Chapter 7
Rowan
I wake to the gentle rush of waves along the shore and the early morning sun peeking through the treetops and slipping in the windows of—
Wait.
In a blink, the blurry bliss of a surprisingly restorative night’s sleep clears, and I sit up, remembering that…
I should neither feel rested nor restored because…
I was forced to share a bed with Mr. Key Jiggling Jackoff himself and therefore…
I intended to stew and huff and toss and turn all night, ensuring that neither of us got a blink of sleep and…
Okay, I’m drawing a blank on four because now that I’m awake and taking inventory… There’s a lot to take in.
At some point in the night, Jason lost his T-shirt and constructed a neat hedge of sheets and blanket that runs from the foot of the bed all the way up to the wall behind us.
The missing T-shirt is dangling from the desk lamp across the room. No sign of the designated DMZ pillow— oh, wait, seems I may have thrown it overboard on my side.
Oops.
My eyes are drawn to the bedding-made architectural marvel dividing us. And then, beyond to— whoa.
I should really… umm… What am I supposed to be doing again?
“Trying to decide how to kill me in my sleep?” he rumbles, that sleep-gruff voice somehow sounding more amused than accusatory or irritated.
He stretches wide. All the broad and brawn of his shoulders and chest expand to what looks like twice their size while the shift and pull of each muscle working in concert puts on a show that could be dangerous to the unprepared.
But it’s the corner of his chiseled lips twitching into a crooked grin that has my heart stuttering to a stop.
Last night, I thought there wasn’t anything worse than Jason’s laughter in the dark.
But now, I know.
Jason’s smile in the light of day is the truly destructive force.
“Maybe,” I croak, digging deep for last night’s tough-girl facade. “Too bad I missed my window.”
“Don’t sweat it.” In one fluid, eight-pack-abs flexing motion, he rolls up and away from me, swinging his legs off the bed. “You’ll get another.”
Jason
Waking up next to Rowan is confusing as fuck.
Not so much this morning as it was at two a.m. when the warm body beside me shifted, making one of those soft, sleepy noises that had my southern counterpart coming online before my brain.
Only for a few seconds though, and then…
WARM BODY = ROWAN
Right.
And then I was up… wondering what happened to the pillow that ensured I was going to wake up with my balls intact… trying not to toss and turn because attempting to sleep with a shirt on sucks.
I checked my phone, but no late-night calls from Lenard.
The team thread was quiet.
I thought about trying to break into Dad’s room again but didn’t want to scare the shit out of Rowan if she heard me rattling around.
So I tried to pile up the covers some. I ran through what I was going to say to Rowan this morning. And eventually, I must have knocked off again.
And when I woke up, at least I remembered who was in bed with me and why.
She didn’t seem so mad as last night, but reading Rowan isn’t my special skill. Fortunately, she seems a hell of a lot more interested in sharing her thoughts with the class these days.
I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and then get dressed in the bedroom. Still no early a.m. calls from Lenard.
By the time I make it into the kitchen, Rowan’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with the logo of a sandwich place on the front, and the coffee’s already made.
She’s standing by the sink, one hip against the counter, staring out the window as she holds her mug in both hands close to her chest. It’s almost a mirror image of the way Gram would start her day.
Dad would have loved to see it.
Why didn’t he ever bring her here?
“There’s more in the pot,” she says without looking my way.
It smells fantastic. Better than when I make it. “Arsenic already added, or should I add my own?”
A hint of amusement flickers over her lips, but then it’s gone. “Have some and find out.”
I pour a mug and bite the bullet. I’m not a chickenshit, and I hate that I was a dick.
“Look, Rowan. About last night.”
She faces me with a shuttered expression. Coffee in hand, waiting for me to go on.
I get it. She’s done begging me to hear her out.
“I’m really sorry about how I reacted. This situation is screwed up, yeah. But you’re not the one who made it that way. And that’s something I should have been able to see more clearly than I did.”
