Whatever shred of hope I had about there still being some of the girl I used to know in this woman’s body dies.
“You’re going to report me?” Good luck with that.
She takes a nervous swallow and— come on, man —now is not the time to want to comfort her.
“Not me. My mother.”
That call I didn’t want to make to the team’s lawyers would be nothing compared to one to the sheriff’s department.
I nod. “Having my name attached to a trespassing charge over a family property can’t happen. Doesn’t matter how it’s resolved or that I’m in the right.”
“You’re not. And you can’t afford this kind of press. So you should go. Leave the key. Catch up with your hockey bros and take the night to cool down and get your head straight. Tomorrow, you talk to your lawyer, pull on your big-boy hockey pants, and come back when you’re ready to have a civil conversation.”
My big-boy hockey pants? Jesus.
“You’re right. I don’t want that kind of press. Which, I guess, puts you in the driver’s seat here. Or it would…” I give it a beat. “…except for one little thing.”
Her chin comes up, stubborn and strong.
“Well, it’s not that I’ve known Terry, AKA Sheriff Black, since he was stuffing Legos up his nose and dropping his underwear to his ankles when he peed. He’d file the report, because the man is married to the law. But he wouldn’t remove me without the paperwork I’m betting you don’t have.” Because it doesn’t exist.
“Then what?”
“Marsha can’t report a trespasser her daughter never told her about.”
She gulps.
“But yeah, go ahead and call her back. Without a list. No pay-by-the-ton junk removal service either. Just tell her that I was standing two feet away during your call. That you hid that I was here.”
Why didn’t she tell Marsha? Something about that wants my attention, but I’m too far gone to stop. So I go in for the kill.
Leaning in, close enough that I’m practically huffing the honey-vanilla scent of her hair, I whisper, “And then you can tell her that you hung up on her too.”
Rowan gasps, her eyes satisfyingly wide with shock as I step out of her space.
There was a time I would have done bodily harm to anyone who so much as looked at Rowan the wrong way, let alone intentionally upset her. But that guy blinked out of existence the minute he realized the girl he wanted to protect so bad wasn’t real.
It was your idea.
Shaking her head with some world-class indignation, she brushes past me, muttering, “This is what I get for trying—”
“To steal my cabin,” I call after her, following exactly two steps behind her. Because apparently, even now, I can’t let go.
She whirls around, and we’re less than a foot apart. “I am not trying to steal your cabin, Static.”
Oh, she did not just take my team nickname in vain.
“Then what the hell are you doing here… Rowan?” Shit, that was not even close to the ooh burn finish the moment merited, but her name is so embedded in my brain it’s all I had. “Aside from picking through my family’s history, our memories, for whatever you can find to make a buck.” And then, because it’s tearing a hole in my chest, “She said this was your idea!”
“It was!” Rowan roars back.
She stares up at me, her chest rising and falling as fast as mine. Those whiskey eyes holding the kind of contact she never used to give. “But it wasn’t about making a buck. I tried to convince her not to sell. Then just not to sell right away. But she wouldn’t listen.”
“Why then?” I feel sick. Like all the fight is drained out of me.
“Because you never showed up. And while I understand why now, I didn’t then. I had to do something. If I couldn’t save this place, at least, I could make sure that Ed’s things were cared for. That some of the mementoes from his family were preserved. He deserved someone who loved him closing the cabin up. It was the only thing left that I could do for him. And I knew my mother wouldn’t.” She firms her chin. “So yes. This was my idea. I asked to come. And I lied to my mother about why because greed is what she understands. But I did it for Ed. And…” She huffs an irritated breath. “I did it for you too, dickhead.”
5