Chapter 3
Chapter Three
SADIE
Y ou know those dreams where you’re falling, and just before you hit the ground, you’re jolted awake? Except I didn’t wake up. I hit the ground. Hard.
Because someone was banging on my bedroom window. Or, more like pounding.
The ceiling fan whirled above me as I kicked the tangled sheets from around my ankles. I didn’t bother to get up, just lay there staring into the darkness like it might give me a clue what I was supposed to do next.
A dog barked somewhere down the street, likely because of the ruckus going on outside.
“Sadie!” Rowan’s muffled voice seeped in from outside the window.
For crying out loud. Was he serious?
I took a deep breath as the night pressed in around me. I was going to ignore him, let him get it out of his system, whatever that was. Eventually he would get bored and go back home .
“Sadie!” Another bang against the glass, and I jumped. “I know you’re in there. Just . . . shit?—”
A loud thud followed—something heavy hitting the wall beneath the window. I froze. Another muttered curse. Then the unmistakable scrape of boots on brick, like he was climbing or—shit, had he fallen?
Groaning, I pushed myself up from the floor, flicked the switch on the lamp on the nightstand, and walked over to my window, yanking it open.
As much as I didn’t want to deal with Rowan right then, I also couldn’t let him plummet to his death. Even though it would have been his fault for being so stupid as to climb two storeys.
Those golden eyes met mine once again, this time up close. Too close. My heart stuttered in my chest. Damn traitor, same as when I was sixteen. Seemed I hadn’t learnt a bloody thing when it came to Rowan.
“Can’t you use the front door like a normal person?” I stood back, crossing my arms over my chest as though I was refusing to let him come in. We both knew that was just a facade.
Sighing, I finally stepped back, and he spilled through the frame, mumbling incoherently to himself, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes clinging to his clothes like a second skin soaked in regret.
He shoved himself back onto unsteady feet and glanced around the room as though it held fond memories for him.
He was taller than I remembered, or maybe just broader.
He was no longer in his black cut, but I was thankful he was still wearing a faded grey T-shirt—I didn’t need the distraction of what was underneath.
His jaw was clenched beneath that thick layer of stubble, his hair a mess of waves like he’d run his hands through it too many times to count .
Tattoos covered both arms, but down one forearm, there was one that caught my eye. Logan’s name.
He turned on me then, those eyes—God, those eyes—locking on to mine with a kind of desperation that made it hard to breathe. “Why now?” he choked out, the words a forceful shove against my chest.
Why, what? There were plenty of questions that could have started with ‘why.’
But it wasn’t the greeting I’d expected, not after he practically insulted me only hours before. No, Hey Sades, sorry I was a dick earlier. How’ve you been?
Straight to the point. Same old Rowan. And yet not.
I arched an eyebrow. “That’s the first question you want to ask, or are you going to try for another one?”
He groaned, staggering forward as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “Why are you back?”
“You’re drunk.”
“And you’re avoiding the question,” he said, almost amused. “Besides, drunk’s the only way to shut the memories up.”
Was that all it took? If I’d known that, I’d have drunk my sorrows away years ago. Only I knew that wasn’t true. And so did Rowan.
Maybe that explained the way he was staring at me. I’d forgotten about that look, that smirk of his that twisted in the same way it had when he used it to pin me with water balloons from two metres away.
“Well, now you’ve got your answer,” I said, keeping my arms wrapped tight around my waist. My ribs were burning from the fall from the bed, and I didn’t need Rowan asking any more questions.
“Go home, Rowan. Preferably out the front door. How the hell did you even get up to the window, anyway?” I glanced out the open frame. It was at least a three-metre drop.
Rowan pushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine with the kind of familiarity I didn’t know how to brace for. He dropped onto my bed and sprawled across the mattress. His long legs hung off the edge, boots still on, arms resting behind his head like he was settling in for the night.
Oh, how many times over the years had I wished for Rowan Knight to climb into my bed.
“Is it your old man? Is he sick?” He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head.
