Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
SADIE
I woke up drenched in sweat that night, the kind of drenching when a fever takes over, my thin cotton shirt now see-thru. It was still pitch-black outside. Not even the moon had shown up to greet me.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, attempting to remove the images still lingering behind my eyelids.
The same nightmare I’d been having since I’d arrived back home plagued me—Logan’s feet dangling against the floor.
Sometimes they twitched, almost as though there was life still left in him.
Other times, they were motionless, just as they had been the night I burst into his bedroom and found the world tilted sideways.
But that wasn’t what had me scrambling for breath.
An unease had crept over me since I’d found Logan’s note.
His words—our made-up song—had replayed over and over in my head, like a bad chorus I kept singing along to, even when I didn’t want to.
It was knowing, deep in my gut, that something was terribly wrong.
Logan had given me a clue. So had Rowan, even if he hadn’t meant to.
And their father . . . he’d been VP back then. Just like Rowan was now .
That wasn’t a coincidence.
Then there was my mother . . . and her notebooks.
My feet hit the floor before I could second-guess myself. I scrambled out of my bedroom, and raced out the back door, not worrying about dressing for the kind of chill that seeped through walls and didn’t leave.
Dad was on another night shift, although I had a sneaking suspicion, he had been avoiding me. Not that I cared. I didn’t. Not really. But would it have killed him to sit down and eat with me? At least so I didn’t feel so fucking alone.
I flicked the switch in the shed, and the light flickered to life, leaving me bathed in a sickly orange glow. The door creaked behind me, the smell of dust curling around my throat. A chill raced over me, my skin breaking out into goosebumps, and I rubbed my upper arms.
The notebook I needed was in one box I’d gone through yesterday.
Logan’s letter. Our made-up childish song.
It meant something, I just hadn’t realised until now.
It was the creek—Hollow Creek. And my mother.
They were linked. How? I wasn’t sure, which is why I was standing in the middle of the shed, freezing my arse off.
I dragged the boxes through the dirt-covered concrete and pulled out notebooks. I flipped through page after page until I found the one I was looking for. There they were . . . the words. Hollow Creek Farm. My mum had written it down. Which meant she had been investigating it.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it? Logan had wanted me to know. He had to. It was the key to everything. I just didn’t have all the pieces yet.
But I couldn’t do it alone, even if I’d sworn earlier that night I’d die trying. I needed Rowan’s help, needed his knowledge. If whatever had been going on back then had anything to do with the club, Rowan was the perfect ally to help me uncover it. I needed him on my side.
I tucked Mum’s notebook under my arm and closed the shed up. The cold air bit at my exposed skin, but I barely felt it. I was already burning up inside as I raced bare foot over the dry grass to Rowan’s house.
Logan had always kept a key hidden for me in a crack under the window by the door. And it was still there. Had Rowan known? I didn’t care.
Without so much as a second thought, I unlocked the front door and placed the key back where it belonged. My hand shook as I eased the door open, the hinges creaking. I winced and paused for a few seconds, then shut and locked the door behind me.
As quietly as possible, I crept through the living room and up the stairs to Rowan’s bedroom. I didn’t want to be sneaking into his house at this hour, but what choice did I have? I was desperate for answers, even if it meant crossing lines I never thought I’d cross.
Rowan’s door was wide open, and a sliver of moonlight filtered in through the small gap in the curtains, highlighting the peacefulness on his sleeping face. He was always wearing that same concerned frown like it was a permanent fixture.
Now, he looked like the boy I’d known a long time ago. The one I knew was still in there somewhere.
I tiptoed over to the side of his bed and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight shake.
Before I’d even opened my mouth, a hand flew up and wrapped around my throat.
In seconds I was pinned beneath him, his eyes wild, his breathing ragged as it fanned across my face.
His chest pressed to mine, his grip tightening.
It wasn’t fear that stole my breath—it was heat. Sharp. Immediate. Dangerous .
