29. Twenty-Nine
Ican’t leave fast enough. I remember stories of this phenomenon—a wonky love triangle with two men interested in the same woman—but I’ve never even dated two men in the same month, let alone considered myself a candidate for this awkward catastrophe. It’s not the ego-boost it should be—I feel almost sick.
But Dean lingers even after his last shot at Jack like he’s taking a victory lap. He dishes pleasantries to the neighbors, shaking their hands again before I coax him away.
Mom, Sara, and Mira stroll ahead of us, curving around the corner of Jack’s house and taking the shrubbery-lined path. Mira grabs Mom’s luggage, and Sara leads them inside to give her a tour.
I stop Dean at my front door. “What was that?”
“He’s got a thing for you. Can you believe it?” Dean laughs. “I know he’s a womanizer, but I’m surprised. Aren’t you? It was fun playing the protective fiancé’s role against the Jack Graham, huh? I wonder if he’ll use it in his next book.”
Five seconds ago, I couldn’t have imagined feeling any worse. But now, I do. It’s a double hit to my pride that Dean’s astounded that someone else could have a thing for me, especially the Jack Graham, and that he’s giddy like he might brag about it to his acting friends. Yeah, you know the New York Times bestselling author Jack Graham? He’s in love with my fiancée. He’s got a contract with Netflix.
Worse still, I detect no jealousy or concern. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
His eyes roll like he’s about to explain something simple. “Honey, a man like that is all about conquests. You’d never be so gullible. He probably only wants you because he can’t have you. Or he’s bored with shallow supermodels. Besides, this summer apart proves how committed we are. So, why should I be bothered?”
I sink into myself further like unsettled ground, shifting to fill in invisible holes. “You shouldn’t have taunted him. Or mentioned being in bed together. You embarrassed me.”
His hands land on my upper arms, rubbing up and down—a move I once liked but now makes me cringe. It feels more condescending than affectionate. “You’re right. I took it too far. It was such a surprise, you know.”
“So you’ve said. I want you to stay at your place.”
His genial expression changes into disappointment, but he nods. “Yes, it might be awkward with Sara and Christine here.”
“No. I mean, yes, but that’s not it entirely.” I latch on to my growing unease like a life vest in rough seas. “I’m not as confident in us as you are. Not anymore. I’ve tried to tell you, Dean. We need to talk. I don’t want to be together until I’m sure we’re staying together.”
“Wow, okay. I’m a little blindsided, Rowan.” He runs a hand through his hair. “But we should reconnect. It’ll be like we’re dating again. I’ll plan a nice weekend for us, and you’ll see. Everything will be perfect.”
Our perfect weekend doesn’t happen until Monday night, back-to-school eve. Everything else has taken strange priority. Me opting to keep my shopping plans with Mom and Sara on Friday prompted Dean to catch up on schoolwork and errands on Saturday and Sunday, which felt like retaliation for me not dropping everything for him. He claimed to be overwhelmed, but I suspected he didn’t want to hear what I had to say. He avoided me, just like he had all summer.
But not tonight—I made him promise. I’m carrying his engagement ring in my purse. I will put it on or return it by the night’s end.
Even so, Dean embraces date night with his usual optimism. He wears a dark suit and tie. He looks almost like a movie star—I tell him so. And he beams as if it’s the best compliment I could offer.
“You’re gorgeous.” He pulls me into a warm embrace after wide-eyeing my outfit. It’s a two-piece dress that I bought after finally agreeing to date again and at Mira’s insistence that I looked “banging” in it. The teal silk halter top wraps around my neck, accentuating my shoulders rather than my scars, and cuts off just below my belly button, exposing an inch of skin before the matching skirt hugs my waist and hips and shows off my legs. Mira calls it my fuck-me dress.
But sex isn’t what I’m after. I need the confidence a ‘banging’ outfit provides. Is tonight a break-up date or a reunion? I don’t know. The other night’s backyard fiasco has only worsened my confusion. At least in this outfit, I can feel good about something.
