Chapter 4
four
There’s something to be said about that first cup of coffee in the morning. My taste buds tingle in reaction to the tantalizing aroma as it wafts under my nose. I stayed up way too late last night throwing paint around, and I need a jolt of caffeine like it’s my last fucking breath.
Sleep has eluded me off and on for the past few weeks; ever since girls’ night when Sasha made us watch one of Rowan’s rom-coms.
Losing Ro changed everything. Especially me.
I check the time on my phone and let out a soft curse. Slash, my ten-year-old grumpy green iguana’s daily feeding is fifteen minutes late. When I glance over at him, he’s giving me the evil eye from his terrarium across the room.
“I know, I know,” I mutter, abandoning my coffee to fetch his breakfast. “Hold your horses, you spoiled little monster.”
As I prep his morning greens and calcium supplement, my mind trips back to the summer after Rowan left. God, I was such a mess.
I can still see Mom and Dad’s faces after they called Logan and I into the living room. They were sitting on the couch, expressions grave in a way that made my stomach drop before they’d even said a word.
Picking at a loose thread on my jeans, I wait for one of my parents to speak.
My dad’s voice is gentle but serious. “We have some bad news. Rowan’s parents...” He pauses, exchanging a look with my mom. “They were killed in a plane crash on their way home.”
The whole room tilts sideways. Logan gasps beside me as my throat tightens.
“Rowan had to leave suddenly,” Mom adds, eyes shining with unshed tears. “He’s going to live with his grandparents…” She clears her throat. “…in Ireland.”
Voice cracking, my question bursts out of me, “But why didn’t he say goodbye?” It doesn’t make any sense. We just shared our first kiss a couple of days ago, and now he’s just... gone?
She reaches for my hand. “There wasn’t time, sweetie. DCFS showed up early this morning. He’s staying with a foster family for a couple of days until his grandparents pick him up. We’re not allowed to have any contact with him right now.”
Logan rubs the back of his neck, confusion etched across his face. “Why couldn’t he just stay with us?”
“Unfortunately, even though we were good friends with his parents, we aren’t listed as next of kin,” my dad sighs, rubbing his hands together nervously. “It’s the law. He has to go live with blood relatives.”
All Logan does is nod.
“That’s not fair!”
My mom tries to pull me into her arms. “Sweetie…”
Shoving her away, I jump to my feet, run upstairs to my room and slam the door so hard a picture frame falls off my wall, smashing onto the floor.
Three months later, I overhear my twin brother on the phone with Rowan, laughing.
“Why doesn’t he ever want to talk to me?” I demand after he hangs up.
“I don’t know, Iz,” Logan shrugs. “Anytime I ask if he wants to talk to you, he always says he has to go help his Grandma or some shit.”
What the heck? One amazing kiss and suddenly I wasn’t even worth a simple goodbye? Wasn’t even worth talking to ever again?
After that, something in me just... broke. I went from playing with frogs to wearing black clothes and combat boots.
At thirteen, my parents were shocked when I came home with my first bottle of hair dye. I can still remember the look of horror on my mom’s face after I emerged from the bathroom, my black hair lined with blood-red streaks.
“Here you go, buddy,” I croon, sliding Slash’s food into his enclosure. Releasing a big, reptilian yawn, he attacks his breakfast.
I lean against the dresser, watching him eat while sipping my coffee as more memories flood my mind.
That first year after Rowan left was brutal. I wasn’t just angry—I was furious. At him, at the world, at myself for caring so much about a stupid boy. A boy who I thought was one of my best friends. A boy who gave me my first kiss.
One would think dressing in black from head to toe was enough for me to prove a point.
Oh, no. That was just the beginning. Soon came the heavy black eyeliner, dark lipstick, and safety pins in places safety pins have no business being pinned.
I became the weird girl, the emo chick kids stared at and whispered about in the halls at school.
I chuckle to myself, shaking my head as Slash continues to inhale his collard greens.
