Chapter 30 Theo
Theo
I'm going to die in this truck. I'm going to die because Jasper drives like a man possessed, taking corners at speeds that make the tires squeal and blowing through stop signs with barely a glance for cross traffic.
"Could you maybe slow down before you kill us all?" I suggest, one hand braced against the dashboard, the other white-knuckled on the door handle. "We can't exactly win Rowan back if we're wrapped around a telephone pole."
"She's got a twenty-minute head start," Jasper growls, not easing up on the gas. "If she hits the highway—"
"I know," I interrupt, "but vehicular manslaughter isn't the answer."
In the backseat, Wells looks like he might actually be sick—a combination of Jasper's driving and the emotional turmoil we're all experiencing. His usual composure has completely abandoned him, replaced by a wild-eyed panic I've never seen before.
"We fucked up," Jasper mutters, taking another turn that has the truck tilting precariously. "We all fucked up."
For once, I don't argue with his blunt assessment. We did fuck up. Spectacularly. All three of us in our own ways—Jasper with his emotional retreat, Wells with his ill-timed comment, me with my inability to make either of them see sense before it was too late.
And now Rowan is gone, her room empty except for a note that simply read: Thanks for everything.
Gerald was gone too, his carrier missing along with Rowan's meager possessions. She hadn't even said goodbye. Just slipped out while we were arguing, packed her car, and disappeared.
It was Lala who alerted us, calling Wells's phone in a panic: "She's leaving town! Like, RIGHT NOW! What did you idiots do?"
What did we do? Everything wrong, apparently.
"There!" Wells suddenly shouts from the backseat, pointing ahead. "That's her car!"
Sure enough, about a quarter mile ahead, a familiar battered Honda is making its way toward the highway that will take Rowan out of Vineyard Groves and out of our lives.
Even from here, I can see the red taillight that never quite got fixed, the dent in the back bumper from a parking mishap she told us about one night over dinner.
Jasper floors it, the truck surging forward with a roar that would be impressive if it weren't so terrifying. "I'm going to cut her off."
"What? No!" I grab his arm, my voice sharper than intended. "You can't force her off the road, Jasper! She'll never forgive you—she'll never forgive any of us!"
"Then what do you suggest?" he demands, not slowing down. "Let her go? Give up?"
"No, but—" I rack my brain for an alternative, something that won't involve automotive assault. "The overlook! Pull off at the overlook!"
"What?" Jasper glances at me like I've lost my mind.
"The scenic overlook," I clarify quickly. "The one above the vineyard. She loves it there—she mentioned it after the festival. It's just ahead, before the highway entrance. If we can get there first, maybe she'll see us and stop."
It's a long shot, but it's better than Jasper's plan to play chicken with Rowan's considerably less sturdy vehicle.
Jasper hesitates, clearly torn between his instinct to pursue and the logic of my suggestion. Behind us, Wells makes a sound that might be agreement or might be suppressed nausea—it's hard to tell at this point.
"Fine," Jasper finally concedes, easing off the gas slightly. "But if she drives past—"
"Then we follow," I promise. "But at a safe distance. Like normal, rational human beings, not like we’re stalkers in a Mateline episode."
Jasper scowls but takes the turnoff for the overlook, the truck's suspension groaning as we hit the gravel access road at higher than recommended speeds. We pull into the small parking area, which thankfully is empty of tourists at this hour.
The view is stunning even in my distracted state—rolling vineyards stretching toward the lake, the town nestled between them like a painting come to life. No wonder Rowan loved it here.
"Now what?" Wells asks, finally finding his voice as he climbs out of the backseat on unsteady legs.
"Now we hope she sees us," I say, scanning the road below where Rowan's car should appear any moment. "Jasper, flash your headlights when her car comes around that bend. Make sure she notices us."
"And if she does?" Jasper asks, already leaning into the truck to hit the high beams. "What exactly is our plan here, Theo? What do we say to her?"
It's a fair question. We've spent the past hour in such a panic about Rowan leaving that we haven't actually discussed what we'll do if we manage to stop her.
"We tell her the truth," I say simply. "That we love her. That we want her to stay. That what happened wasn't a mistake—it was the start of something we all want. That we're sorry for being idiots and making her think, even for a second, that she doesn't mean everything to us."
Jasper and Wells exchange a look I can't quite interpret, but neither contradicts me.
Progress, I suppose.
"There she is," Wells says suddenly, pointing to where Rowan's Honda has just appeared around the bend below us. "Jasper, the lights!"
Jasper lunges into the truck, flashing the high beams in a pattern that's probably more alarming than attention-getting, but it does the job. We see Rowan's brake lights flash as she notices the signal.
For one heart-stopping moment, I think she's going to keep driving. The car slows but doesn't immediately turn toward the overlook. I can picture her face, torn between curiosity and self-preservation, between the pull of what we could be and the fear of being hurt again.
"Please," Wells whispers beside me, his usual composed facade completely shattered.
"Please, Rowan."
The universe must hear him, because her car finally signals and begins making its way up the access road toward us.
Relief hits me so hard I actually sway on my feet. She's stopping. She's giving us a chance.
Now we just have to not blow it completely.
"What if she doesn't want this?" Jasper asks suddenly, uncertainty crossing his usually confident face. "What if we're forcing her into something she doesn't actually want?"
"Then we let her go," I say, though the thought physically pains me. "But we at least give her all the information first. We tell her how we feel, what we want. And then... it's her choice."
Jasper nods, squaring his shoulders like he's preparing for battle. Wells straightens his shirt, a nervous gesture I've rarely seen from him. And me? I'm trying to remember how to breathe normally as Rowan's car approaches, gravel crunching under her tires as she pulls into the overlook.
Her car stops about twenty feet away, the engine idling for a long moment before finally cutting off. Through the windshield, I can see her sitting there, hands still on the steering wheel, clearly debating whether to get out or just drive away again.
Please get out, I silently beg. Please give us a chance to fix this.
The driver's door opens slowly, and Rowan steps out, her expression guarded but curious. There's a weariness to her that breaks my heart—shadows under her eyes, tension in her shoulders, wariness in her gaze as it moves between the three of us.