Getting into Dean’s Honda, I hear Rose shout, “Have a nice evening, you two,” from Jack’s front porch, where she and Vernon sway in the swing, Marcy and Tom lean on the railing, and Jack stands like a sentry at the top of the steps, arms folded, and his usual brooding eyes pinched and dark as they trail me to the passenger side.
Jack apologized for the other night, and I understand why it was hard for him. But his words feel watered down, meaningless. Another day, another apology. Dean could be right—Jack might want me simply because he can’t have me.
But Dean’s words feel watered down, too.
Dean’s hand slips easily around mine as we approach the restaurant he’s picked for us. It’s a ritzy downtown bistro with linen tablecloths, tuxedoed servers, and a view of the rippling Cape Fear. I would’ve been happier somewhere quiet, even his place, where we could’ve really talked, but Dean insisted on going out.
It’s a gorgeous night. With the sun setting behind the silhouetted peaks of the USS North Carolina across the river, orange beams add a gold tone to everything. We’re given a table in the corner, and Dean offers me the inner seat against the wall. Now, the dying sun warms my scars while keeping them hidden—a double-sided comfort.
His blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
I pull the engagement ring from my purse and set it on the table between us. “When you gave me this, I meant yes. Truly, I did. But that yes has wavered the longer you’ve been away, with every unanswered call or ignored text. You had no right to abandon me over one mistake. My mess-up was an accident, but you hurt me on purpose.”
He eyes the ring, forlorn and confused. “You’re right. I was angry. Everyone witnessed your uncertainty about me—I was so heartbroken and embarrassed.”
He leans forward, blue eyes landing softly on mine. “I’m sorry. For everything I put you through. Leaving wasn’t the right choice… Nothing was easy for me, either, you know. Working as a grunt on productions, twelve or thirteen-hour days, most of the time waiting, being yelled at by assistant directors itching to make a name for themselves… it was humbling. Exhausting. But I kept thinking about you, wanting to make you proud, wanting to come back to you a better man, and fearing that you’d end up thinking me a hack for trying—”
“Never. I never thought that. I still don’t.”
“I know, and your support has meant everything. What I’m trying to say is… you weren’t with me, but you were always with me.” His eyes dart to the ring before fixing on mine again. “I want you with me forever, Rowan.”
My heart skips—a sudden, shocking putter that takes me back to the first time our eye contact lingered too long during play practice, our first touch when we traded scripts, and the night we stayed after practice long after the kids went home because we were too engrossed in conversation to call it a night. We fell for each other so sweetly, so honestly. That’s why I love Dean.
His hand slips over mine from across the table, stroking my fingers. Warmth rises with his touch. “I won’t make a big show of it, but please, wear the ring. Marry me.”
This is it—the redo I wanted. But once again, my yes gets caught in my throat. I long for the security I had with him before all this, but at the same time, I understand that it wasn’t real. How could it be? He doesn’t know me—I never gave him a chance to.
He picks up the ring and edges it closer, a soft but hopeful smile lifting his cheek.
My hand slips over his, pressing the ring to the table’s surface again. “Wait. There are things I need to—”
A shadow looms over our table, turning us toward a large man with a boyish grin.
“Hey, Dean.”
“Ryan!” He stands and greets him with a hug. “Rowan, this is my cousin Ryan. He’s thinking about subletting my condo. Ryan, this is my stunning fiancée, Rowan.”
He looks shy as he shakes my hand. “Nice to meet you finally. Dean talks about you all the time.”
I want to say the same, but Dean hasn’t mentioned him or subletting his condo. “Nice to meet you, too. What a coincidence.”
“Ryan recommended the place,” Dean says.
“I live nearby. Popped in for happy hour and carry-out.”
Standing side by side, Ryan is the spitting image of his cousin, only heavier.
