Page 49 of Hate Wrecked

When Riley is done, I take her broom and enter the building. I sweep for an hour. Dirt, bugs, and rat droppings fly out the door when I’m done.

I catch Riley outside, staring into the woods, her voice soft and inviting.

The cat still won’t come to her. But I know it will. She has a way of wearing you down.

She’s already wearing me down.

THEN

RILEY

It wasmonths before I started warming to Rowan again. I didn’t want to tangle him in my life, but the house felt lonely without his warm smile, without our small moments together. So when I found him in the garden all alone after everyone left for dinner, staring at the sea, I asked him to take me away. We went to the cliffside, high above the city. And after a silent car ride, we crawled onto the hood of my car and settled in. I could feel the tension in the air, words lodged in his throat, wild guesses at where his mind was.

Finally, I gave in. “What’s on your mind?”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I don’t like him.”

“Then you must not like your boss because they’re best friends,” I challenged.

Rowan didn’t speak, and I knew the truth then: he didn’t like my stepfather. “He’s too old for you,” Rowan whispered.

It hurt more to hear it like a prayer, a whisper into the air. I shook my head. “My mom is ten years older thanAsa. It’s the same.”

Rowan leaned up on his elbows, looking down at me. I hated it because it only made me want to reach up, grab the back of his head, and pull his mouth to mine. His was the mouth I wanted on me. His was the body I wanted pressed against mine at night. But it was never his.

“He was there as soon as you turned eighteen…like a vulture. I was hoping it was a phase you would get over.”

“He was being respectful,” I argued. I truly believed it.

“Whatever,” Rowan scoffed, reclining on the hood.

“What are you so worried about? This? We won’t stop being friends or hanging out. He isn’t taking me away from you.”

Rowan stared up at the stars, his voice low when he spoke again. “Riley, you’re not mine to take. You can do what you want. I just…I don’t like it.”

“Okay, Dad,” I said, anger in my voice.

“I’m three years older than you. If you should be calling anyone dad, it’s your new boyfriend. He’s the same age as your damn stepfather.”

It was my turn to lean up on my elbows and gaze down in self-righteousness. “First, he isn’t my boyfriend. Second, my stepfather shouldn’t be only ten years older than me. That’s my mother’s fault.”

“You’re being incredibly hypocritical right now, and that’s not like you,” Rowan said. And the disappointment in his voice hurt more than anything.

“Do you want to go back to the house?” I asked, sliding off the hood. Rowan’s hand flew out, grabbing my wrist.

“No. I won’t talk about it anymore. Let’s stay.” His soft Scottish accent pulled me to him.

I wanted to crawl on the hood, straddle him, kiss him—hard. But I was too scared then; the bravery would come later, always fueled by something I shouldn’t have had in my system.

Instead, I crawled back onto the hood of the car, closing my eyes as I changed the subject. “Do you think my music is a waste of time?” I asked, needing his reassurance.

I could feel him shift, looking at me. “No. I love your voice and your lyrics. Why?”

“I just think, maybe I should focus on one thing. And the obvious thing is movie roles and stuff like that. The path…” I motioned like driving down a road.

“The path you want to take? Or the path you think you should take?”

“Maybe they’re the same now.”

---