17. Let’s Go Home Angel
LET’S GO HOME ANGEL
R owan
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My fist beat against the door for what felt like the millionth time in the last five minutes, but I knew it had only been the third time. The hallway was totally silent, and I knew I was more than likely being dramatic, but my gut said something was wrong.
I’d texted Aspen letting her know I was going to be a little late.
Someone had fucked with the fence around the far side of the ranch again, so Oliver, Theo, and I had ridden over and fixed it before we could call it for the afternoon.
However, she’d never replied or even opened the message.
At first, I just assumed she’d gotten distracted with her painting and didn’t notice I’d texted her, so I hadn’t worried.
But if that were the case, I would’ve heard the music playing when I got to the door—I heard nothing on the other side of this door.
“Aspen?” I hollered through the door, trying to keep my voice even and not sounding as if I was panicking.
I pulled out my key and released a deep breath.
Worst case scenario, she was in there and rightfully shocked when I walked in.
I’d have to figure out an excuse for how I magically had a key to her place.
On the other hand, maybe she’d gotten sidetracked with Ivy and wouldn’t even be inside.
Maybe she forgot about our plans. But then the anxious part of my brain said maybe she was hurt and couldn’t answer the door.
Yeah, not doing this in the hallway. I pushed the key in and unlocked the door. I walked in, a little surprised when I found myself standing in a puddle of coffee with a now-empty coffee cup from Buns of Delight in the middle of it.
“Aspen?” I hollered again. “Ya here, little angel?”
A small thud brought my attention to the bathroom, and I walked over, slowly pushing open the door.
“Aspen?” I said, quieter this time.
I walked into the bathroom and slowly opened the shower curtain.
She was sitting in the bathtub, fully clothed, pressed back in the far corner.
Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, pulling them to her chest. There were dried tears streaked down her face, and her eyes were wide—staring at nothing, it seemed.
“Angel?” I whispered. I crouched down so I was in front of her and reached forward, gently rubbing her arm.
She jumped, letting out a small screech. Her arms dropped down to her sides, and she seemed to slowly focus on my face.
“Rowan?” she whispered.
“Hi, little angel. Wanna come on out of there? Or we can stay if you’re feeling like a bath? Shower, maybe?” I asked her quietly.
She looked around, as if just now realizing she was in the bathtub. Tears started falling down her cheeks again. “I’m sorry—I don’t even know…I’m sorry. We have plans. I’m not ready.” She rubbed her cheeks with her fists and tried to steady her erratic breathing.
I reached forward, offering her my hands.
“Come here, little angel,” I said gently.
She stared at me for a moment before crawling out of the bathtub and into my lap.
Leaning against the wall next to the tub, I wrapped my arms tightly around her, letting her sit in my lap as she curled up against my chest.
We sat like that, her in my lap crying, my arms wrapped tightly around her as I quietly told her about my day, the ranch, the horses, Theo bitching because he said his vacation with his family was harder work than he bargained for.
Anything I could think of to get her mind off of whatever was going on.
After nearly an hour, she looked up at me, her face red and splotchy, and whispered, “I don’t want to be here. Can we go to your house?”
“Of course we can. Do you want to grab anything?” I asked as I slowly stretched my legs out, hoping the blood would flow so I could get up off the floor soon.
Aspen looked around and then shook her head.
“Just my phone, I guess,” she replied. She slowly climbed out of my lap and stood there; arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to protect herself from some mysterious force I couldn’t see.
Her eyes went wide a moment later. “How did you get in? Did I leave the door unlocked?”
I pushed myself up to my feet, shaking my legs out a bit so they weren’t asleep and tingly anymore.
Trying to debate how much I wanted to be honest about right now.
She clearly wasn’t in the state of mind to laugh about the fact that I was a psycho, blackmailed Damien, and had a key made weeks ago. So, I lied.
“You must’ve. Door opened right up.” I shrugged and took her hand, leading her out of the bathroom. “So, how about comfort food and movies tonight?” I asked, deciding that changing the subject was the best bet.
