Chapter 20 #2
After twenty minutes of explaining the second leg of his band’s tour schedule to me, my dad pulls out his phone to start playing me a few of their recent live recordings.
I’ve heard most of them from the live streams they post on social media, but I pretend like they’re brand new to me anyway.
I think my dad gets just as much joy showing off for me as I always have for him.
Sometimes I wish I had spent my high school years taking classes online and living on the road with my dad.
He always said I’d get bored, but I don’t know.
I picture myself existing in the stories he tells, and I always see a place for me.
I know the reality isn’t very practical, but I’m so tired of reality. So tired of rules. Plans. Expectations.
An hour in the garage with him flies by, and I’m disappointed when the slam of his truck hood breaks up our good time.
When my dad gets to his feet, I scramble to mine, suddenly overcome with panic that he’s leaving.
I’m fully aware that he’s here for two more days, and that I’m seeing him again on Saturday, but that suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.
I snuggle in at his side, and he loops his arm around my shoulders, hugging me as we stroll toward his idling truck.
When he kisses the top of my head, I’m instantly transported to years ago, when I was daddy’s little girl.
“Well? What’s the verdict?” My dad bends an ear closer to the hood then chuckles.
“Yeah, these things are tanks. They sound the same even when they’re not running like a river of honey,” Rowan says. It’s a strange analogy, and my dad and I both snort laugh in sync.
“Does that mean I’m not driving a river of honey?” my dad asks, shaking his head.
“No, no. I’d say your honey is just right. The river is full,” Rowan says, sticking with this comparison. Way to commit.
“Well, that’s good. Now tell me, what do I owe ya?” My father pulls his wallet from the back pocket of his deep gray jeans, but Rowan waves the offer off. Miguel doesn’t protest either.
“Oh, come on. You can’t keep giving friends and family discounts away to everyone. I’m doing pretty good now. I insist.” My dad holds out a gold credit card, but Rowan rests his hand over my dad’s, pushing it down as he shakes his head.
“Your money’s no good here,” Miguel adds.
My dad’s gaze bobs between the two, his tongue held at the edge of his teeth. He finally leans his head to the side and utters, “Alright.” He slips the card back into his wallet and shakes Miguel’s hand before stepping toward Rowan.
“I meant what I said. You’re a good man for that.
I’m proud of you, what you’ve got going here.
” My dad’s eyes lock on Rowan’s for a beat before he brings him in for a short hug.
Rowan’s hands struggle with where to rest, his fingers barely grazing my father’s back as he embraces him.
I don’t think Rowan’s father has ever hugged anyone, and that makes me sad.
“Thank you, Sir.” Rowan’s gaze flits from my father’s face the second after they break apart, and he immediately begins cleaning around the shop while I hug my dad once more and remind him to save me the best seat in the house for Saturday night.
“Two of them,” I add as he gets into his truck. I glance over my shoulder, where Rowan is nervously buzzing around the space. My dad follows my gaze and chuckles, but his laugh is short, and his expression instantly morphs into one of caution, his mouth tight and nostrils flared.
“Just don’t lose yourself, Saylor. Okay?” He studies my face for a moment as I nod slowly, promising him I won’t. I hang in the spot I’m in as he reverses slowly, rolling up his window by hand, then holding up an open palm as a silent goodbye.
Miguel’s already buried himself behind the counter again, slipping the laptop back out from the safe while Rowan runs a broom over the slick garage floor.
The place is spotless, so unless he has some strange superpower that lets him see invisible dirt and grime, I’d say this is classic avoidance.
I know we haven’t defined what we are, and I know it’s only been weeks, but I believe our connection is something more than two young people passing time.
I want to believe that because the thought of not having Rowan in my life this way—with the closeness we’ve built—hurts.
I don’t want to go back to our roles from before, childhood friends, the little sister with a crush on her babysitter. I like being a woman in his eyes.
I reach for the broom handle as he moves past me, and he stops his strange, manic behavior when our eyes meet.
“Hey,” I hum.
A guilty smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah, I know. That was harder than I thought it would be, is all.” He glances at the open doors, where my father’s truck just pulled away.
I touch his chin, nudging him to drop his gaze to me.
“I think he’s fine with it, with us. I know he didn’t come out and say it, but it’s clear he knows. And he wasn’t angry.” My right shoulder scrunches up as Rowan’s head falls back with his faint laughter.
“Saylor, he’s your dad. He’s not okay with anyone. And I’m not so sure he’s okay with me. But he didn’t threaten to kill me or anything, so I guess—”
“What did he say?” I ask, still burning with curiosity over their conversation by the garage doors.
There’s a distinct pause in Rowan’s breath, and a stutter in our connection as his gaze darts around me for a tick before finally settling back on my eyes. His smile is clearly forced, his lips tight and stretched wide the way a child would draw a smiley face.
“He said he was proud of me for going out on my own, for not taking the easy route and working for my dad.” His mouth snaps right back to the curated smile, and I can’t help but feel like there’s more my father said.
But I can tell by the way Rowan’s eyes start to dim that whatever else my father said to him isn’t ready for my ears yet, at least not through him.
Maybe whatever my dad said is still being processed.
“I know you’ve got work soon, but after work . . . would you like to come with me to see my mom?” Rowan’s mouth pinches, and I feel like there’s a glossiness in his eyes.
The sudden, drastic pivot from him jars me, and I have to shake my head to refocus mentally.
“Wow, I . . . yeah. I’d love that,” I say, placing a hand on the center of his chest and standing on the tips of my toes to press a soft kiss to his lips while Miguel isn’t looking. “Thank you for asking me.”
Rowan holds my gaze as I fall back to my heels, his hand moving to the side of my face as his thumb runs along my bottom lip. His gaze follows his touch, moving back to my eyes again once his hand falls away.
“I want to share things with you. Honesty is sexy, right?” A guilty wince crinkles his eyes, and the fact that he locked that little nugget I said away, hits my chest with a heavy thud.
“The sexiest,” I add, tugging on the center of his shirt twice.
He holds my stare, sucking in his top lip. I let my hand trickle down his chest before moving back to the comfort of the sofa.
“I really hope so.”
The whisper is faint, and I’m not entirely sure Rowan actually spoke.
By the time I descend into the sofa cushion again, he’s already returned to his sweeping invisible lines along the glossy floor.
He slows when he reaches the spot where he spoke to my dad privately, and though the truth has never scared me before, the threat of it makes me a little uneasy now.