Chapter 17
bigfoot in a ball cap
Hannah
“That piece of shit!”
Every head in the cubicle pit swivels in the direction of my best friend.
“Kris, keep your voice down,” I grumble, rushing to close my office door. I spin back to her and lean against it. She’s half ride-or-die fury, half devastated. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what? Like I want to slice his balls off one paper cut at a time, because I do.”
I drop her gaze and return to my desk. “I get it. But I’m fine.”
“What did the police say? What comes next?”
Mouse clicking beneath my fingers, I steel my nerves on a sigh. “It’s not—”
“Hannah! You didn’t report it?”
“Report what?” I level her with a glare, nostrils flaring. “That some guy I voluntarily met for dinner had too much to drink and got handsy in the parking lot?”
Her brows jump. “Handsy? You said no and he forced himself on you. That’s assault.”
“Can we not? I only told you because there’s no way I couldn’t.” She got the CliffsNotes of the story—the details are too stomach churning for me to voice out loud.
“John’s gonna be livid when he hears this,” Kristen seethes, pacing like a woman on a mission.
“Please don’t make it a big thing. He probably won’t even be at the office today with the beating he took.”
She skitters to a halt. “Wait, what beating?”
I hold her stare for long seconds as she squares herself to me, palms braced on the desk.
“What beating, Hannah?”
My back hits the chair, arms folded across my chest. “Rowan was there.”
Kristen blinks in confusion. “Row—” She stops herself, realization dawning, face damn near comical. “G.I. Joe?!”
Nodding, I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. Her slow grin mirrors mine.
“You’re telling me Ducati guy, Army-muscles guy, just happened to be there.”
“That is what I’m saying.”
“And he beat Daniel up.”
“Yes.”
“Is he, like, following you?”
I chuckle. “Don’t care. I’m just glad he was there.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
Not surprisingly, she wants to know everything—a play by play of what happened after Daniel fled the scene with his tail between his legs.
These details, I can manage. I tell her about the bar, the embarrassing amount of tequila consumed, the alley vomiting, the drive home, Mom, waking up this morning.
By the time I’m finished, I have three minutes to get to a meeting about the Boulder Children’s Hospital Gala. We head in opposite directions when we step outside my office. She’ll tell her husband about Daniel—I’d never ask her to keep it from him. But I made her swear themselves both to secrecy.
The next hour is consumed by talk of event timelines, vendor confirmations, and assembling a final checklist to tackle in these last two weeks.
Prepped and ready for the days ahead, the meeting ends and we all head back to our work stations. Olive finds me in stride, walking through the communal office space filled wall to wall with cubicles.
“I didn’t want to mention this in front of everyone, but Mr. Whitley from the BCH board reached out this morning to inquire about having you speak at the gala.”
My feet slow to a crawl and then stop completely. “Me? Why?”
“He thinks your personal experience would be a powerful message for potential donors to hear.”
Chest tight, I suck in a long breath through my nose.
I don’t talk much about what happened to Maddy.
Moving on hasn’t been without its challenges, especially in the beginning.
I’ve had eleven years to reckon with the loss of my childhood best friend.
But, I didn’t just lose Maddy. Mom lost Gwyn, too.
Our grief has always been inextricably intertwined.
As much as I believe I’m okay now—and I truly do believe I am—there’s no remembering one without the other.
That is when it starts to hurt a little too much.
The people at BCH did everything in their power, went above and beyond to try and save Maddy. If it weren’t for the kind souls working the halls and waiting rooms of that place, I never would have started this annual fundraiser to begin with.
I clear the emotion in my throat. “Tell him I’ll do it.”
“Great,” she says, both of us starting toward my office again. “If you need help drafting your speech or need to practice it on someb—holy cannoli.”
Olive stops abruptly in my wake. I find her over my shoulder, eyes as slack as her mouth. I turn and close the gap between us. “What?”
“Who’s that?”
I track her gaze until I find the who she’s referring to. My smile is ridiculous.
Gray joggers. Faded black OBX T-shirt pulled snug over his chest and biceps. Two arms full of tattoos on glorious display. Army ball cap flipped backward.
“He’s…that’s…” I stammer. His eyes find mine. He serpentines through the cubicles to get to me, never dropping my stare. “Rowan,” I breathe. “He’s here for me.”
Olive somewhere behind me, I inch forward to meet him at the threshold to my office. “Hey, soldier.”
He leans in and whispers, “I feel like everyone’s staring at me.”
I grin through tight lips. Hawkley House is predominantly employed by women. And they’re all definitely staring.
“You’re like Bigfoot passing through a documentarian’s campsite after his camera battery died.”
“Is that a height joke?”
“It’s a they live for this but were totally unprepared for you to actually show up joke. Staring is all they have.”
He shoots me a glare, turning his hat forward like that’ll make him invisible as he repositions himself so the office lurkers are at his back.
“Great. Now they get to stare at your ass.”
One step closer, then another. “You flirting with me, runaway?”
I smile. “Yes. Should I be? I don’t know.” My hazels ping between his blues. “Is that okay?”
His reply is nothing but a popped dimple. I drop his gaze before I poke it with my finger like I did last night. My eyes land on the brown paper bag in his hand.
“I brought lunch,” he says. “You have time?”
“Of course.”
I close us inside my office, much to the chagrin of the sea of hungry intern eyes, and take a seat at my desk. Rowan drops a foil-wrapped hot dog next to my keyboard. My smile breaks on a quiet chuckle.