“Sounds good to me,” she replied. She looked lost in thought, and I desperately wanted to ask what was on her mind. But I also didn’t want to push her, I wanted to comfort her. I wanted her to come to me.
I let go of her hand and walked into the kitchen, grabbing a few paper towels. Walking back toward the front door, I laid them out, cleaning up the spilled coffee.
“Rowan, don’t. I’m sorry. I should’ve—I don’t even remember—” she started. I looked over at her, confusion clear on my face, as she started crying again. I dropped the paper towels and walked over to her, cupping her face in both of my hands.
“Aspen, talk to me. Now.”
She shook her head as much as she could with me holding it in my palms, squeezing her eyes shut. Her hands came up and gripped my wrists tightly as she continued to cry.
“Let me in, little angel,” I whispered. I leaned forward, gently kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. She didn’t react at first, but quickly began kissing me back, gasping for air between small moments of our lips parting.
“Rowan,” she moaned as her hands slid up my arms and down my chest.
I pulled away, still holding her face. “Aspen,” I whispered.
She blinked a few times before focusing on my face.
“Let’s go home, angel,” I said.
She bit her bottom lip, tears still in her eyes, and nodded. I released her face, threw away the paper towels, and took her hand, guiding her out to my truck. She didn’t say a word the entire ride.
We were curled up on my couch together—lying down—her back pressed to my front.
We’d eaten an extra cheesy pizza and garlic breadsticks together while we watched some of her favorite comfort shows.
It was about two couples who broke up because the husbands wanted to marry each other.
I didn’t watch television often, but I could see why she enjoyed this show—it was funny.
A bit of an odd premise, but funny. Once the third episode we’d watched ended, I leaned down, gently kissing her neck.
“I know you want to know what happened, you just don’t want to push me,” she whispered. She was wearing one of my shirts. It looked massive on her small frame, but it made me want to devour her even more than I normally did.
I chuckled. “You would be correct. Am I that transparent?”
She shrugged. “No, you’re just a decent person who seems to care about me, so it makes sense.” We were quiet for a few moments, and I was determined not to be the one to break it. “There,” she swallowed roughly, “—there was a note on my door when I got home from the bakery.”
I felt my entire body tense up. A note? “What did it say?”
She shifted slightly, and I realized she was reaching into her pocket. Her arm came out from the blanket we were under together, and she handed me a crumpled-up piece of paper. Pushing myself up on my elbow, I uncrumpled it.
You think you’re safe, but you couldn’t be further from it, babe.
I’m not finished with you.
I’m coming—be ready.
I crumbled the note in my hand, my pulse skyrocketing as I tried to remind my brain that I needed to breathe before I got in my truck and did something truly insane. Something that would easily land me in prison if I weren’t careful.
No one would be able to hurt her if he were gone…
Nope, not going there right now. I cleared my throat, remembering that she was waiting for some sort of response.
“I’m assuming you believe it's from the ex?” I asked, surprised by how calm my voice sounded when on the inside I felt like anything but.
She looked back toward the television and nodded. I threw the now crumpled-up note across the room and pushed her over on her back, so she was forced to look up at me.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
She was quiet for a few moments before she let out a slow breath. “He…I don’t even know where to start with this. The only other person I’ve ever told this to is Ivy, and I was half-drunk on Margaritas.”
“Take your time, angel.”
“Sam and I met when I was still in high school. He was a couple of years older, the cool guy, ya know? He gave me attention, and he was sweet all the time. He’d pick me up from school and sneak me into bars to watch his friends' bands play, stuff like that. He made me feel…special during a time that no one ever had before him. No one before him even seemed to remember I existed, so I guess I was an easy target. When my dad passed away, he was all I had, and I just sank into that fully, being and doing whatever he wanted.”
She slowly ran her fingertips over her lips before she continued.
“I moved in with him after Dad died. It made sense; we’d been together almost a year, and I thought it was love.
Truly. But after a few months, things started to change.
He became…angry? All of the time. He couldn’t hold a job for more than a few months at a time, and he didn’t like any of my friends or what I wore or what music I listened to.
I dealt with it for years, because I just thought…
I thought he loved me and that was what love looked like.
I tried to change everything about myself to appease him.