Page 16 of Hate Wrecked

My stomach lurched, and I turned away from him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Rowan looked away from the ocean, walking closer to me, taking a seat on the lounge chair near me. “I was young.”

I placed a bookmark in my novel and set it on the ground, angling my body toward him. “How…when did…” I struggled with the question.

He saved me from my stuttering. “I was ten.”

“I’m sorry. You must miss him.” I went through the motions, saying what I needed to say. But deep down, I wanted to pull him close, cradle his head against my chest, and let him say anything he needed to.

“I do.” His jaw was tight, his voice like gravel.

I looked inside toward my mother. She was fading away before our eyes. Losing herself to Asa and all his wild life inflicted on us. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with an older woman being with a younger man. But he changed her in ways my sisters and I couldn’t keep up with. Where was our confident mother? The movie star? The icon? Where did she go?

Losing her to him was a slow wound. I felt bruised all over internally, my emotions bubbling like lava. But to lose a parent completely? I couldn’t fathom it.

I couldn’t wait to get home to my father. To hug him close. Because Rowan couldn’t do that.

I had another question lodged in my throat, but I couldn’t let it out.

As if Rowan could sense it, or perhaps he just knew from experience the way this conversation went, he spoke again. “He was the body guard to a politician. He died protecting her. We left Scotland shortly after the accident.”

“To here? To LA? Is that where you went?”

“No. New York. My mother had family there. A sister. We lived with her for a bit before getting an apartment of our own.”

“City? Or state?”

“City.”

“There are less brutal places to start over,” I mused.

“It was less brutal than staying in the house he lived in,” Rowan replied, looking down at his hands.

I let the silence swell around us. Talking to Rowan was different than talking to the boys who chased me. I listened when he spoke; I devoured his profile, his jaw, and his hands when I was near him. My eyes were greedy for him. And my ears were desperate for his voice.

He was barely a man, not much older than me. But I felt like I could learn everything from him, alongside him, if only we were different people.

I knew I couldn’t get involved with our stepfather’s bodyguard. My sisters saw the way I looked at him, and they warned me away. So I tried desperately to heed their warning, to just flirt a little while keeping my distance. They were so beautiful in their youth and wisdom. I took care of them, and they took care of me.

And perhaps, they didn’t want me to make the same mistakes our mother did. I looked just like her. Maybe I could act just like her, too.

But God, I wanted him. I looked out to the shore again, my voice dreamy as I spoke. “It’s not a far swim.”

I reached out to touch his hand, slow and sure, before pulling away at the last minute as the door to the house opened.

LET ME

RILEY

I heavemyself onto the shore, my suitcase soaked, my legs burning. Beside me, Rowan rolls onto his back, his hand clutching his chest. The sound of our breathing and the rhythmic lull of the waves should be comforting, but the heavy reality of our situation looms. “Not a far swim,” I mutter, spitting salt.

Eventually, I push off the sand, standing on weak legs. I grab my suitcase before walking to the tree-line and looking for shade.

I hear Rowan behind me, the thud of his backpack on the sand, footsteps approaching. He drops his suitcase next to mine, and we look at each other.

“Take everything out, see what’s dry, and what needs to dry. Lay it in the sand. Set heavy items on the things you think might blow away. Do the same for mine, please.”

“What are you doing?”

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