“Wow, you guys could pass for twins.”
Dean laughs, play-punching Ryan in his stomach. “Until middle school, anyway.”
“Yep, I’ve always been more of a wide receiver than a cheerleader, like Dean here,” Ryan grins. The barman catches his attention, setting a to-go bag on the counter. “Ya’ll have a nice night. Good to meet you, Rowan.”
He heads to the bar for his takeout. Watching his thick fingers reach for the bag strikes me as familiar. “Have I met him before?”
Dean sits, shaking his head. “No. He’s new to the area, hoping to escape a bad roommate situation. I mentioned we’d be moving in together soon.” He eyes the ring, middling the table like a condiment. “You wanted to tell me something?”
Those somethings scatter like dried leaves under a blower. Why am I so bothered by meeting Dean’s pleasant cousin? Or am I just nervous about what I need to say? I had a plan for tonight—to finally trust Dean with my past, see how he reacts, and measure our relationship accordingly. My love for him would either return full-force or dissipate altogether.
But his intent gaze and expectant smile don’t comfort me into talking—quite the opposite. I’m nervous. I excuse myself for the restroom, hoping to refocus. Rinsing my hands in cold water, my distress pieces together like a mental game of Tetris. I have seen Dean’s cousin before. My plan fades while my certainty grows—I know what I want for the first time in months.
I find our dinners and the ring at the table but no Dean. I spot him outside through the picture windows in an animated phone call. I sit, refill my wine, and text Mira.
Can you pick me up?I send her my location.
Be there in twenty.
Napkin in lap and fork in hand, I dive into my pasta dish like tortellini might soften the hardness now lodged in my gut. I’m angry and hurt, but more than anything, anxious for this to be over. I want to go home.
More than that, I want to go home to Jack.
My plate is half-empty when Dean returns. He rushes in on a wave of excitement.
“You’ll never guess what’s happened,” he says, oblivious to my angry face and speed-eating. “My agent got a call from casting on Jack’s movie. I’m going to play an inspiring guidance counselor in Cape Moon! Can you believe it? I’m getting my big break after all!”
His news breaks me, shattering my inner hardness into a million sharp pieces. My would-be fiancé is a liar, and Jack’s a controlling manipulator—why did I ever trust either of them?
“Jack’s behind this,” I say with calm indifference.
“He probably feels bad about being a jerk the other night. I have to take it—this could be it for me.”
“What about school? Your students?” What about me? I almost tack on at the end.
He shrugs carelessly. “Eh, I’ll take a leave of absence. Or quit. It’s too good to pass up.”
But I’m not.I stare dumbfounded that his promise not to let anything come between us again fails to register. Nor does the underhandedness of it—that Jack’s used his connections to bait Dean into breaking it.
Dean leans in as if seeing me for the first time. “What’s wrong, hon? Too much wine?”
“Not enough. The picture hanging in your office—heavyset, high school Dean—that isn’t you. It’s Ryan.”
Surprise hits him first, followed by a mild chuckle. “Technically… yes. So?” His head cocks in a strange amusement, like I’m a child overreacting to something I don’t understand. “Are you upset? It’s not a big deal.”
“Lying to your students? Lying to me? That’s not a big deal? How?”
He takes a breath, still smirking. “It’s a prop. I use it to inspire my students. You won’t believe how many pounds have been lost thanks to that story. And it gives the kids confidence,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
“But it’s a lie.”
“What? You never lie to your students?”
“I don’t invent personal struggles I never went through!”
“I do it to help them, Rowan.”
“Then, why lie to me? Did you want me to shed a few pounds?”
“God, no! It’s like being immersed in a role—I didn’t want to break character and put you in an awkward position if your students mentioned it.”
“Oh, so you lied to me to save me from lying to them?”
“Um, yes. Why are you upset? It’s one little lie for their benefit. I would’ve told you eventually.” He forks his fish as if the argument is over.