My words caught in my throat, and I was distinctly aware of every place Rowan’s body was touching mine.
The warmth of his nakedness seeped through the thin cotton clinging to my skin.
Probably should have changed before breaking into his house.
I was still wearing my boy-leg undies and a thin tank top that barely covered the sides of my breasts.
“Sadie?” Rowan frowned but made no attempt to move.
His growing arousal pressed between my legs, and I fought the urge to shift my hips. Part of me hated how much I needed him there, how much I craved his closeness. But damn it, I wasn’t ready to push him away. Not yet.
He was always the one who’d held me together, whether or not I wanted him to, whether or not he realised it. I hated how easily he made me forget the anger, the hurt . . . the betrayal. It was like being back at sixteen, lost in the same feelings I could never quite name.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “Sorry . . .” I hesitated, unsure how to soften the awkwardness that lingered between us. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
He dropped his gaze and sat up, still straddling my hips. “What’s going on, Sades? Are you okay?” he said, running his hands over my arms, my sides, my stomach. “Are you hurt?” My ribs still burned whenever I moved too quickly, but they were healing.
I tucked the notebook against my chest, suddenly regretting not covering myself up. “I’m fine, Ro,” I said, all my anger from our previous conversations evaporating at my neediness. “I need to show you something.”
He just stared at me. “It couldn’t wait until morning?”
I shook my head. “Obviously not.” I shoved the notebook into his chest.
He frowned, shoving a hand through his hair. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with this right now?” He snatched the notebook and climbed off me, switching on the lamp on the bedside table.
My gaze dropped to the black boxer briefs—the only thing standing between me and every reckless impulse I’d ever had.
Holy hell, he was fine. He’d always been fit, but this version of Rowan .
. . The inked-up, filled-out, six-foot-two version with messy sleep hair and caramel eyes locked on mine.
I wanted to feel those hands on me once again, only this time, while he was inside me.
Bloody hell. I was one bad decision away from dropping to my knees. Even the quiet of the room pressed against me like it was expecting me to make another stupid mistake.
“Sades?”
I mumbled something incoherent, totally oblivious to the fact I hadn’t even looked up.
“Eyes up here.”
My focus snapped up, and he pointed to his face like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I didn’t miss the slight smirk on his lips. Arsehole.
I folded my legs beneath me and held out my hand. “Give me that back.” Rowan sighed but passed it over. I flipped it open and pointed to the words my mother had scribbled years ago. “Hollow Creek Farm.”
Rowan stiffened, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “What about it?”
“Logan had been trying to tell me something,” I said, running a finger over the words. “That song we used to sing when we were catching tadpoles. Logan had made that up when we were at Hollow Creek.”
Rowan lifted an eyebrow. “I’m still not following.”
I groaned. “Come here.” I patted the mattress beside me, his warmth still lingering on the sheets. “I’ll explain everything. ”
Rowan eyed me for a moment, as though he was debating with himself on whether to kick me out or entertain me for a few more minutes.
“This better be good,” he said, dropping beside me, his thigh brushing up against my knee.
“It’s after midnight, Sades.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and blinked a few times as he pushed his hair back.
My tongue darted out to lick my lower lip, my gaze catching on a loose curl that had fallen back over his forehead. All I had to do was keep it together for five more minutes.
“Well . . . it’s something. Maybe.” I held the notebook out in front of him, attempting to avoid staring at his toned chest.
The tattoo of Logan’s name sat inches from where my fingers rested.
I didn’t touch it. Didn’t need to. And why did he have to look like that—like the past and everything I’d been trying to hold together—when I needed to focus?
Did he feel anything even remotely close to what I was feeling in that moment?
I shook it off, and jabbed a finger at the page, right under the words ‘Hollow Creek Farm.’ “My mum wrote this.”
Rowan frowned and snatched the notebook from me. “Why?” He flipped through the pages, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “What are all these names?” As he read over them, he mumbled the names of the various addresses and scratched absentmindedly at his chest.