He knew well enough that my old man was fine, but I could sense he wasn’t going to leave without a fight. Or, at the very least, an answer to one of his questions. I didn’t blame him. Six years without one phone call, or even one text message, would do that to a person.
Still, he shouldn’t have been there, not like that, not right then when I was trying so hard to keep my shit together.
Didn’t he realise how hard it was for me to look at him and not remember everything we went through that night when we had found Logan?
Ignoring me as he did earlier would have been less painful than what he was doing now—laying there, staring at me like I was the one with all the answers.
I crossed the room, the floor creaking beneath my steps, the soft whir of the ceiling fan filling the silence between us. “Dad’s fine.” I swallowed hard. “Are we done here?” Because if he looked at me like that much longer, I wasn’t sure I would survive it.
“Just tell me, Sades.” He sat up, his gaze dropping, settling on my cheek. His expression grew serious, something dark flashing behind his eyes as his fists pressed hard into his thighs. “Because of that.”
It wasn’ t a question.
I ducked my head. I was stupid enough to think that was going to change anything. He’d already seen it. Hiding wasn’t going to do me any good.
Still, I couldn’t shake the shame that sat heavy on my chest. I’d let myself get caught up in the mundanity of trying to hide who I was. And I let a man I wasn’t even in love with, hurt me. More times than I could count.
And now this one wanted to tear my insides out and watch me bleed all over him.
“It’s none of your business, Rowan,” I said, hovering near my bedroom door.
I’d hoped he’d take the hint and get the hell out of my room before I did something stupid—like run to him.
Instead, Rowan stood and stepped closer, his movements slow, possibly a test to see if I might indeed bolt. “Who?” It was only one word, but the look on his face almost brought me to my knees.
I could have given him a name, waited to see what he would do with it. But this version of him, the drunk version, probably wouldn’t remember much about this conversation come morning, and I wasn’t in the mood to entertain whatever fantastical idea was swimming through his head at that moment.
“It’s nothing.” I pulled my gaze from his, my mouth dry, and swiped at the single tear trailing down my face. “Just some idiot. I left him. You happy?”
“Happy?” His voice was raw, disbelief pouring out of him. “Why the fuck would I be happy about someone hitting you? You show up here after six goddamn years, a black eye . . .” He gestured to my ribs. “And Christ knows what else, and you want to tell me it was just some idiot.”
I held myself tighter, the dull throb in my ribs growing sharper with each inhalation. “Yeah. That’s what I said. ”
Rowan narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said, huffing out a humourless laugh. “You always did suck at it.”
“It’s none of your business,” I said again, forcing more venom into my tone in the hopes he’d finally understand I didn’t want to discuss this right now. Not ever.
He scratched the back of his head, giving it a slight shake. “You’re back two seconds, and you’re already pretending none of it matters. Typical Sadie.” His boot scuffed the rug I hadn’t bothered replacing since high school. Something in me cracked.
“I’m not—” I bit off the words, held them in my throat where they could choke me instead of him.
He was on me then, pressing his hands against the wall beside my head, caging me in. The scent of cologne and smoke clung to him, familiar and jarring all at once.
“You got any idea what it was like?” he said, staring me down. “You just disappeared. No note, no nothing. You should have been at the funeral. Logan deserved that much, surely.”
And there it was. I’d been waiting for it, waiting for the knife he was going to stab into my chest the moment he got close enough. Except it wasn’t his blade that caused the fatal wound—that was all mine, the one I’d buried and bled around for the last six years.
“You didn’t want me there,” I said, the words slipping out like they’d been waiting all along to be acknowledged.
“Bullshit,” he spat. The lamp on my dresser flickered with its loose bulb, shadows jumping across his face. “Don’t you dare blame me because you were too much of a coward.”
I ducked under his arm, stumbling back. The corner of my dresser caught my hip, but it didn’t matter. I needed space between us, needed air that didn’t smell like Rowan, like memory.
His anger was completely justified. But he didn’ t know the truth, and I wasn’t sure if him knowing would be worse than him still believing I wasn’t there.
“I saw the way you looked at me the next morning.” I lifted a shoulder. “It was obvious.”