“Hmm.” Anastasia hums before glancing up at me, her eyes bright. “Well, I think you and Max are adorable. You’re good for him. He’s suffered a lot.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that.” The story he told me about the guy he used to see gutted me. I can’t imagine losing someone I loved that much and going back out again.
“And maybe I don’t know you that well, but he seems good for you too,” Anastasia adds.
I think of the careful way Max cleaned the blood from my lip in his office earlier. Of the way he hugged me in the shower. He was gentler with me than I deserved.
“He’s pretty great,” I admit. “He’s a nice guy.”
“He is,” she agrees. “And for the record, I don’t think it’d be awkward for Rowan if you were with Max. He cares about both of you.”
I give a noncommittal shrug. If Rowan or Dom know I’m with Max, it’ll only make it that more real. And I’m already worried I’m going to have a hard time walking away from him.
***
I fall asleep on the living room floor, next to Anastasia. It’s nice to be around her, but it’s not so nice when Rowan wakes me up by pouring a bit of water on my face.
I sit up quickly, wiping my face with the collar of my shirt. “What the hell was that for?”
“Sleeping with my girlfriend,” Rowan teases as he kisses Anastasia on the forehead. “Now get up and help me make breakfast.”
I stagger to my feet and head to the bathroom. There, I take my time showering and getting dressed so that by the time I come out, breakfast is mostly done, and Rowan’s giving me an unamused look.
“I can’t believe you’re still pulling that. What are you, fourteen?”
I pull a piece of bacon off the plate near the stove and break off a crunchy piece to pop into my mouth. “Admit it, you’ve missed cooking for me.”
Rowan grunts as he loads scrambled eggs onto three separate plates. “There are lots of things I miss about you. Cooking while you waste time to get out of helping is not one of them.”
“I don’t remember doing it that much,” I lie, taking one of the plates and adding more bacon to it.
Rowan rolls his eyes and sets the other two plates on the table before making his way to the coffee pot and pouring three fresh cups.
I sit at the table, and he tosses me a half-hearted glare before carrying one of the cups to me. I give him a wide smile. “Thanks.”
He shakes his head as he sits across from me. Despite last night, this morning is comforting. It’s been a long time since Rowan’s cooked for me. I loved it when he did it, even when he first started when we were kids, and it didn’t taste that good.
Rowan never made instant noodles or gave me Lunchables. He made sure I ate something real for lunch and dinner. Sometimes he let me eat cereal when he was really busy, but he didn’t even like that. I think he was trying to make up for the way Mom and Dad never bothered to make sure any of us were fed.
Dominic got the jobs, made the money. Rowan cooked. I did my best to keep peace between Dad and the rest of the house. I was able to talk him down from a lot of rages. But sometimes it wasn’t enough.
The first day Grant fucked me was one of those days. I hadn’t been able to stop Dad before he threw a plate at Dom, blacking his eye and fracturing the bone underneath. I think Grant felt it, the hopelessness that had settled into me.
Dominic had just told us he was dropping out of school to work full time. It was his senior year. Rowan wanted to do the same, but Dom wouldn’t let him. Said Row needed to stay home with me.
Hearing that cracked something in me. I didn’t want to be a burden to them. They could’ve moved out and would’ve been fine on their own. They didn’t need me. I wasn’t doing enough to save them from Dad.
But Dad and Grant were such good friends. So when Grant told me he could get my dad to ease up on them, I let him. I let him bend me over the desk and fuck into me so hard that I was sure I would break.
And I let him do it again and again and again.
For a while, it seemed like it was working. Grant would show up all the time to take Dad out, and Dad would spend the night at Grant’s. Those were the best days. When we could go twenty-four hours or longer without ever having to see Dad. Then Grant got reckless and didn’t lock the door, and Rowan walked in.
“You’re being really quiet,” Rowan says suddenly.
“That’s because I’m enjoying a homecooked meal. I haven’t had one in a while.”
He doesn’t crack a smile. If anything, his eyes grow even darker. “Did you get a look at the guy who tried to mug you last night?”