She could rake me over the coals here, lean into the fight between us. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. But instead, her posture eases. “Yesterday was a lot.”
“Yeah, it was. For both of us. But only one of us went round the bend.”
“Well, I mean—”
“It wasn’t you. I shouldn’t have reacted like that, and I am truly sorry for it. And this isn’t an excuse. It’s just that I think you deserve an explanation for why I freaked out.”
She nods and I go on.
“When I was walking up the path yesterday, the only thing I expected to find in this cabin was memories of the family I shared it with. Before I walked through that door, this place was mine and theirs. Every log, every beam, every quirky knickknack. Every story, even the ones I only knew through the retelling.”
“But then, I was here.” She bites her lip, looking down into her mug. “Giving you the worst news you could possibly get after losing your dad.”
“Telling me something I couldn’t believe.
” And would probably be cleared up in the next hour.
“And then the call with your mom. I understand it wasn’t what it sounded like now, but at the time, the idea that you could be an active part in this, a driving force…
It wrecked me. Because my dad loved you. ”
I know he did. He stopped talking about Marsha within the first year of my moving out. He wouldn’t badmouth his wife. Ever. But what he didn’t say spoke more loudly than what he did.
Rowan, though?
“He talked about you all the time. He beamed when he shared news about how you did in school. The jobs and volunteer work over the summers. The cake you made for his birthday.”
The guy she was dating.
The job she got.
The apartment that was too far away for him but probably not far enough for her.
Bittersweet emotion flashes across her face, a flickering ghost of a smile followed by the wobble of her chin and watery-eyed blinks. “I loved him too.”
“I know. And that’s why I lost it. I was sure you did, except then, all I could think was that this girl who meant everything to him was here to break down everything he loved to sell for scrap.
And it just broke my heart to think how much it would have broken his.
I flipped out. I didn’t give you the chance to explain.
It wasn’t fair, and I’m sorry. That’s not the guy I am. ”
One brow arches. “A hothead with a reputation for protecting what you care about? Yeah. Doesn’t fit with anything I might have heard about you over the years.”
I cough out a laugh.
She’s talking about my team.
And hell, while I don’t love her thinking of me as a guy who gets aggressive on the ice… I’m kind of stuck on the fact that she knows anything about me at all.
Which is stupid because, obviously, Dad told her.
“Rowan, I’m really sorry about yesterday.
I’m sorry I didn’t listen. I’m sorry about locking you out of Dad’s room.
I’m sorry you didn’t have your own bed to sleep in last night or your own bathroom this morning.
I’m sorry that after all the years, the first chance we actually have to talk, I acted like the biggest dick on the planet.
And most of all, I’m sorry that I didn’t even ask you how you were. ”
Christ, I didn’t ask her anything.
My apology settles around us, the words sinking in.
I hope she’ll give me a chance to show her a better version of myself, but I don’t expect it.
Rowan gives me a thoughtful nod. Then, “Okay. I’ll forgive you. Under one condition.”
“Name it.”
“Breakfast. I’m starving.”
I can’t believe that’s it. But there’s a lightness between us that wasn’t there five minutes ago. So I take her at her word.
“Deal.”
I open the fridge to check out what all we’ve got.
The guys weren’t interested in taking a bunch of coolers with them, so with the exception of Lattner’s suckers and Huska’s jerky, the rest is here. “What are you thinking? Bacon and eggs? Pancakes? Omelet?”
“That’s what you eat?” Her voice is every kind of disbelief.
“Sure, sometimes.” Off-season. When I’m here. Once in a while. “But I’m asking what you want to eat.”
And then she’s beside me, leaning into the fridge with an all too familiar “Hmm.”
Cutting a sidelong glance her way, I confirm the tiny furrow at her brow and bit of bottom lip suffering through this epic decision-making while caught between the grasp of her teeth.
I’ve been here before.
Not here, here.