“Only the best for you, Hannah. Casey’s Quick Mart to be exact.”
“Yes, but did you remem—”
He flips the bag upside down, dozens of tiny mustard packets descending. A rainstorm of condiments.
“I remember,” he adds with a wink.
“Thank you,” is all I can manage through the somersaulting heart in my chest.
Rowan settles one hip on my desk. He watches in silence while I tear open several packets. My gaze flicks to his every few seconds, met by an expression I can’t read. Something curious. Soft but persistent.
Then he reaches out, runs a finger over the silver cuff on my wrist. His throat bobs before his eyes lift again, shadowed under the brim of his hat. My breath catches. His finger never loses contact even as I lower my arm to the desk.
With a light tap to the bracelet, he says, “You okay?”
I slide my arm out from under his, focusing back on my lunch. “I’m fine.”
A million questions flicker across his face. He wants to press, but he doesn’t. Instead, he looks out the window, sighing long, before settling his attention back on me.
“Where’s yours?” I ask when I realize there was nothing in the bag for him.
“Not hungry.”
I inhale the last of the hot dog and cover my mouth with a napkin as I swallow it down, a poor disguise for the effect this taut line between us has on me.
We’ve both flirted, yet we’ve both acknowledged we’re not sure we should.
For him, I’m sure it’s because of what happened last night.
He’s too noble to take advantage if he suspects I might be vulnerable.
Honorable, but as I’ve already told him—and everyone else, for that matter—I’m fine.
And me, well…I don’t even know why he’s here. I mean, in all reality, I can deduce why. Though a certain Golden Boy should have called to give me a heads up. I’ll give him an ear full when I see him on Sunday.
Guilt washes over me at the realization I never asked Rowan anything about himself in our entire conversation last night. I wince at the thought.
“So,” I say, crumpling the napkin and stuffing it into the bag. “I feel bad for not asking sooner, but what brings you back to Boulder?”
His lips twitch so quick I wonder if I missed it. A rough hand drags through the hair under his hat before he fixes it back on his head.
“You were a bit preoccupied last night. You have no reason to feel bad. But to answer your question…” He pauses, shifts on his hip. “I’m here to take care of my grandfather’s affairs. He passed away last week.”
My heart lurches and I slap a hand over my mouth. Rowan watches in confusion for long seconds while I try to collect my breath and my thoughts long enough to respond.
Tears cloud my vision as I suck in a rush of air. “What?”
A sharp line forms across his forehead. “He had a heart attack. Last week. Hannah, are you okay?”
No, I’m not. I hide my face in my hands. Rowan’s crouched down beside me now, smooth palm running over my spine as I cry.
“Hannah?” he pleads, voice soft. “You need to catch me up here.”
With a loud sniff, I drop my arms and twist my chair to face him. “But I just—” I take in a shuddering breath. “I just saw him.” Rowan’s face blurs at the edges through my wet lashes. “He was fine. I promise you, he was fine.”
“Hannah.” My name is an exhale, thumb sweeping over my cheeks, one and then the other. “You saw him?”
I nod.
“When?”
My eyes drift shut. The confession spills out on a whisper. “All the time.”
When I meet his gaze again, he’s a statue. Slacked jaw. Shallow rises of his chest. “I need you to say more words, Hannah.”
I bob my head repeatedly. “Yeah, um…” I swipe the back of my hand under my nose, sniffing hard. He reaches for a tissue off my desk and hands it to me. “I sort of kept in touch with him after…last time…after that night.”
“You—you did?”
“Yeah, I played chess with him and the other Golden Boys at the VFW a few times a month.”
He barks a husky laugh, and the noose around my heart begins to loosen. They’re so alike, he and Norm. Quiet strength. Words few but mighty when they land. Same deep eyes that are never not searching, checking for danger. And a laugh so full you feel the vibrations in your own chest.
The sound settles into a soft hum. An ache creeps in.
There’s this one smile line high up on Rowan’s left cheek I hadn’t noticed before.
Norm had it, too. He didn’t smile much, but when he did that line would split his face and you just knew you were witnessing something not everyone gets the privilege of seeing.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Being his friend? Hannah, I’ve spent the last five years thinking he wasted away all alone in that lake house.” He shakes his head in stunned disbelief. “I’m so happy right now.”
“I swear, I didn’t know. If I’d known he wasn’t well, I promise I would have stolen his phone and called you.”
Rowan laughs again and pulls me into a strong hug. The tension in my bones releases, and I return the embrace, angling my head into the crook of his neck.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Bastard had the audacity to die in his sleep. Doctor said he probably didn’t even feel it.” There’s no malice in his words, only a fond remembrance of the stubborn but lovable man his grandfather was.
He eases back. I lose myself in the feel of his thumbs floating in small circles around my biceps, in his wonderstruck eyes as they stare up at me from where he’s kneeled at my feet.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
A small smile tilts his mouth. “Better now.”
My mind circles back to what he said earlier. Knots loop in my gut and I have to look away. “You said you’re only in town for—”
“Two more weeks.”
I nod at my lap, disappointment rattling through me. The slump of my shoulders mirrors his as reality presses in around us. We got twelve hours last time. I can’t bring myself to ask if he even wants to spend the next two weeks with me.
He clears his throat. “I came here to ask if I could see you again, but now I’m thinking you don’t have a choice.”
I snort and meet his gaze. “How do you figure?”
The apples of his cheeks lift. “Because I want you to tell me everything.”