Chapter Forty-Eight. Rowan
FORTY-EIGHT
Rowan
“To Rowan. The woman who was clearly holding out on us but who we still love anyway.” Caroline holds her glass up and we all follow suit—or at least Sloane and Victoria do because I sure as shit don’t feel good about any of this.
“To Rowan.” They lift their glasses while I politely sip mine.
“It’s not—it wasn’t—it’s a lot to explain,” I say.
“There is no need to explain shit to us,” Caroline says. “We’re your best friends. This is what we do. We rally around for support. We love unconditionally.”
“And we leave our questions for when you’re really drunk and can’t maintain a filter,” Victoria says so that we all burst out laughing.
“So, real talk here,” Caroline says and smacks a hand on my kitchen countertop. “Is the wedding to Chad off, then, because … your momma hasn’t canceled shit yet.”
I laugh nervously. “Um, I don’t think it matters if she cancels it now or next week.
The deposits aren’t going to be refunded on the case of her daughter being a cheating whore.
” I roll my eyes, oblivious to what the people of Westmore are saying about me, but educated enough to guess.
Sloane reaches out and squeezes my hand.
Her knowing glance holds much more weight than the rest of theirs.
“It’s not like she’s talking to me anyway. ”
“No?” Sloane asks, playing along like she doesn’t know.
“Nope,” I say.
“And Chad?”
My sigh is heavy and I hate that my heart is too.
He knew this whole thing was a farce but at the same time, the way it came out was humiliating to him.
If I could take one thing back, I would.
“Chad was … he was Chad. Polite. Forgiving. Asking if I needed him to be a friend right now and if so, he could be that for me, but at the same time, I know he’s hurt.
” I look down at my glass of wine. “I humiliated him. It’s not something to be proud of. ”
“Jesus. He’s a saint,” Victoria says. “But just so you know, the men in this town might be thinking the cheating-whore part, but that’s only because they all wish they were Holden Knight.
And the women? They might be saying that publicly, but privately they’re saying they can’t blame you for taking him out for a spin. ”
I stare at her, blinking and processing. “Apparently Victoria does not need to be shit-faced to lose her filter,” I state the obvious, to which all four of us burst out laughing.
“Never been accused of being reserved by any means,” Victoria says.
“Don’t we know it,” Caroline says and then taps her glass to mine. “Whatever it is that you want, Row, we want the same for you. Even if it’s against the grain of popular opinion. Your happiness is what matters to us.”
“Thanks.” I stare down at my hands clasped around my stemless wineglass and feel like shit.
Chad’s hurt. My mom’s devastated. My dad hasn’t said anything more than You’ve let the whole family down. And selfishly, I miss Holden. We’ve decided to keep a low profile until I can right the wrongs and everything blows over.
Plus, it’s the only thing I can think to do now that there is a target on my back. I need to prove myself—ten times harder than Rhett ever has, of course—to justify why Holden gave me the co-CEO position.
Everything is a dumpster fire inside of a shitstorm, and I just want to be able to walk down the office hallway or the aisle of the grocery store without someone lowering their voice and whispering.
“Earth to Rowan,” Caroline says, waving her hand in front of my face. “Did we lose you?”
I smile, trying to cover up my warring emotions. “Just for a minute. I’m back. Sorry.” My phone rings on the table in front of me. Mom is on the screen. I force the call to voicemail.
My first conversation with my mom is not going to be in front of my girlfriends, no matter how much they are on my side.
But when she calls again a few seconds later, I know I have to at least answer so she doesn’t keep doing it.
“Mom. Hi. Now’s not the time. Can we talk later?” I’m not the nicest but then again, it’s been radio silence for a week, so the last person I want to talk to while I’m actually relaxing with friends is her.
“Rowan.” Her voice is shaky.
Oh Jesus. Here we go with the poor me act that I can already sense is coming.
“Yes. I’m busy. What?”
“There’s been an accident. It’s your dad.”