33. Rowan
ROWAN
I have a message on my phone as I’m leaving the studio.
It’s from Adi. My heart races and my skin grows cold at the sight of her name.
I feel the press of that gun against my temple, see the anger in her eyes.
I break out in a sweat, but then it washes away, and I’m left feeling resigned and sad once more.
Anxious more than anything.
I can’t blame her for any of it. If I were in her shoes, I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same thing.
She was at the end of her rope. I’ve been there before. I feel like I’m there now.
I know it’s wrong to forgive her so easily when I can’t forgive Samson, but the reality is that what he did hurt more. I let him into my home. My life. My heart.
And he lied to me the whole time.
So I swipe at her message, and it opens. She wants to meet. Tonight. To apologize again. I don’t think she needs to, but I get it, so I agree to meet her at a local park near my place. It’s well lit and mostly private, but also public in a way that makes me feel safe.
She doesn’t hesitate to give me her ETA, so I hustle to my car, my heart dropping in disappointment when I realize Samson really isn’t in the shadows watching me, waiting. He left like I asked him to.
I hate that I hate that he did that.
I drive in silence to the meeting spot and hop out of my car.
The sun is setting, and people are lingering on benches and under the pergolas in the shade.
I stroll to the small pond in the middle of the park, a place where Adam and I would walk sometimes when we felt like we needed someplace serene.
He’d always bring bread to feed the ducks.
It wasn’t allowed, but he did it anyway.
“They’re hungry. Look at those little feathers. I can’t let them starve.”
I loved that about him. Always cared about everyone and everything.
“Hey” I hear, and I twist, seeing Adi appear from my right. She looks better than she did that night, her hair washed, her skin with more color in it. Her clothes are still far too baggy on her, but she looks more alive. More like the Adi I once knew and loved.
“Hey,” I say, lifting my hand in a small wave.
She comes up next to me, our shoulders brushing slightly as we turn and look across the pond.
“Thanks for coming,” she says after a long beat. “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”
“I’ll always come here. For Adam more than anything, but also for you.”
She sniffles and swipes at her eyes. “I really am so fucking sorry. I…I can’t believe I ever thought you’d do that to him.”
I bob my head, my eyes stinging. I’m tired of crying. It’s all I’ve done since that awful night. But this is hard to swallow—the guilt, the sadness, the ache of missing him. “Thank you. I’d never hurt Adam. Never.”
“I know.” She swipes at her eyes again and lets out a small laugh. “Is your hulking bodyguard here?”
I shake my head, feeling my chest cave in on itself at the thought of Samson. “No, he’s not here. And he’s not my bodyguard. He’s not my anything.”
She lets out a small breath of surprise but says nothing else about it.
We’re silent once more, just standing side by side, watching the sun set on the horizon.
“Adam loved this place,” I say, unsure if she knew this about him. Back when he was alive, Adi was busy with boyfriends and work. She always made time for Adam, but I’m not sure how much of the mundane he shared with her.
She smiles fondly. “I know. He’d send me pictures. I’m pretty sure he named the ducks.”
“Yeah. Can’t remember which one is which, but he knew them.”
“He was perfect,” Adi says. “I miss him so fucking much.”
I nod, and it’s my turn to swipe at my eyes. “I do too. Every damn day.”
“He loved you, you know? He talked about you all the time. You were the brother he never had.”
“And he was mine.”
We peer over at each other, both of our eyes wet with unshed tears. We’re holding it together, but just barely.
“I know you lost your parents young, that he filled a missing part of your life. Or so he told me.”
“He did. And I failed him.”
She shakes her head, and her arm comes around me, pulling me into her for a long hug. “No. No, I did. I wasn’t there. That night I missed two calls from him, and I ignored them. It was my fault. Not yours.”
I squeeze her back, and she clings to me.
“I think we both might need to see a therapist.”
She’s probably right. She and Samson both. I do need help, to heal, to forgive, to move on. Sadly, therapy isn’t in the cards for me. I wouldn’t be able to afford it even with a job, but with the studio closing…
My stomach clenches as nausea rolls through me. What the fuck am I going to do?
Adi hums. “He would have wanted that for you. For me. For us. To be happy, to move on.”
“I can’t move on.” Moving on means forgetting Adam. I can’t ever do that.
“I know. That was a bad choice of words, but I mean…move forward. You should look into it. To start healing.”
