head, as if I could stave my feelings off, even as the very real fear seeped in that it was too late.
“I don’t know. I’ve avoided falling in love since your mom. ”
“I’ve seen you and Rowan together a lot,” Sam said.
“I’ve seen how you are with her. How often you smile.
The way you look at her. The way you listen to everything she says and consider it.
How you always look out for her, make sure she’s taken care of.
” She nodded matter-of-factly. “And did I mention the way you look at her?”
“You did.”
“You get this certain look in your eyes. And I’m pretty sure Rowan feels the same about you.”
I gave her a noncommittal grunt. I wasn’t going to share that Rowan had said she loved me. I already felt itchy and uncomfortable.
Sam frowned, looking thoughtfully at her nearly empty plate. “Maybe you’re just scared.”
My brows shot up as my eyes popped wide-open. I turned that over in my mind. It didn’t take long for it to resonate, as much as I didn’t want to admit it. But hell yes, I was scared to love someone. I felt that in my bones.
Shit. Called out by my fourteen-year-old daughter.
My instinct was to deny it. Who wanted to look weak to their kid?
I met Sam’s gaze. Instead of judgment or disgust, I saw empathy and understanding in her eyes.
With an uneasy chuckle, I said, “Yeah. Maybe I’m just scared.”
“Rowan isn’t Mom, Dad.”
My daughter was one hundred percent right. Logically I knew that. Rowan didn’t have an addiction that would take her away from me.
“This isn’t the same,” Sam continued. “At all.”
“Yeah.” I took in a deep breath, let that truth sink in, breathed out the fear.
Rowan was different from Erin.
I was different from the man I’d been fifteen years ago.
“You always used to tell me it’s okay to be afraid as long as you don’t let it keep you from living your life,” Sam said.
Damn if I hadn’t. I steepled my hands in front of me while I let it sink in that my daughter had just thrown my words back at me. You never knew if your kid actually heard anything you said. The bitch of it was she was right, and I knew it.
I’d been protecting myself from the truth for two days. Hell, maybe two months.
I loved Rowan.
It’d taken my daughter pointing it out, insisting on it, for me to acknowledge it.
“When did you get so smart?” I asked her.
“I was born this way,” she said with a sassy smirk.
All other things aside, that bit of attitude and confidence did my dad heart proud. She’d seemed to have lost her confidence back when she was trying to fit in with Lacey and friends.
“So you’re admitting it?” she asked.
“Admitting what?”
“You love Rowan.”
I sucked in another slow breath, breaking out in a sweat. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my temples.
I pictured Rowan’s pretty eyes when they were full of flirtation and life and laser focused on me.
Remembered the way she looked when she was learning something new, determined to conquer it.
Recalled the depths of love in her expression when she talked about her grandmother.
Thought about how she’d been sensitive to Sam’s needs from the first day she’d met her.
I liked her, respected her, wanted to protect her with every cell in my body from anything and everything that could hurt her.
Longed to wake up next to her each morning and end every evening with her in my arms. To comfort her and be comforted by her through life’s challenges.
To revel in every milestone and success together—ours, Sam’s, our baby’s, our family’s.
I wanted all of that. With Rowan.
“Yes,” I finally said, sitting up straighter, feeling lighter as soon as I’d said it. More alive. “I love Rowan. I’m not sure what to do about that.”
“Tell her,” she said with the naivete of a fourteen-year-old.
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to hear it.”
“Were you a jerk to her?”
I raised my brows.
“You were,” she said.
I nodded.
“You’ll need to grovel then.”
Yeah. I’d need to grovel my damn heart out to even get Rowan to listen to me.
Sam stood and gathered both our plates, then carried them to the counter. I grabbed the lasagna pan and followed, my mind churning over how on earth I could convince Rowan to give me another chance.
Once I set the pan down, I held my arms out to my daughter for a hug, holding my breath, afraid she’d reject it.
She stepped into my arms and wrapped hers around me. “If you want, I can help you come up with a grand gesture she won’t be able to refuse,” she said.
I closed my eyes and wondered when my little girl had learned about grand gestures and grovels. “I’d love that, Sammy.”
I squeezed her tight, grateful for this girl who’d gone out of her way tonight, offering an olive branch in the form of pasta and encouragement.
For the first time in days, I felt a faint pulse of hope.