Page 9 of Rowan: His Exception

"I can pay."

"I know." She leans in, her voice dropping. "But you came a long way to find something. I hope you do."

I swallow. "Thanks."

She nods toward the door. "Better get moving."

I pause at the door, glancing back. "See you soon, Rowan."

He doesn't say anything. Only a low grunt that could mean anything.

I push outside, and the heat hits like a wall, even more brutal. There's no escape from it now.

Chapter Four

ROWAN

The mountains don't give a shit how bad you want to live.

You can pray. You can cry. You can promise God every fucking thing you own. But they don't hear you. They just wait, wanting to break you if you fuck up bad enough.

I've seen too many people die in my lifetime. In war. In these woods. Good ones. Tough ones. People who thought wanting it badly enough counted for something.

It doesn't.

That's what I tell every group on day one. Not in those exact words, and not because I'm an asshole. But because I'm the only thing standing between them and a body bag, and I need them to know I'm not their friend.

I'm the one who keeps them breathing.

I watch Claire Calloway walk across the parking lot to join the rest of the group. Cutoff jean shorts, frayed edges, thin tank already darkening with sweat. Wrong clothes. Wrong shoes. Wrong everything.

She’s going to be trouble.

"Think she'll make it?" Asher asks, walking up to stand next to me.

Asher Merritt. Cedar Ridge's one and only logger. Handles his business and doesn't ask questions. He used to fight fires, but a year ago, he started his own company from nothing. Keeps his secrets buried deep. Bigger asshole than me. But a good man.

I shrug. "She's wearing fashion sneakers and carrying a Stanley. What do you think?"

Asher snorts. "You're a real class act."

"She's paying me to keep her alive, not to like her."

Asher follows my line of sight to the ridge, where clouds are starting to stack. "The radar's showing something brewing."

I look away. "It'll blow over."

“You know it could turn fast. Might need to cut the course short.”

"Don't be a pussy, Merritt."

He smirks. "Is that confidence keeping you dry when it doesn't?"

I start to answer, but Claire's laugh cuts through. She's talking to some guy in brand-new hiking gear, probably dropped five hundred dollars to look like he belongs here. Head thrown back. Dark hair coming loose from its pile on top of her head.

She's not paying attention to the sky. Not paying attention to anything that matters.

My jaw tightens. "Ridiculous," I mutter.