I leaned closer, my cheek barely brushing his shoulder. He stiffened, but I pretended not to notice. “I don’t know,” I said, lifting a shoulder. “There are boxes of notebooks, old news articles. Dad kept everything.”
He nodded, but I wasn’t sure he was hearing anything I was saying.
His focus remained purely on the notebook, his bottom lip pinched between his long, tattooed fingers, eyes narrowed as though he could conjure up the reasons my mother had pages and pages of names, addresses and fucking question marks.
It was minutes before he finally blew out a breath and slammed the notebook shut. He handed it to me, our fingers brushing briefly, but he snatched his hand away too quickly, the burn of his touch still lingering. Only it wasn’t just where his skin had touched mine.
My entire body was buzzing, nerves prickling like his touch had short-circuited something inside me.
The teenage crush I’d buried had grown teeth.
Desire. Need. And it hit me like a freight train.
It was the safest I’d felt in a long time.
I was home. And Rowan? He hadn’t said a word. He didn’t have to.
He stood abruptly and cleared his throat. “I don’t want you getting involved in this.” There was a finality to his words, one that told me I shouldn’t argue.
It did nothing to deter me.
“You’re kidding, right?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest like a defiant child. “I can’t just ignore this. Not now. Logan was trying to tell me something. You seriously don’t want to know what drove him to do it?”
Rowan groaned and paced his bedroom, bare feet thudding against the floor, fingers drumming the sides of his thick thighs. Damn it, I couldn’t stop from running my eyes over his nakedness. It wasn’t fair.
“Until we know what your mum was into, you aren’t going anywhere near it. I mean it, Sadie.”
I arched an eyebrow. “I’m the one with the notebooks, Rowan. You want answers, you’re going to have to trust me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. Trust wasn’t something Rowan gave up easily. Especially after Logan.
“Damn it, Sades.” He was in front of me in seconds, yanking me up by my arms. His grip was fierce, like he needed to feel I was real. But it wasn’t cruel. “You don’t get it, do you?” His voice cracked. “I can’t have anything happen to you.”
The lamplight cast long shadows across the walls, the hum of silence broken only by our heavy breathing. Mine especially.
His words made no sense.
“Why?” The word was barely above a whisper. But it was all I could say under the heat of his glare.
He shook his head and huffed out a humourless laugh. “Jesus Christ, Firefly, you’re just as blind as you were back then.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Blind about what, exactly?
“Just drop it.” Rowan broke eye contact, his voice tight, and stepped back, motioning to his bedroom door. “It’s probably time you go home.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to stop me from saying what I really wanted to. Rowan was as stubborn as they came. I had proof something was up with Logan before he’d died, and still, Rowan wouldn’t let me in.
It was always his way or the highway, and quite frankly, I was over it. So, I decided I was going to take the highway. I just wasn’t going to tell him where I was going.
With the notebook pressed against my chest, I squared my shoulders, lifting my chin. “Fine,” I said, stepping up to him so we were chest to chest.
He glared down at me, his eyes darkening, his chest heaving with barely contained . . . I don’t even know—rage, hate? It didn’t matter, he could hate me, resent me, wish I’d never come back. But I wasn’t done. Not with this. Not with him.
“Have it your way, Rowan.” I shoved past him, my shoulder clipping his upper arm, hard enough to be intentional, but not hard enough to stop me.
He didn’t even flinch as I stomped out of his room, yanking his bedroom door closed behind me. The slam echoed like a gunshot. I waited half a breath, hoping—stupidly—that he’d follow. But nothing.
Arsehole.
When I got back inside my room, everything felt colder, like Rowan’s silence had followed me home and unpacked its bags.
I snatched my phone from the bedside table and pulled up a number I should have called years ago.
It was too late—or early—to call, so I typed out a text instead, and hoped that she hadn’t blocked me.