I understand that, the need to feel whole again. She’s not wrong. I do need someone to help me work through these complicated feelings. I thought I could get through it all with varying distractions, but that hasn’t worked out well. It’s just pushed me to the verge of burnout.
To broken dreams and broken hearts.
She reaches out to take my hand. “Promise me you’ll consider it. Promise Adam.”
I stare at the ducks floating peacefully on the small pond. It seems so easy for them. I don’t think I’ll ever be truly happy, but maybe I can aim for peace. “I promise.”
“Thank you. For…for not turning me in that night. For forgiving me for believing you could do that to Adam.”
“Always, Adi. Always.”
She reaches into her purse and pulls out a baggie with two slices of bread, and she hands me one. “In memory of him?”
I smile, the first real one in days. “Yes.”
I glance around, looking for anyone watching us, then realize we’re alone. I feel suddenly defiant as I tear a piece off and toss it into the water. It bobs on the surface and then disappears just as a duck waddles over and dives in after it.
Adi lets out a soft laugh and does the same, the two of us breaking off pieces of bread and dropping them into the water until there’s nothing left.
The ducks quack at us loudly as we hold out our hands, empty of the bread we gave them.
It’s then I realize that the sun has set completely, leaving Adi and me standing there in this slowly emptying park with tears streaming down our cheeks.
I don’t feel whole. I don’t know if I ever will again. But I feel like I’m starting to come around. Starting to find the light at the end of this never-ending tunnel.
Adi is right. Adam would want me to move forward, to be happy. I can do that, I think. I can.
We say our goodbyes, and I watch as Adi gives me a small wave and disappears toward the parking lot. I linger for just a moment longer, wanting to relish this moment, this odd peace I’m slowly coming to find.
It’s not perfect, but it’s there.
Then I feel it, a presence behind me, someone watching. My head whips around, and I see Samson lingering by a tall tree, his arms folded over his chest, his eyes narrowed as he stares at me.
I hate that he’s here, and hate that I love it.
I whisper a silent plea to Adam before turning and marching toward Samson. The closer I get, the more I yearn, the more I miss.
I miss him.
“What are you doing here? Are you following me?” I ask, my voice broken and soft.
“I am.” It’s a simple acknowledgment, nothing more.
“I don’t want you to do this. I can’t have you everywhere I am. I’m supposed to heal, to move forward. How can I do that when you’re always in my fucking way?” I fling my hands up, and he takes a step back.
“I don’t want to bother you, to make you feel like you can’t move forward or heal. But…” He swallows, his throat clicking softly. “I’ll always protect you.”
“I don’t need it.”
“I’ll decide that.”
“Is this your penance for lying to me?”
“No. It’s because I love you.”
I feel my shoulders slump slightly at that statement, and I inhale shakily. “Was it because I met with Adi? Is that why you’re here?”
When I peer up at him, he gives me a clipped nod. “I don’t trust her. Probably won’t ever trust her, but she seems more…settled. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I promise that’s all this is.”
“Well, I am safe. See? Are you happy now?”
He gives me another nod, his hands flexing by his sides. “I’ll be happier if you let me walk you to your car. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
I’m too emotionally exhausted to refuse, so I turn on my heel, and we walk in silence to the parking lot. He opens the door for me, just like old times, and I find my heart fluttering at the sentiment.
I can’t help it.
I slide behind the wheel, pushing the button for the ignition. It softly purrs to life, and I realize Samson is still lingering at the open door.
“You can close it now,” I say, my eyes meeting his.
His lips turn down, hurt moving across his face, but he nods, and the door closes softly. It leaves me sitting here, idling in my car, and the only sound I hear is my breathing.
I glance over at him and see him walking away, and something aches deep inside of me. I miss him.
Should I take him back? What if that leads to more pain? What if he lies again? What if I let them all in just to have my heart shattered again?
I lean my head against the steering wheel, wishing desperately that I knew what the answers were.
Samson’s always around, always in my periphery. The next forty-eight hours before the show are hard. I keep myself busy, rehearsing, working out, chatting with friends. But then I see him, lingering in the shadows, watching me. Never engaging, just there.
I get that he wants to protect me, but right now I’m fraying at the seams. I feel vulnerable and weak.
Last night was the hardest. I found him against my front door, legs spread out, head lolling to the side as he slept. He woke as I stepped over him. I felt his eyes, hooded and dark, watching as I disappeared into my apartment. The fact that he was so close, so near, pulled and tugged at my heart.
God, why is this so hard?