I jump, pulling the shirt back over my chest and look at my arm, where his eyes are burning through my skin at the angry purple blemishes making their way to the surface. “Because he didn’t hit me.”
“Rowan.” His voice is practically a growl.
“I swear.”
“Then what happened? Whole story, right now.”
I heave a sigh. “I got most of the boxes moved over to the apartment while he was out drinking. I just had to do a last load of laundry and pack it up – hence, duffel bag – and next thing I know, I hear a screech, a loud crunch, and the house shakes. Macie goes hysterical because she thinks it’s an earthquake or something, then Dad comes in screaming his head off. He knew about the judgment.” I chew at the inside of my bottom lip as I continue.
It takes every effort to stuff down the pain piercing into my chest as I go through the events of last night. “He starts throwing things, screaming about how much he…hates me, he destroys my chair, asks me how could I do this to him after the life he gave me,” I scoff. “So I call you and tell Macie to run, that you’re on your way. Because—”
“Because if you didn’t get out, at least you knew that she would.” His body slackens as the words come out.
I nod, my breath hitching in my chest. “I knew you would get her somewhere safe if I couldn’t. I told him if doesn’t get sober, he’ll never see either of us again. I started to run, and he grabbed my arm and yanked me back. I kicked him in the leg and, well, that’s about when you got there.”
“Rowan,” he says, his voice the softest I’ve ever heard it, “you don’t have to be okay after something like that. You can let yourself cry.”
I shake my head. “No I can’t. Not yet.”
“Okay,” he says, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “Then just start with a shower.”
Once he’s gone, I head toward the shower and fiddle with the knobs to try and make it work – just a basic, hot water shower – which proves to be a lot harder in a billionaire’s house.
There are five different knobs, one of which seems to make water rain from the ceiling. After way too much fussing with them, I finally get the combination to the puzzle right and get a steady flow of water.
I sit on the floor of the shower as I wash myself. It’s no chair, but it’s better than being on my feet and passing out naked and cracking my skull open in this massive glass box like some museum display of gore.
Nearly an hour later, I step out of the bathroom and dig through the duffel bag to find a suitable outfit to throw on. I probably used all of his hot water, and I should probably feel bad about that, but all I can think about is the way that his soap smells on my skin, and that the same bar that got me clean has touched his body in places I can only dream of seeing.
I find Colt in his living room, sitting next to Macie on the couch, with cartoons playing on his massive TV. I plop down next to him and hold out my hand.
“Okay, we’ll stay. But if it gets weird, we leave.”
He laughs as he takes my hand in a firm shake. “Deal.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Colt
The first two days are dedicated to shopping – the girls need some things to make their spaces really theirs, and my house is not one that has ever been equipped for a six year old. When Emmett was six, I was a broke twenty-three year old working my way through school in a shitty little apartment, trying to figure out how to invest what little I had into stocks. The most decoration his bedroom had was a couple of sports decals I stuck onto the walls and a set of blue bedsheets. It’s more complicated today, but also a lot more fun.
Macie isn’t hard to convince when it comes to filling a shopping cart or two with whatever toys, décor, and bedding she wants, and her joy while she does it is contagious. I can’t remember the last time I had the freedom and abandon she has as she flies through the aisles of the stores, throwing shit into the carts.
Rowan proves to be more of a challenge, trying to insist that she pay her own way, but all I have to do is throw on an authoritative tone and she buckles quickly - though she only grabs the absolute necessities. That’s fine, I’ll get her some other things later.
Between work and school, the next few days are for unpacking, decorating, and settling in. We throw a coat of paint on the walls of their bedrooms to give them a little life, a break from the fifty shades of neutrals I keep throughout the rest of the house, and top them off with some art – or in Macie’s case, some posters.
Rowan frames a few photos of herself with her sister and a family photo with both of her parents, all of which she gently props up on her dresser with love. It’s nice to see a young person so sentimental. She keeps the rest of the room simple – decorating with soft floral patterns and little quotes that seem to make her happy, and that’s enough for me.
It’s almost scary how easily we settle into a new normal – eating a real breakfast together every morning, usually prepared by Rowan unless my ‘world’s best’ pancakes are requested.
Rowan and I decide to keep driving separately to work, so I insist that she use one of my cars. Her insurance company dubbed hers as a total loss, and I’m not terribly upset about that. I hated her driving that hunk of junk around. The thing was an accident waiting to happen. I’m just thankful she wasn’t in it when it finally did.
I walk past Rowan’s room every night – at first, I just happened to be going to bed later than she did and I passed her room on the way to mine, but once I heard her crying, it became more of a nightly check-in on her without wanting to be too invasive. I probably shouldn’t do it, but I worry.
She cries every night, alone in that room. As badly as I want to barge in and try to fix it, I figure it isn’t any of my business, and if she needed me, she would tell me. I don’t want to be pushy.
Tonight, her cries sound different. Quiet, stifled. I press my ear to the door and realize it sounds different because itisdifferent.