But that was why I loved Dean. It was the foundational story of our friendship, the load-bearing wall of our relationship. Removing it makes what’s left of us crumble into dust and tears.
“I believed you’d gone through something truly difficult. Your weight loss story drew me closer to you—and you let me believe it because that’s what you wanted.”
“Are you listening to yourself? You’re pissed because I wasn’t a fatty in high school?”
“You manipulated me.”
“I wanted to be with you! I’m sorry, Rowan. I didn’t think it mattered. Why should it? That stupid story doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes… everything. You play a role for your students, a role for every audience, a role for me.”
I stand up, dropping my napkin over my plate. I tuck my purse under my arm. “I love you, Dean. Even with the lie, I love you. But we aren’t right for each other. My answer is no. And that you’d even consider a part in Jack’s movie tells me your answer is no, too.”
As I climb awkwardly into Mira’s mini-van, she says, “Aw, you’re wearing your fuck-me dress. You okay?”
“Fine.” I lump in the passenger seat. “Dean and I are over.”
The I-told-you-sos I expect don’t come. She only nods.
I rest my head against the cold window, and several silent minutes pass before Mira clears her throat. “Um, there’s something I should tell you. Can you handle more bad news?”
I sit up. “Tell me.”
“Eddie Sweet’s release has been moved up. He’s getting out.”
“When?”
“End of the week. It’s thanks to you. Well, you and Lt. Wright. He went to see Eddie after his cousins were arrested and talked him into not covering for them anymore. Eddie’s trading information for an early release. It’s good news, really.”
“You’re right. Sara will be thrilled and relieved. We need something to celebrate. Let’s tell her when we get home.”
Mira nods, side-eyeing me. “You’re freaking me out with your whole deadpan thing. Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m tired. Pissed. But for the first time in months, I have clarity. I’ll be fine.”
The words come out confidently, like a mantra I’m programming myself to believe. I long to be home, snuggling with Edgar and watching mindless TV with Mom and Sara over bowls of ice cream.
But pulling into the driveway, the little house doesn’t offer its usual relief—it’s not home anymore. My neighbors occupy Jack’s front porch almost exactly as I left them—it hasn’t been long.
All eyes follow us as we exit Mira’s minivan. I feel on stage again, under scrutiny, especially since it’s obvious that the night went badly.
Well, obvious to most of them.
“Oh, Rowan, how’d it—”
“Vernon, no,” Rose snaps.
Mira wraps her arm around me as we walk to the front door, and I lean against her like I’ve done hundreds of times before.
But Jack misses the unspoken understanding that I should be left alone—or thinks it doesn’t apply to him. He reaches us halfway up the walk, bounding into our path.
“Rowan, are you okay? What happened?”
His concern feels like manipulation, somehow layering irritation atop my cold disappointment. Discovering Dean’s lie leaves me questioning everything between us. Consoling me after Grandpa Ro died was probably him gathering material, vampire-biting my grief. Then, I think of that damn proposal. A packed auditorium, bigwigs, TV coverage, and Dean—the hero, generously loving the woman who isn’t easy to love. It’d been all about him. Before him, it’d all been about Trent.
With Jack blocking our path, insisting on talking, I realize—I have a type.
“It’s not a good time, Jack,” Mira says.
Her soft warning only encourages him. “Let me help. I could—”
“You’ve done enough.” My freaky calmness makes a stunning return. I lock eyes with him, determined for my words to sink in. “Dean sends his heartfelt thanks for the part in your movie. How clever and entitled of you to plot the demise of my relationship like that. How could you be so selfish and underhanded? You made everything about you—that’s what you do. That’s what all guys do, I guess. Maybe that should be the theme of your next novel. Bare is what women want to feel with someone if only men didn’t wreck their trust every time. Leave me alone.”
“Go home, Jack,” Mira says more sternly as she pulls me around him. Mom meets us at the front door, and we lock it behind us.