Chapter 4
four
. . .
Rowan
I’m a dick. No way around it. Showing up out of nowhere the other day and throwing Violet’s world off its axis is exactly why I’ve stayed the hell away all these years. Wanting something doesn’t mean you should have it.
Tonight, I’m headed to the same dive bar I used to sneak into with my old buddies when we were dumb and seventeen, thinking we knew everything.
The same peeling sign hangs out front, the same flickering neon light in the window.
I thought it’d be long gone, either bulldozed into a parking lot or turned into some overpriced taco joint.
But nope. It’s still here, standing stubborn as hell, just like we were back then.
The guys and I are supposed to catch up and shoot the shit, but all I can think about is Violet and how her smile dropped the second she saw me. Like I’d emptied the air right out of her lungs just by walking into the damn room.
I pull into the lot and spot Jake’s beat-up truck parked sideways, as usual. Apparently, he’s still allergic to parking between the lines. Some things never change.
Inside the dive bar, it smells exactly how I remember. Stale beer and fryer grease. The floor’s sticky, the lighting questionable, and the jukebox is still stuck on a loop of classic rock and sad country ballads.
“Rowan, you son of a bitch!” Jake bellows from a corner booth, already a few rounds in judging by the way he slurs my name like he’s trying to strangle it.
I smirk and slap him on the back hard enough to slosh his beer when I approach. “Still ugly as sin, I see.”
“Better than bein’ pretty and heartless,” he shoots back, tipping his bottle in my direction.
I huff out a laugh. “Heartless? That’s rich, coming from the guy who once ghosted a girl mid-date because she ordered a salad.”
“She said she wasn’t really hungry,” Jake cuts in. “Bold-faced lie. I could hear her stomach grumbling from across the table. Just eat a damn burger and be proud, ya know?”
Beau snorts as I slide into the booth next to him. He’s never been much of a talker, but his presence has always been solid.
“I don’t know, Jake. She could have been the one, salads and all.”
That earns me a chorus of bullshit and middle fingers, and for a second, it’s easy to fall into. Words flying without weight, nothing sticking long enough to matter. It’s like slipping into an old jacket that still fits even if everything else has changed.
This is simple. No expectations. No Violet standing across the room looking at me like I’m something she doesn’t recognize anymore.
Just busted jokes, cheap beer, and the same guys who never asked too many questions when I left.
That is, until Jake decides to break the pattern. “What the hell finally brought you back, man? Beau here doesn’t tell me shit.”
“Here we go,” Beau mutters.
I take a long pull from my bottle and shrug, trying to keep it light. “Got tired of sand and sweat and shit exploding two feet from my head.”
“You’ve been stateside for a while, though, right?”
I let out a long, slow sigh and lean back in the booth. My arm drapes over the cracked vinyl, but the tension in my shoulders doesn’t go anywhere.
“Kind of. I was working private security. Overseas, mostly. High-risk stuff. Pay was good, no strings. No one to answer to but the guy signing the check.”
I don’t tell them the real reason I picked jobs where death was a distinct possibility. Every contract I took, every godforsaken hellhole I volunteered for, was just another way to keep my blood pumping hard enough that I couldn’t think about anything else.
It’s easier to dodge bullets than it is to sit with the fact that I walked away from the only person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t just some piece of trailer park trash destined to repeat my old man’s mistakes.
Violet looked at me like I could be something, and that scared the living shit out of me.
So I ran. And then I kept running. I dressed it up as purpose, as work, as necessity. Told myself I was building something, becoming someone worthy. But the truth? I was just too chickenshit to stay and risk proving her wrong about me.
Jake whistles low. “Still chasing adrenaline, huh?”
“Still running from somethin’,” Beau adds, his voice just soft enough for only me to catch.
My jaw tightens. I take a long swig of my beer to give myself something to do, something to swallow down the unease sitting heavy in my gut.
“Yeah, well, I’m back now. I needed some quiet and had nowhere else left to go,” I admit, the words slipping out more easily than I expect.
It’s not the whole truth, but it’s damn close.
Jake just nods, like he gets it in a way I’m not even sure I do before he swings to his feet and stretches. He mutters something about grabbing another drink. Then, after a beat, Beau asks, “You see her yet?”
My chest tightens as the past crashes back in, all the things I’ve tried to outrun. “Yeah,” I rasp. “Didn’t go well.”
It’s the understatement of the year. I can’t shake the image of her face the moment she saw me—how her eyes, the ones that used to light up with hope and happiness whenever they landed on me, dropped instead.
The warmth and trust I remembered from when I was younger is gone, replaced by distance that I created.
She put a mask into place so fast it was almost effortless.
