Page 64 of Hate Wrecked

“I want to see where you live. You’re at my house all the time. You see my room, my things, everything. It hardly seems fair.”

Rowan shook his head, and I wished I knew the arguments warring within him. He kept so much inside. “You don’t want to go to my little apartment on the wrong side of town,” he said.

“But I do. It’s where I want to go more than any other place in the world.” It was true. I’d never wanted to see where someone lived so badly.

“Riley, I’m telling you, you don’t. It’s a one-bedroom tiny little thing. I’m barely there, so I picked a place that doesn’t matter. And I want to save money, anyway.”

“I want to see your books. What about all the books you’re always telling me about?”

“I’ll make a list. After you look at it, you can borrow anything you like.” He walked to the door, heading toward the SUV.

I raced to catch up, slamming the front door behind me as I swung my purse over my arm.“What’s wrong, Rowan?”

He turned back, stilling me. “Do you want me to say it? Do you, Glenne RileyWilliams?” He said my name like it was supposed to say everything. And maybe it did. Two worlds, and he didn’t want me to step foot in his.

“I don’t care,” I replied, walking to the SUV. I opened the passenger door and got inside, crossing my arms.

Rowan joined me, a look of pure annoyance on his face. “Fine. Okay,” he whispered, starting the vehicle.

We drove in silence from one part of town to another—LA bleeding, a technicolor fade. After forty-five minutes, we arrived at a small apartment complex. Rowan pulled the SUV under the car park, telling me to stay put as he checked every perimeter before he came to my door. His hand found my elbow, keeping me close as we walked through an entryway that led to a covered walkway. When we reached his door, he pressed me against the wall, his eyes steel.

I watched his hands as he brandished the key, his gaze darting over his shoulders, past me.

“Who are you looking for?”

He opened the door, letting me in. When he closed it behind me, he looked at me. “I’m looking for anyone who might hurt you because this place isn’t…it can be sketchy sometimes.”

“Why are you living here then?”

“Like I said, I’m rarely here. I’m saving up.”

“For what?”

Rowan smiled as he dropped his keys onto a table next to a plain couch. The room didn’t have much furniture—a sofa and a table—but no coffee table. A small TV sat in the corner, buried under a pile of shirts, as if he had never watched it. All the T-shirts appeared identical—his uniform.

He walked to the kitchen and turned on the light. It was bare, too—no table to eat at, just appliances and a box of cereal left out.

“Would you like some water?” he asked, ignoring my question from before.

“Yeah, thanks.” I walked to the couch and sat down. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t awful. There was a pile of newspapers on the floor. I grabbed one, pulling it up.

“Yeah. I read the paper with my coffee every morning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you eighty?”

He smiled as he brought me the glass of water. I looked up at him, and it felt like I was gazing at my future—or the future I would have if I were a normal person. If I could choose what I wanted.

“I’ll be right back,” he said as our fingers touched, and the glass was in my hand.

He returned with a thick book—the book he was talking about, the one about the murder on the island in the sea.

“This is what I’m saving up for.”

I took the book. “Looks like you already have it,” I joked.

Rowan rolled his eyes, sitting on the couch with me. “It’s about the atoll I told you about. I don’t know how to describe it, but I’m meant to go there. I know that sounds stupid, but, I feel it. I feel some pull to it.”

I flipped through the book and found his bookmark. “You’re in the middle. You’re not done yet?”

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