Chapter 29 Rowan
Rowan
Of course, my car breaks down now. Because the universe apparently hasn't been creative enough with its "let's ruin Rowan's life" storyline and decided to go with the classic "car dies dramatically at emotional turning point" trope.’
I glare at the smoke billowing from under my hood. The Tonda—which has faithfully survived three Heraford winters, a road trip to Florida with college roommates, and my impulsive move to Vineyard Groves—has finally given up the ghost. Just like my dignity and my heart.
"Perfect timing," I mutter, pulling off to the side of the road at the small park just outside town. "Really excellent work, universe. Five stars. Would recommend."
At least I made it out of their driveway before the automotive apocalypse.
There's nothing quite like having your car break down in front of the three alphas you're trying to dramatically leave behind.
I can just imagine it—me, sobbing over my smoking engine while they awkwardly offer to call a tow truck. No thanks.
I lean my forehead against the steering wheel, forcing back the tears that have been threatening since I overheard Wells's words.
Maybe this was a mistake. Four simple words that confirmed my worst fears—that what happened during my heat was just biology, just obligation, just a mistake they're already regretting.
A tiny "mrrp" from the carrier in my passenger seat interrupts my spiral of self-pity. Gerald pokes his orange face through the bars, whiskers twitching with concern.
"I know, buddy," I sigh, unlatching the carrier. "This wasn't part of the plan."
Gerald immediately climbs into my lap, kneading my thighs with sharp little claws that somehow manage to hit exactly the same spot every time.
His purr revs up like a miniature motorcycle, and he butts his head against my chin in what I choose to interpret as solidarity rather than a demand for treats.
"At least I've got you," I tell him, scratching behind his ears. "Even if I've managed to lose everything else. Again."
The truth is, I've gotten pretty good at losing things. My sense of identity when I found out about James. My job in Heraford. My apartment. My family, temporarily at least. And now, three alphas I never meant to fall for.
Because that's the really stupid part of all this—I knew better. I went into that house with firm boundaries and a clear exit strategy. Don't get attached. Don't get involved. Keep it strictly business.
Then Gerald happened. And Theo's gentle hands.
And Jasper's reluctant protectiveness. And Wells's careful attention to detail.
And suddenly I was living in a house full of alpha pheromones with my newly awakened omega biology screaming "POTENTIAL MATES" every time one of them so much as looked in my direction.
"And now we're homeless," I inform Gerald, who has the audacity to look completely unconcerned about our dire circumstances. "Again. With a car that's probably worth less than the cost to fix it."
My phone rings, the screen lighting up with "Pops" for the third time today. After weeks of ignoring his calls, the familiar name now sends a complicated mix of emotions through me—anger, longing, hurt, and a stubborn, childish desire to have him tell me everything will be okay.
Before I can think too hard about it, I swipe to answer.
"Bunny?" His voice is tentative, hopeful. "Is that really you?"
"It's me," I confirm, hating the wobble in my voice. "Hi, Dad."
"Oh thank god," he exhales heavily. "We've been so worried. Are you okay? Your mother said she saw you at the festival, but then you ran off, and—"
"I'm fine," I interrupt, the automatic response so practiced it's practically a reflex at this point. "Just... dealing with some stuff."
"Your mother told me about your... condition," he says carefully. "About your heat."
Heat floods my cheeks. Discussing my sex life—or adjacently my biology—with my father is about number eight million on the list of conversations I don't want to have right now.
"Dad, I really don't—"
"No, no, I'm not asking for details," he clarifies quickly. "I just... I want you to know that we should have told you about James. Then we would have known about the late presentation pattern. We thought we were protecting you, but we were wrong. And I'm so, so sorry, Bunny."
The sincere regret in his voice unravels something tight in my chest. For weeks, I've been nursing this anger, this sense of betrayal. But hearing the pain in his voice, I realize something important—he's human. Fallible. Just trying to do his best with the information he had.
"It sucked finding out like that," I admit, my voice softer than I intended. "But I understand why you did it. I think."
"Where are you now?" he asks. "Your mother said you've been staying with... people? Friends?"
I laugh, the sound dangerously close to a sob. "It's complicated."
"Complicated as in...?"
