28. Twenty-Eight
The laughter stops instantly, like an old record player screeching to a halt. My hand tightens against her, nearly fisting her shirt to hold her in place. But she pulls away and rushes straight into his arms, taking my confidence with her. Dean should be a formality, and dumping him just another item on her to-do list between paying bills and getting an oil change. But as they collide into an all-too-familiar embrace, I see it’s not that simple. She looks almost happy to see him.
“Dean, you’re here.”
“Missed you, Rowan. Left as soon as filming ended. I couldn’t wait any longer.”
Just all summer. This guy… this fucking guy.
She relaxes in his embrace but snaps back when he goes for a kiss.
Atta girl. Stay strong. There’s hope for us yet.
She waves over her lackluster response by taking his hand and leading him up the deck.
He approaches like a car salesman circling the lot, a cheesy grin plastering his stupid face.
Christine stands and offers him a limp embrace—nothing like the one she gave me. “Welcome back, Dean. It’s good to see you.”
“Ah, Christine. I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Rowan’s brow pinches at this. She probably told him, and he didn’t listen. Strike ten for Dean.
Mira doesn’t get up, but he pats her shoulder. “Mira, always a pleasure,” he says, with questionable sincerity.
He introduces himself to everyone amid a round of how-was-traffic and what-have-you-been-filming. Rose gets him a glass of wine while Tom fetches another plate. Vernon grabs a chair, and everyone makes room at the table.
My table. My wine. My fucking backyard.
For once, I regret being so damn cozy with the neighbors.
I’m a stone, immovable, leaning against the brick counter. My eyes lock on Rowan. Her forehead creases with worry lines while her eyes plead with me to behave.
Tom presses a whiskey glass into my hand. “You won’t win her heart with anger,” he whispers.
He’s right, more than he knows. I down the drink and extend a hand to Dean.
His gray eyes widen when I introduce myself. He grips my hand with both of his, shaking vigorously.
“Wow, it’s an honor,” he says. “Everyone’s been talking about filming Cape—”
“The absentee fiancé,” I cut in, unwilling to listen to his bullshit. “Or boyfriend or whatever. We were starting to wonder if you were real.”
“Here I am, fiancé, in the flesh.” Dean smiles good-naturedly. “I’m grateful for your hospitality. And to all of you for taking such good care of Rowan and Sara while I was away.”
“Well, someone needed to be there for them,” I huff.
“It’s our pleasure, love,” Rose jumps in. “They’re part of the family now. Have something to eat. You must be famished.”
Dean obeys, thanking her as he picks up a pizza slice. My fucking pizza.
An awkward silence is broken when Christine clears her throat. “So, what’s this I hear about driving lessons for Sara?”
Tom leans in with cutthroat seriousness. “We begin Friday at noon. Automatic and manual. She’ll be able to drive any vehicle by the time we finish with her.”
Sara grins. “Jack said I can learn on his Tesla.”
“That’s generous,” Mira says. “Don’t think I’d let any teenager near my Tesla, if I had one. Not even my own kids.”
“So, did you get your big break?” I stare at Dean like a sniper on a rooftop. “A whole summer away—I hope it was worth it.”
Rowan mouths “Stop it” over Dean’s shoulder. I don’t want to be a jerk or disappoint her, but saying nothing isn’t an option. Sara’s words from the beach stick like a bad song in my head—she doesn’t want to marry him, but she will. He’s treated her like shit—if Rowan won’t call him on it, I sure as hell will.
Dean clears his throat. “No, it wasn’t worth it. I have the most amazing fiancée on the planet. But I’ve neglected her, and even the role of a lifetime wouldn’t make up for how I’ve hurt her.”
He twists in his chair, facing Rowan, his hand slipping over her knee under the table. “No dream is worth being apart from you—it won’t happen again. I’m sorry that it took so much doubt and disappointment for me to realize that I’ve had my dream all along.”
Rowan gapes at him like she’s breathless. But it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, forcing a vitriolic laugh to rumble from me.
“Sorry,” I say, as everyone glares at me. “It’s just—wow—”
“Thanks, Dean. That’s nice to hear.” Rowan to the rescue, again. At least this time, she looks unnerved.
“How sweet,” Rose allows.
Marcy mutters a soft “aw” while Mira groans.
“Dean, what a lovely speech,” Christine says, pouring more wine.
“Speech is the operative word. So, no big break then?” I repeat, dragging everyone into silence again.
Dean’s smile falls, finally catching on to my animosity like a fish hooked through its gullet. “Not for lack of trying. I landed an agent, and I have a few promising auditions coming up. Minor roles… but there are no small parts, only small people.”
Almost imperceptibly, my head shakes. This fucking guy.
He puts on his best fake-humble smile and squeezes Rowan’s knee again like he wants me to challenge him.
“We can’t all be as lucky as you, Jack. Didn’t I read somewhere that you dated your agent before she took you on as a client? In the article, she joked that she’s always wondered if that’s why you went out with her—to get her to read your manuscript.”
