Page 115 of Fighting Spirit

The sound that escapes him is hoarse, guttural. He pushes away from me and I giggle as I fight to keep my footing. Rowan gets out of the shower, muttering as he exits the bathroom still soapy. I quickly finish up, wrap a towel around myself, and duck my head out into the corridor to check that Trevor’s not around before making a quick dash to Rowan’s room. I want to pout as Isee him already dressed, looping a belt through his jeans. In the three days I’ve been here, I’ve learned that Rowan makes the act of putting on clothes look like soft-core porn.

“Do you think Trevor minds us showering together?” I ask. What I mean is,does Trevor mind me being here? Am I overstaying my welcome?

“Not at all,” Rowan replies, and by the look in his eyes, he knows exactly what I’m asking.

The guys have made me feel nothing but welcome, but I still feel that thread of insecurity. After everything that’s happened, it’s hard not to scrutinize every interaction for points of weakness.

I don’t trust myself anymore not to misread things. Rowan seems to sense that because he’s always around to reassure me and make me feel wanted. But for all that I’m loving my respite from the real world, I know it can’t last forever. Rowan’s been letting me borrow his truck to get back to Allbreck for class, jogging to campus whenever he needs to be there. It’s all very sweet of him, but the situation’s becoming untenable.

Even if I didn’t spend every journey white-knuckling the wheel, I can’t hide for the rest of my time at college. At some point, I have to go back to the apartment, but the thought of seeing Georgie right now makes me nauseous. I just don’t know how to reconcile the fact that the friendship I thought we had was almost entirely in my head.

The worst part is I can’t even be mad at her; she hasn’t done anything wrong. With Marshall, I can at least hold onto my rage and take comfort in my daydreams of slashing his tires, but with Georgie, the only person I can really blame is myself.

Rowan drops a brief kiss against my temple and heads out into the kitchen, stopping back in the bathroom as he goes. The cupboards in there open and close as he shuffles around, and then I hear him and Trevor talking, pans clattering asTrevor puts together breakfast. There’s an easy domesticity to them, the familiar way they move around one another. I know Trevor means it fondly every time he calls me Homewrecker, but honestly, I do feel a little like I’m intruding on something. I can’t shake the feeling, so baked into my psyche, that I’m a burden.

“Ruthiepoo!” Trevor’s voice echoes through the apartment. “Get in here before this behemoth eats your breakfast!”

The kitchen smells like coffee and the burnt crumbs that catch in the bottom of the toaster. Trevor’s grin splits wide when he sees me. “I need your opinion.” He ushers me onto a stool and places a plate in front of me with a clatter. “I’m trying to perfect my gluten-free bread recipe.”

The toast I’m presented with doesn’t quite look like any bread I’ve ever seen before, but I gamely spread some butter on it and try not to make a face as the gummy texture hits my tongue.

Trevor stands next to me expectantly, but it’s Rowan who speaks. “Keep at it, man.” He slaps Trevor on the back, seeing my distaste.

“Shit,” Trevor groans. “I thought I had it.”

“No, it’s really good!” I lie through the mouthful that I can’t quite manage to swallow. He whisks the plate away with a raised eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Don’t try to make me feel better. I know when I’m beaten!” he wails dramatically. I have to laugh, Trevor is quickly becoming one of my favorite people to be around, and I see why him and Rowan are such good friends. They complement each other perfectly and if I didn’t know better, I probably would think they were married. They remind me of one of those couples who sleep in separate twin beds, reading the same book in matching pajamas and finishing each other’s sentences.

“There’s really no need to make me special bread,” I try for the hundredth time. This has been a running battle sinceI started staying here. Trevor’s insistence on making elaborate allergen-free meals, way beyond anything I’d do for myself. I worry he’s still trying to make up for the lasagna incident.

“Ruth.” He moves in front me and takes my face in his hands. I have to stifle a giggle at Rowan’s scowl as he watches. “Get this into your very pretty but sometimes ridiculous head. I love cooking, I love feeding people. In order to feed you, I need to make sure you’re not gonna die when you eat it. Making food that’s not gonna fuck up your insides is literally the bare minimum I can offer you and honestly, it’s a really fun challenge.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Cooking for this guy is kind of boring.” He quirks a thumb at Rowan. “He’ll eat anything I give him and literally likes it all. I need somebody with actual standards.”

I giggle at his words, trying to shake off the instinct I’ve honed over the years that tells me I’m making a fuss.

“Besides,” he continues, releasing my face and grabbing one of my hands. The other grabs of Rowan’s and pulls him over so we’re standing in a strange triangle around the island. We must look like some witch’s circle about to hex the cornflakes. “You’re part of our weird little family now. I can’t kill you or Chuckles over here’ll dangle me out the window by my toenails.”

“Damn right.” Rowan winks at me and I grin, finally shedding just a little of the anxiety I’ve been feeling since I got here.

After Trevor makes a quick batch of oatmeal that I can actually eat, I head to the bathroom to wash up. I stop when I’m greeted by three sheets of paper tacked to the wall next to the mirror.

“Rowan?” I call through, not quite able to take my eyes off them. There’s a marker tied to the toothbrush holder by a piece of red string.

“Yeah?” It sounds like his mouth is full, probably finishing up whatever breakfast is left behind.

“Can you come in here?”

“You okay?” he asks as he rounds the door.

“What are these?” I gesture to the wall.

“Your charts.” He shrugs, reaching past me to pick up his toothbrush. I gawk at him as he squeezes on some toothpaste and starts brushing like I’m not even here.

“What are they doing here?”

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