I’d always thought her face could make the world pause, that the curve of her mouth or the flicker in her eyes could tell you everything you needed to know about hope and being seen.
Now… Now it only told me that she was protecting herself from me. That she had to.
That hurt more than anything I’d felt in the last six years.
Beau’s the only one who ever really got me.
Same fucked-up upbringing, same bad choices.
Half the time, I couldn’t even tell you why we stayed friends, but we did.
We both came from the same kind of brokenness, grew up on the wrong side of everything, and somehow, we ended up standing next to each other, picking up the pieces of shit we’d both gotten tangled in.
He’s the only one who ever really understood why I stayed the hell away from Violet.
We both knew what I felt for her, even when I didn’t have the guts to admit it. Probably why he’s the only one I stayed in touch with after I bailed. With him, there was no pretending. No posturing. No bullshit. He knew how far gone I was, even when I couldn’t say the words.
“She still deserves someone better than a guy like me.”
Beau’s gaze hardens. It’s a look I’ve seen a thousand times. He sees right through me. “That’s your excuse?”
I don’t answer right away. I can feel his stare, those dark eyes that’ve seen the same kind of demons I’ve lived with, and I know he’s not giving me a pass. I’ve never really been able to lie to Beau.
“I left because I knew I wasn’t good enough,” I finally say. “Still know it.”
Beau’s gaze shifts, something like pity crossing his features before hardening into something more resolute. “She’s been seeing some guy for a while now.”
My stomach drops. Why is he telling me this now? I knew it was a possibility, but hearing it confirmed makes my fists clench.
“Clean-cut type,” Beau continues, taking another swig. “Drives a nice car. Domestic and shit.”
I have to remind myself that I was the one who walked away, and I did it on purpose. I told myself it was for her own good, that she deserved someone whole. Someone who could give her things I never had in the first place—stability, safety, Sunday mornings that didn’t feel like a countdown.
But hearing it now, that she has that, or something close to it?
It hits different.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, suddenly hating the way the air seems too still. Like it’s waiting for me to admit what I’ve always known.
I didn’t just leave because I wasn’t good enough. I left because I was scared of how much she saw.
Now…someone else gets to hold the pieces I never had the guts to reach for.
“Domestic,” I echo, the word catching in my throat like smoke. “Right.”
Beau says nothing. Just watches me like he’s trying to figure out how deep the damage goes.
Truth is, I don’t even know. All I know is, she’s moved on.
And I haven’t.
“You’ve always been a pain in the ass, Rowan.”
Beau and I never really had much. No real future to look forward to, no one telling us how to make something of ourselves. We had nothing but the scraps we found along the way, the cheap beer, the late nights, and the things we did to keep the noise of the world from getting too loud.
I remember the way he would sit out front with me on the cracked porch steps, staring off into the distance like he could see past all of it.
There was this part of him, this quietness, that always held a stubborn kind of hope.
Then there was me. The guy who couldn’t see anything past his own damn fear.
I think he’s always hoped I’d pull my head out of my ass so he could convince himself he deserved something good, too.
I think he was waiting for me to get it together, so he could convince himself that he could do the same.
But the thing is, we’re a fucking mess. We’ve always been a mess. Just two guys running on fumes, trying to outrun the broken parts of ourselves.
“You’re not a kid anymore,” Beau says.
I’m grateful for Jake’s cluelessness to the conversation when he sits back down at the table. “So you actually like…save people, Row? Looking like that? You look like you’re about to rob the place.”
I can’t help it. I let out a laugh. Beau’s face softens for a second, and even he cracks a smile.
“Jesus Christ, Jake,” I mutter, rubbing my hand over my face. “You’re a fucking disaster.”
Jake just shrugs, completely oblivious to the tension he just sliced through. “What? It’s not like I’m wrong.”
“Alright, alright,” I say, slapping the table. “Enough of the life coaching. My ego can only take so much.”
We fall back into the easy rhythm of bullshit and banter, but Beau’s words keep circling in my head like vultures. You’re not a kid anymore. I know he’s right. I’ve known it for a long time.
After a few more rounds, the conversation shifts to old stories that get more outlandish with each retelling. I’m only half listening, nodding at the right moments, laughing when I’m supposed to. But my mind keeps drifting back to Violet.
“Earth to Rowan,” Jake says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You in there, man?”
I blink, forcing myself back to the present. “Yeah, sorry. What?”
“I said, you planning on sticking around this time?” He’s slurring his words a little, but his eyes are sharp.
I pause, my fingers tightening around the neck of my bottle. “Yeah,” I say, more sure than I feel. “Yeah, I’m sticking around.”