Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Colt
Three agonizing weeks have passed with things being strictly professional between myself and Rowan. I don’t look forward to our greetings, anymore, now that all we say is ‘morning.’
It hasn’t been a happy Monday in so long I’ve almost forgotten what that sounds like, but god, I miss it all the same.
I look at the clock when I hear the telltale jingle of Rowan’s keys as she walks down the hallway – eight fifteen. Right on time, like she always is. It never seems to matter what could be going on in her life, or what her morning looks like – she is always here, always shows up.
When I ready myself to go through the motions of our flat morning greeting, I hear her keys jingle faster until she rounds the corner, a smile wide on her face and tears lining her beautiful blue eyes.
“Colt, I got it!”
It takes a few seconds to process that she’s called me by my name for the first time in almost a month, before I even realize what she’s talking about. As realization hits, my eyes widen and I damn near jump up from my desk.
“You did?”
She nods, barely able to hold herself together before she flies toward me and throws her arms around my waist. Fuck, I missed the way it felt to have her in my arms. I wrap my arms around her, holding her as close to me as I possibly can.
The smell of her strawberry shampoo wafts up to my nose like it’s coming home, and I can finally fucking breathe again.
“I can get her out of there,” she says into my chest.
I put my hands on her shoulders and pull her away, just enough to see her eyes, and tell her, “I am so proud of you, Rowan. Happy Friday.”
“Happy Friday, Mr. Fowler,” she echoes. “Can I take some boxes from storage? I want to get us packed as fast as possible.”
“Of course. Take anything you need.”
“Do you think he’ll sober up? Like, maybe this will be a reality check?”
No. But I won’t tell her that.
“I would like to see that happen for you,” I tell her. “Change of plans.” I swipe my car keys from my desk. “You and I are going to grab some donuts to celebrate your win, then you’re taking the rest of the day off.”
I follow through with that promise and take her to my favorite donut shop, a little farther from the office than I like to go during work hours, but this is a special occasion.
The staff here are on a first name basis with me and usually try to give me deals or extra shit I didn’t order, so I always make up for it by throwing a hundred dollar bill or two into the tip jar.
It’s a family-run shop, and I know they give free donuts and pastries to unhoused people who come in needing something to eat or a warm place to just sit down for a minute, so I’m happy to give them my business on a regular basis.
Upon approaching the counter, I order two baker’s dozen boxes, and instruct Rowan to pick out whatever she wants to fill it.
“Colt!” She laughs, “I can’t eat thirteen donuts!”
“Well I’m going to. Macie can help with yours. It’s her party, too.”
A warm smile spreads across her face and she runs along the glass display, pointing to pastries of various shapes, colors, and flavors, until her box is full.
I notice that at least half of them have colorful frosting and rainbow sprinkles on top of them – to take home for her sister, no doubt.
We take our boxes to one of the small tables against the wall and I make a show of cracking my knuckles before flipping the lid of mine open and grabbing a donut.
Rowan cackles when she looks over to my box. “Of course you got all glazed.”
“I’m a man of simple pleasures,” I say with a shrug.
We sit and munch on our treats for a while, mostly in silence, because I don’t want to pry too far about the details of her victory.
It isn’t until she’s halfway through her second donut that she pauses and stares at me for a long time, chewing at the inside of her lower lip.
“Are you okay?”
“I just…” She looks down, pressing her lips together, then looks back at me. “I’m sorry. For acting the way I have been.”
“Don’t apologize.” I pick up a napkin and wipe off my fingers. “You were hurt.”
“And I hurt you back. That wasn’t right.”
“Sometimes good people do stupid things.”
“All people?”
I let out a breath and nod, just once. “Every single one.” I tap my fingers on the table, trying to talk myself out of asking, but I need to know. “Are you okay, Rowan? The partying, the strange guy picking you up…”
“Oh god,” she says, an embarrassed blush trailing across her cheeks. “That was a ride I ordered. I didn’t do anything with him.”
“I didn’t— uh...you’re alright, though? Really?”
She nods, holding up her half-donut. “Today, I am fantastic. My water bottle was right.”
·
I really don’t cook for myself often – I tend to err on the side of lazy when it comes to food, but I do enjoy a nice home cooked filet every now and again, and tonight is the night.
It was a good fucking day, and I plan to celebrate that.
I’ve got a juicy cut sitting in a cast iron pan, one side already seared to perfection.
I carefully flip the steak before answering my phone ringing wildly on the counter.
“This is Colt Fowler,” I say, mostly out of habit, ignoring how late it is.
“Come get us,” Rowan begs, “please.” She’s crying. My spine stiffens and my heart hammers against my rib cage as I listen to her trembling voice. “I’m really scared.”
“Don’t move. I’m on my way.”
I grab the pan with a kitchen towel and toss it into the sink, shut off the heat, and barrel down to my garage in my slippers to jump into a car.
The drive to her house feels like it takes fucking forever, even speeding. If he hit her, I swear to god, I’ll tear his fucking throat out.
My mind floods with the worst case scenarios, anything that would make her call me of all people.
Instead of her friends, instead of family members.
Instead of the police...unless they’re already at her house.
Oh, fuck, what if she had to call the police?
The thought of her having to call them on her own father makes me feel sick.