But witness to Rowan, ten years younger, facing down a fridge full of choices and weighing every one.
Now, like then, I step aside, leaning against the counter to watch her quiet debate.
“Can’t believe you still wrestle with your fridge choices like this.”
She frowns. “I can pick. Howwwww aboouuuuut…”
I rub a hand over my jaw and mouth, covering the grin fighting to get free.
“Take your time.”
“Sorry, I know this is annoying.”
It’s not. “It’s kind of fun to see you’ve got the same habit all these years later.” Cute.
“Ron would seriously disagree with you.”
Right.
The fiancé I keep forgetting about. Who sounds like an impatient dick.
“Got it!” She grabs the cottage cheese and tub of cut fruit, handing them off to me before riffling through the drawers and freezer and coming up with some nuts and seeds too.
Ron.
I don’t know much about the guy. Hell, I didn’t even know his name. I just remember a few years back hearing my dad talking about Rowan meeting someone. I got what I needed to hear at the time, which was that he was a decent enough guy. Nice to Rowan. No red flags.
I fill a couple of bowls and start toasting the nuts in a skillet.
There were updates about the happy couple over the years.
They were talking about getting a place together once she graduated.
They found a nice apartment in Portland.
Marsha thought he was going to propose over the holidays.
She said yes.
But that had to have been more than eighteen months ago. And over all that time, the one thing I didn’t hear was that they’d set a date.
I pour the nuts on top of the bowls while Rowan refills our coffees.
“Want to eat out front?” she asks, some hesitation in her voice.
“Those stairs are my favorite breakfast spot in the whole country.”
We migrate to the porch, sitting at opposite sides of the stairs, our shoulders against the support columns.
It’s still early. The dew on the overgrown grass is glistening in the morning sun, and there’s a symphony of wind, rustling trees, gulls, and waves rushing the shore.
I watch as Rowan takes a bite and then nods appreciatively. Pointing her spoon at her bowl, she smiles at me. “Good. Thank you.”
I shoot a furtive glance at her hand.
“You mentioned Ron in there.” I clear my throat. “I guess with everything, I didn’t realize until just now that you aren’t wearing your ring.”
Her brows lift and she straightens, slowly finishing her bite.
I’ve never been good at reading this woman, though back when she was just the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, I’d have sworn that I was.
Obviously, I know better now, so I don’t make any assumptions about the placid expression or delay in response. I just wait as she chews, swallows. Takes a breath and lets it go before looking down at where she’s flared that bare finger out from her bowl.
“Right. I took it off.”
“Like, you thought you’d be moving a bunch of stuff and didn’t want it to get damaged? Or like, right before a high-velocity slap shot return to the guy who gave it to you?”
Doesn’t matter to me either way. I’m definitely not imagining the ping as it hits a button on his shirt.
The smallest curve lifts her lips, tempting me with the challenge to get more, to make her laugh.
Dude, stop.
Another beat passes, and she sighs. “Like when we ended our engagement, I returned it.” Simple. Matter-of-fact. “No big showdown, no dramatic flinging of the ring. Just two people who thought they might be right together realizing that, actually, no. They weren’t.”
Jesus. “Rowan, I’m sorry.”
I want to say more. I want to ask what happened, if she’s okay. I want to know what she’s about to tell me when she sets her bowl aside and turns those big brown eyes my way, but my phone starts to vibrate on the planks between us.
Lenard’s contact page is filling the screen.
“Your lawyer?” she asks, coming to her feet, her hands finding each other in that worried way.
I nod. This is it.
So where’s the relief?
I know what he’s going to tell me. Marsha’s a snake and a liar, and this cabin is mine.
And when he does, that’s it.
Rowan’s going to leave.
She’s going to go back to the life that I have no part of and no one will ever fill me in on again.
She pushes a soft wave from her face, her eyes moving from the phone to me.
Right.
I answer. “This is Jason.”