Page 59 of Hate Wrecked

I close my eyes and sway, my body tired and bruised but feeling alive. This is what was stolen from me in those years. My heart was a mangled mess as it came to terms with the wrong decision I made. I chose wrong. I picked the wrong person to hold my heart.

The song fades out, and I come in again with the chorus because there are no rules here. Not in this place.

I spin, arms wide, my hair a tangle in my eyes, but I can’t see because when I close them, I transport myself back to a time when Rowan kissed me in the dark, away from prying eyes. When I thought I loved him, and I knew he loved me, I had a simple choice to make. Pick the beautiful boy with the wide smile and the Scottish accent. Pick the boy in a city where he knew no one but was building a name as someone you could count on. Pick the boy who held my secrets in his strong hands like a prayer.

I start the song again, tears streaming down my face like no one is watching. Because that is the beauty of this cursed place: no one is watching, not even Rowan, who wants to forget me.

But I wont let him.

I hear the footsteps, but I feel him first. I stop my spinning, and my voice fades out. I turn to the entrance of the building, and I see Rowan standing there, his arms loose at his side, his axe on his hip. He’s so beautiful here—wild and contained all at once. His blue eyes pierce me, and his mouth is a straight line.

I wipe my eyes, brushing the hair from my face.

Rowan looks down and then up at me, smiling a little. “I thought the other night was a fluke. I guess not.”

I smooth my hair again, clearing my throat. “No. It felt too…”

“Good?” Rowan asks, his eyebrow raising. “Is this what you meant the other night? Did you dance in the kitchen like this?”

I smile, but I don’t feel it. “Yeah.”

“And he made you feel bad for that?”

I steady myself. “Yeah.”

Rowan leans against the doorjamb, shaking his head. “You’re never more beautiful than when you look like that. Free. He was a fucking eejit not to see that.” Rowan’s words make my heart ache, and the way he looks into my eyes as he says what I need to hear reminds me of the past and how he would look at me on the hood of a car when we confessed everything to each other. He can feel it, too, and he looks away, straightening. “Anyway. Sorry to interrupt you. I should have just stood outside.”

I try to lighten the mood. “And watched me like a creep?”

Rowan chuckles and looks at me briefly before turning. “I do it more than you think,” I hear him say, and then he’s gone.

* * *

“Don’t laugh,” Rowan says, holding the coconuts in front of him by the fire. “This is supposed to be fun.”

“This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had,” I grumble. But some part of me surges, seeing him like this, smiling and willing to indulge me—or maybe indulge himself—because I know he wants this more than me.

He starts knocking the coconuts together, and I let out a laugh. “Monty Python and the Holy Grail?”

Rowan nods, continuing on. “Yeah. Get over it. Start singing.”

I shake my head, placing my palms on my knees. I rock back and forth like I’m stretching before a big race, before a yoga class. When I start singing, Rowan falters just a second, but then he returns to the rhythmic knocking of the coconuts. I don’t know what to sing, so I try folk songs. Something my father would listen to. I wish I had a piano in front of me so I could play something Rowan would listen to. But I don’t, so I volley from song to song. It’s what I need. It’s what we both need after a long day in the sun.

After a moment, Rowan stops, and I look at him. “My arms hurt. Keep singing.”

I get up from my seat in front of the fire and sing more, waving my arms in the air. It’s a song for an audience, but I have just Rowan and the stars—and Garfield sitting by the edge of the jungle, watching us like we’re wild creatures. I glance at Rowan from time to time. He’s leaned back, watching me. The glow of the fire illuminates his skin. Once pale, now darker. His fair complexion no match for the sun.

Eventually, the song that never ends must end, so I walk back to the fire, closer to Rowan than before. I point at his notebook, looking him in the eye. “What will you do with all of that when we leave here?”

He shrugs his shoulders, pretending it’s nothing. “I don’t know. Put it in a drawer.”

“And just be a bodyguard for the rest of your life?” I ask as a word flashes in my mind, the one I saw.Hate.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Riley. I trained for the job. I made a conscious choice to do that job.”

“Did you? Or is it just because it’s what your father did?”

Rowan shakes his head, looking away. “Did you act because your parents did?”

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