The car squeals to a stop in front her house and I have a split second to assess the scene playing out in front of me.
“Jesus,” I breathe.
Rowan’s car is on the driveway, the front and side of it completely destroyed by her father’s truck, which seems to have slammed into both her car and the door to the garage, bending it inward and lifting it off of the cement driveway beneath it.
I open the car door just as Macie’s tiny frame comes careening out of the front door, headed straight for me with her arms flailing out in front of her. With the door open, the sounds of shouting and glass breaking flow out of the house.
As I meet Macie, she throws her arms around my legs and lets out a wail. She’s completely terrified. I drop to the ground in front of her, glancing toward the door, looking for any sign of Rowan. She’s still in there somewhere.
“You’re safe, kiddo,” I assure her. “Wait in my car, I’m going to go get your sister.”
She runs for the passenger door of my of my car and Rowan exits the building as I move toward it.
Tears are forcing her mascara down her face as she hefts a duffel bag over her shoulder and I catch the tail end of her shouts to her father, who follows behind her, his footsteps harsh and angry in spite of his drunken stumbling.
The man in front of me is almost unrecognizable from the one I saw in his employee file.
Where his face was clean-shaven before, his jaw is now layered in thick, untidy hair.
His neatly combed-back hair is now wiry and hangs just below his chin, a layer of grease coating the roots.
His clear skin now mottled with splotches of red and purple, signaling that his body has likely been poisoned beyond repair.
Rowan is all but five feet from me when I hear her father shout to her, “It should have been you in that fucking car! Ungrateful little bitch!”
Time passes in slow motion as the words bury into her chest like a bullet fired at close range. Rowan’s face drops and her body goes slack, the bag dropping from her shoulder to the ground with a heavy thud, her arms left dangling at her sides. She’s completely deflated.
I watch as that tiny, fucking microscopic piece of hope that still lived in her, the one that she clung to that told her that maybe one day, she would get back the loving father she missed so badly, is stomped into nothingness.
And all I can see is fucking red.
In just a few long strides, I’m on him, letting out a growl as I press my forearm against his throat and I shove him backward, hard, until he’s pinned between me and the door of his beaten-down truck, gasping for air.
I press harder, until his bloodshot, yellow-stained eyes widen and I can see real, genuine, sobering fear in them.
I lean in close to his ear, keeping my voice low enough that only he and I know what’s being said between us.
“Do you think I couldn’t make more important men than you disappear?” I hiss. “Do you think anyone would question where some drunk, abusive bastard went?”
His hands fly up to claw at my arm while he chokes. I press harder against him.
“Answer the fucking question, Heath.”
The only response I get is a frantic shake of his head.
“If you ever – I mean ever - try to contact your daughters, if you so much as have a passing thought about them, I will find out. And it will be the last fucking thought you ever have. Do you understand me?”
He nods his head.
I slam my arm against his throat one more time, hoping just a little bit that his windpipe will crack, before turning and making my way to Rowan, who is stuck in place. Frozen in her pain. I face her and put my hands on her shoulders.
“Are you hurt?”
Her eyes flick to mine, but she says nothing. She’s barely even breathing.
I pull her into my arms and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”
I throw her bag over my shoulder and wrap my free arm around her, guiding her toward the car, where Macie is sitting in the front seat, sobbing.
The sound of her distraught sister seems to crack Rowan from the frozen hell that she’s stuck in and she slides into the front seat, pulling Macie onto her lap and holding her tight.
“I’m so sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorry he scared you,” she says in an attempt to console her.
I toss the duffel into the back seat and make my way to my own. As I turn the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life, I catch view of Rowan covering her mouth tightly with one hand, turning her face toward the window.
Her body shakes with the sobs she’s hiding from her sister – no doubt trying not to scare her even more. It must have been hell for her in that house since she lost her mom. Unable to grieve, not allowed to feel anything without consequence. The punching bag for her father’s misplaced anger.
I keep one hand firmly on the steering wheel but place the other on her back, gently rubbing soothing circles over her with my thumb. I don’t dare take it off of her until we get to my house.
I’m here.
I sit Rowan on the edge of my bed and crouch in front of her, wiping away her tears with my thumbs as my hands cup her face. She doesn’t look at me, instead keeping her eyes downcast.
“Did he hurt— did he hit you?” I correct myself. I already know he hurt her. If what happened to her on that lawn were a physical wound, she’d be in critical condition, on life support. He may as well have sliced her open and scooped out everything that held her together with his bare hands.
She shakes her head. “Just grabbed.”
I tuck her hair behind her ear and guide her face until her eyes meet mine. “You didn’t deserve that,” I whisper to her. “You did nothing wrong. Rowan, I’m so sorry.”
I’m sorry he said those things. I’m sorry you lost your mom. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.
I reach for the glass of water on the nightstand and hold it in front of her.
“Drink.” She holds the glass, but doesn’t move to drink it, so I repeat, “Drink some water. At least a few sips.”
She lifts the glass to her lips and takes down three slow sips.
“Good girl,” I tell her, stroking her hair, then I take the glass to set it back in its place.
“I was wrong,” she whispers after a few moments.
“About what, baby?”
“You rode in on your shiny white horse and saved us after all.”