He knew more than I thought he did. Every secret that I kept out of my letters, he must have known some way or another. I’d bet he even knew about the pink, studded hoof boots I’d gotten Diesel that winter. I treated him like my best friend, because there was a hole that needed filling.
There are dozens more letters, but I set them aside, not ready to read any more right now. It’s too much all at once. Now that I know they’re here, I’ll be coming back to them. Rowe doesn’t get to hide them away again.
I drop my eyes and stare at the photos that were hidden beneath all of these letters. Old Polaroids and blurry photos from the disposable camera I brought with me on my first trip to Nova Scotia.
They’re all of me. Of us.
The photos he said he was going to send back but never did. The ones I’d thought about all those nights when he’d creep into my thoughts. They’re here, in this box he’s hidden in his closet since the day he was released.
My heart feels like a battering ram in my chest when I pick up the one tucked beneath all the others. I don’t know how he got it . . . but it’s here. I’m in my wedding dress, standing all alone in front of the ocean. The lighting was shit that day, and we’d had to postpone the ceremony for hours while we waited for a storm to pass.
I laugh, letting the noise colour the bedroom. The storm was a sign, after all. A warning not to go ahead with the wedding that I stubbornly ignored.
Releasing the photo, I stand from the bed. It feels wrong to put the lid back on this box of memories, so I don’t. Not even when I hear a low whinny from outside the cabin. I’m done with hiding anything from this man. If he wants me the way he says he does, then he can give me every tiny bit of who he is too.
Abandoning the bedroom, I step into the small hallway. My skin is hot and clammy, and I fuss with my hair, suddenly wishing I’d had a bit more time to fix my appearance. I know my eyes have to be swollen and my skin red and patchy by now.
The door swings open, and there he is.
Rowe turns his head from left to right, and the moment he sees me, he rolls his shoulders back. My lips remain pressed tightly together despite the words loaded on my tongue. I dig my heel into the floorboards, holding myself back from launching at him.
“You’re here,” he states tightly.
I swallow. “How did you know where I’d be?”
“You weren’t at your parents’ house. I knew there were only a few other places you’d have gone.”
“Did you talk to them?”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he’s trying to read the thoughts I’m keeping trapped inside my head. “Your dad answered the door.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I came right here.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why are you here?” he asks, ignoring my statement.
I curl a hand around my hip, forcing myself not to give in to him already. “Tell me what my dad said to you.”
“Is there something he was supposed to say? What happened when you went there?”
“Stop asking me so many questions.”
His laugh is gruff, short. “Start answering the ones I’ve already asked, then.”
“You know why I’m here, Rowe.”
“Still want to hear you say it. Tell me why you’re in my cabin instead of at your parents’ place or your trailer. There’s a reason you didn’t hop on Diesel’s back and take off to the far side of the ranch just to keep me away from you.” He leaves his post at the front door and turns my way. I count every step he takes in my direction. “I want answers, hellcat. Don’t make me keep pushing for them.”
I force my chin up, not ready to let him see just how weak I truly am for him. He deserves to know that I believe what he’s been telling me since I got back, but maybe I’m selfish, because I want him to work for that still. It’s half the fun of being with a man like Rowe.
His eyes flare with approval, then desire, confirming that I made the right call.
“What exactly did you tell me in the letter you wrote?”
He stills with only one leg past the couch. “Which?”
