I really don’t like this man. Every chance he gets, he seems to remind Rowan of his supposed inadequacies. I don’t even know if he does it consciously. I think that’s just how he thinks about Rowan. It makes me angry.
But I fight to keep my anger—and my perfume—under control. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself by smelling like sour strawberries right now.
“Fine,” Rowan says, his reluctance obvious, even in the single syllable. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“As much as you can, really. I want to see what you’re capable of.”
“I see.”
“You can start with Rage. He’s acting up. Hasn’t calmed the fuck down since he woke up. I want you to go down and fix the situation.”
I reach up subtly and squeeze Rowan’s shin at the mention of Rage. Is he okay? Are those handlers hurting him again?
“Okay. Starting off strong, I guess,” Rowan says, letting out a strained chuckle.
“If you succeed, I’ll give you access to the family credit card.”
“Done,” Rowan answers immediately, standing from his chair and nodding down at me.
“I want the dogs ready for the group showcase fights in a month,” Norman continues.
“They’ll be ready,” Rowan nods.
Like a shadow, I follow in his steps as the two of us leave.
The moment the door closes behind us, Rowan’s shoulders deflate.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching for him.
“Keep walking,” Rowan says through gritted teeth. “Just in case he’s watching us leave.”
My hand drops to my side along with my gaze as I hurry behind him, needing to speedwalk to keep up with his pace.
“Are you okay?” I ask again, as Rowan slumps against the wall of one of the trailers, out of sight of the farmhouse.
“I think—I think that was the best conversation I’ve had with my fucking dad in years and it stillsucked.” He says, burying his face in his hands.
My own hands hover over him, unsure of where to touch him. I desperately want to offer him some sort of comfort, but every part of his body language screams that he doesn’t want to be touched right now.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “At least—at least he’s giving you an opportunity to prove yourself?”
“I don’t give a shit anymore,” he spits, the venom in his words startling me.
His eyes go wide as he sees my expression and he curses under his breath.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I’m fucking pissed at the situation,” he says. “The only reason I’m going along with this whole charade is ‘cause—is cause it’ll keep you safe. Access to that money means I can get you stuff. Like actual fucking clothes. And maybe even nesting materials, you know?”
My heart rate picks up at the mention of Rowan gettingmethings.
“Really? You’d do that for me?” I whisper.
His brows draw down in confusion.
“Of course. Why the hell wouldn’t I? The only reason I haven’t so far is ‘cause I don’t have access to that money.”
“But—but don’t you want anything for yourself?”
“Nah, I’ve got everything I need,” he says, pushing himself off the wall of the trailer. “Now, the real question is whether you think you can work your magic on Rage a second time.”