Rose looks aghast. “Is that true, love?”
“A coincidence. That’s all. Weird that you’d be reading up on me.”
“I read all the news from the entertainment industry,” Dean explains. “You’re a hot topic lately with the book release, the Netflix movie, and your usual exploits. Aren’t you dating a Victoria’s Secret model?”
I flash a coy grin—a flimsy jab straight from the tabloids. I hope Rowan sees his pettiness.
Marcy rebuffs him first, “Oh, Beatrice or Inga? Doesn’t matter—they were ages ago. So, what if Jack’s had a robust dating life?” She tips her glass toward me.
“No judgment here.” Dean puts his hands up submissively. “But that’s where I’m the lucky one… I have Rowan.”
His words hang in the air like an arrow in suspended animation aimed at me. The only thing keeping me from pouncing on this asshole is Rowan—she looks genuinely pissed at his smugness.
I scoff, raising an eyebrow. “You have her? Interesting word choice. You don’t even know her.”
Rowan jumps from her seat, sending her chair scraping across the deck. “I’m done. Tired. It’s getting late. Mom and Dean have had long trips today. Right, Mom?”
“Oh, yes. I’m exhausted.” She rises, widening her eyes at Mira.
“Better get home to the family,” Mira says with obvious reluctance.
“Yeah, this is getting… weird,” Sara says slowly.
As the it’s-been-lovely and we-should-do-this-again remarks line up, Rowan’s eyes lock on me. She looks defeated and disappointed. My anger vanishes into regret. I’ve put her in a tough position and made it worse by being an asshole. Stepping toward her, I’m determined to put it right, even if it means apologizing to the prick beside her.
But then Dean says, “All night in your bed is exactly what I need, Rowan.”
Son of a bitch, I want to hit this asshole. Only I can’t. Not after what she’s been through. I remember her words. Anger is destructive.
Still, I stop, afraid I might do it anyway if I get closer, especially with the daring look in his eyes as he hones in on me. Rowan winces at him, taking in his cocked brow and sly grin. He’s proud of himself for getting the last word in. He should be—he gets to go home with the woman I love.
Mother fucker.
No choice—I storm inside the house. I can’t look at him anymore. I can’t watch her leave with him. This is why no one should ever fall in love.
The party comes to a quick end outside, and thankfully, my neighbors know me well enough not to expect any more of my hospitality. Shadows move across the living room as I pace, new drink in hand, and then vanish altogether. I try not to think of them together, but Dean’s sabotaged me. I can’t think of anything else—his hand on her knee and slithering upward, his mouth leeching hers, his fake-ass platitudes in her ear. Damn it.
Why would she give herself to a man who doesn’t even see her? She’s only a ghost to him.
“What’s with you and ghosts, huh?” Devin appears, sporting jeans, Nikes, and a FanBoy Comics t-shirt.
“Not now.”
“Calm down.”
“Can’t.”
“That won’t help.” He nods to my drink. “If you hadn’t been wasted after your party, things might be different now.”
I slump. He’s right. Sober, I would’ve pressed her to tell me what happened, and she would’ve opened up to me then—I’m the one she came to, after all. Not that asshole. And any loyalty to Dean would be long forgotten. “You’re not helping.”
“Fine. How can I help?”
“How do I get her to see that he’s not right for her?”
“Maybe she sees that already, and she’s simply trying to end things the best way she can.”
I groan. “He’ll weasel his way back in like he never left.”
“You don’t know that. Why don’t you trust her? She trusts you… or did.”
“Did you hear his bullshit? Not even the role of a lifetime could make up for hurting her?” I scoff, downing my third glass and going for another.
Then, a villainous laugh bellows from my depths. “Let’s put him to the test, huh?”
Devin locks eyes with me. “Don’t.”
I yank out my phone and scroll through my contacts.
“She asked for your trust. Do this, and you’ll lose her.”
“If I don’t do this, I’ll lose her, and she’ll end up miserable with that guy.” I glare at Devin, begging him to argue, but he can’t. Sure, my actions might seem underhanded and immature, but not when considering Rowan’s happiness. Her yes to Dean translates to a lifetime of no’s for what she wants and needs. I’m doing this for her.
My agent, Lynn, answers on the first ring. “Did you finish it? Bare? I’ve been dying to read those final scenes.”
“No. Almost. I need a favor.”
“Oh, my, that sounds intriguing,” she says in her sultriest voice. I did once date her so she’d read my manuscript, but she knew what I was up to and never complained. “Name it.”
I explain what I want with as few words as possible, and she doesn’t press me with questions. A good thing since the more my excellent idea rolls around my head, the less confident I feel in it.
“Done. Easy,” she says. “Give me a few days.”
“I’m doing this for her,” I say once I’m off the phone, but Devin’s gone. Not that he’d believe me, anyway.