The kids at school were merciless. They’d call me, “Morticia,” or “Vampire Barbie.” I didn’t give a shit—or at least, I pretended not to. The teasing just made me double down. I started drawing tattoos in permanent marker on my hands and arms, and wearing heavier makeup.
Next, came the fighting. First verbal, then physical. I’d come home at least once a week with a detention slip, blood under my fingernails and my shirt stretched out and ripped. After I got sent home for a third time, my parents lost their shit.
“We don’t know what to do with you anymore, Izzy,” my dad said, voice breaking. It wasn’t so much the anger that brought on the guilt, but the worry and disappointment in his eyes that really killed me.
So off to therapy I went, kicking and screaming the whole way.
Dr. Cooper was patient, though. She let me sit in sullen silence for our first three sessions before I finally cracked and told her about Rowan and our first kiss.
How he’d left without saying goodbye. But once she knew the full story, she was able to convince me that he didn’t have a choice.
That he was just a kid like me who wouldn’t have had any control over how things went down.
After finishing his breakfast, Slash does his little head-bob, telling me he’s happy now that his tummy is full.
I reach in and stroke his spiny back. “You’re the only man I need in my life, aren’t you, buddy?” I sigh as he closes his eyes in bliss.
Therapy helped, though I never would’ve admitted it back then. Slowly, I started letting go. By the time tenth grade rolled around, I’d stopped snarling at everyone, slowly letting my walls come down.
The summer after tenth grade, I’d eased up on the all-black wardrobe and started wearing color again. Traded the full goth look for just dying the tips of my hair. It was pink that summer, I think.
In eleventh grade, everything shifted. Boys started taking notice, and it wasn’t to make fun of me anymore. There was something about the combination of my height, the hint of rebellion in my pink-tipped hair, and the newfound confidence therapy had given me that seemed to drive the boys wild.
I started dating Zane Miller—my first real boyfriend—that same year. He was sweet, played bass in a garage band, and never pushed me too far or too fast. When his dad got transferred to Seattle two months into our senior year, we tried the long-distance thing, but we gave up after a few weeks.
And then, half-way through senior year, the universe decided to play its cruelest joke yet.
Years later, and I’m still haunted by what happened not only over the next six months, but after graduation.
My phone buzzes.
SASHA
You still coming to the party tonight?
I sigh, tossing my phone onto the counter. How could I forget? This party is all Sasha’s been talking about for the past couple of weeks, and with good reason.
After everything she’s been through—dealing with threats from the Vegas Triple Six, all the bullshit with her ex-boyfriend Ryan, and getting the new Summit Studio up and running—she deserves to relax and celebrate.
Wandering across the hardwood floor to the other side of my large industrial loft, I pull the tarp from my latest work. The canvas is massive—six feet by four feet—dominated by rich blues and blacks with violent splashes of crimson slashing through the dark paint.
Stepping back, I tilt my head. The piece is chaotic and raw—kind of reminds me of how I felt the summer after high school.
My phone buzzes again.
LOGAN
No skipping out on the party tonight, sis. I have a surprise for you. You don’t want to miss out on this.
Hovering my fingers over the keys, I consider making up an excuse. Last minute tattoo appointment? Food poisoning? A spontaneous trip to Antarctica?
My brother has been acting really weird lately, and I haven’t been able to pry any specific details out of him.
Anytime I ask, he just tells me he’s stressing over his new job.
My bet? It has more to do with how he’s going to be Reyna Winters’ boss than it does his new upcoming position as fire captain.
Nothing like having a one-night stand, only for said one-night stand to move to the same town you live in a year later.
But I can’t skip out on Sasha. Not after everything she’s been through. She deserves to be surrounded by people who love and support her.
You know I hate surprises.
LOGAN
Well, I have a feeling you might like this one.
Fine. Whatever. It better be good, or you’re buying my drinks at The Brew for a whole month.
LOGAN
Deal.