"Complicated as in I've been living with three alphas in a Victorian fixer-upper while working at a flower shop in a town obsessed with seasonal festivals, and now I'm sitting in my broken-down car with a kitten named Gerald trying to figure out where to go next because I accidentally fell in love with all three of them but they think it was a mistake.
" The words tumble out in a rush, and I immediately want to take them back.
There's a long pause on the other end of the line.
"That is... quite complicated," Dad finally says, and I can hear the effort he's making not to overreact. "Three alphas?"
"That's what you're focusing on?" I ask, a surprised laugh bubbling up despite everything.
"Not the broken car or the part where I'm technically homeless?"
"Well, the alpha situation seems the most... immediate concern," he says diplomatically. "Are they... good alphas?"
The question is so Pops that it makes my heart ache with familiarity. Always concerned about the character of people in my life, never the conventional details.
"The best," I admit quietly. "Kind and steady and infuriating and just... right. But it doesn't matter now."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm leaving," I say, ignoring the sharp pain in my chest at the words. "Because they don't want... this. Me. Not permanently."
"Did they tell you that?" he asks gently.
I think of Wells's words, of Jasper's refusal to look at me after my heat, of the careful distance they all put between us. "They didn't have to."
"Rowan," my dad says, using his serious voice that always made me listen as a child.
"Running won't make the pain go away. Believe me, I know. After your Dad and I found out about James, I almost left. Almost ran away from the mess and the hurt and the complicated feelings. But if I had..."
"You wouldn't have had me," I finish for him.
"Exactly. Sometimes the most painful, complicated situations are worth staying for. Worth fighting for."
His words hit something raw and tender inside me. The truth is, I've been running for so long—from my confusing biology, from intimacy, from the risk of being hurt. It's so much easier to leave before you can be left. To reject before you can be rejected.
"I don't know if I can," I whisper. "I don't know if I'm brave enough."
"You're the bravest person I know, Bunny," he says with such conviction it makes my throat tight. "Always have been. Even as a little girl, you faced things head-on while the rest of us were still figuring out how to react."
Gerald chooses this moment to start attacking my shoelace with the ferocity of a tiny tiger, providing a welcome distraction from the emotions welling up.
"I should go," I tell my dad, watching as Gerald gets his claw stuck in my lace and then acts offended that the shoe dares to follow him when he tries to run away. "I need to figure out what to do about my car. And... everything else."
"Call us anytime," he says. "We're here when you're ready. All of us. Even James, if you want to meet him."
The mention of my biological father sends a jolt of anxiety through me, but it's duller now than it was weeks ago. A problem for another day.
"Thanks, Pops," I say, meaning it. "I'll... I'll think about it."
After we hang up, I sit in silence, absently detangling Gerald from my shoelace for the third time while his little face registers betrayal that I would dare interrupt his mighty conquest.
"What are we going to do now, Gerald?" I ask him. He responds by attempting to climb my shirt like it's Mount Everest, tiny claws finding purchase in places that make me yelp. "Very helpful, thanks."
The logical thing would be to call a tow truck. Or Crystal, to let her know I won't be coming into work tomorrow. Or Lala, who would probably drive out here with a rescue party and enough baked goods to feed a small army.
Instead, I find myself staring at the road leading back to town, to the Victorian house where three alphas are probably relieved that I'm finally gone. The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through me.
A tap on my window makes me jump so hard I nearly dislodge Gerald from his perch on my shoulder. I turn to see my mother standing there, her expression cautiously hopeful.
Great. Just what this breakdown needs—literal and metaphorical maternal oversight.
I roll down the window, not trusting myself to actually get out of the car. "How did you find me?"
"Small town," she says with a small shrug. "Someone at the gas station mentioned a broken-down Tonda with a distraught-looking young woman and a cat. Wasn't hard to connect the dots... also your father texted me."
Of course. In Vineyard Groves, privacy is just a theoretical concept discussed in hushed tones, like Bigfoot or affordable housing.
"Well, as you can see, I'm having a bit of a transportation crisis," I say, gesturing to the still-smoking hood. "So unless you're secretly a mechanic—"
"I came to talk," she interrupts gently. "About everything. Please, Rowan."