Page 77 of Hate Wrecked

THEN

RILEY

My twenty-first birthday was a disaster.We had a party at the house, unlike the casual and quiet affairs at my father’s. After Rowan’s rejection, I had pressured Barry, and we were officially dating. So my mother thought I would want something exciting, something wild— something to celebrate winning the game. Though the prize left much to be desired.

And maybe I did want something wild, just to show off the man who wanted me in front of the one who couldn’t take half of me.

But that’s not how it went down.

There were models everywhere, including actresses who had worked with my stepfather and mother. Barry shmoozed them all night, and laughed—ignoring me for hours. Then he left. He left my birthday party with some models. Said he was talking to them about their careers.

I was drunk and crying when my mom found me in the laundry room. My spot to meet Rowan, but he wasn’t coming. He’d asked for the night off at the last minute.

“What’s wrong, my darling girl?” my mother’s raspy voice asked. She closed the laundry room door behind her, and the music drowned out, faded away.

“I think you fucking know,” I spat, wiping my eyes.

“He’ll be back. Don’t worry. He’s just…they’re like that.”

“Who is like that? He and Asa? And you’re trying to sell me on that being a good thing?” I barked out a laugh. “No wonder you’re so fucking miserable.”

My mother sniffed, wiping her nose. “And who would you rather be with? That bodyguard?”

I stiffened, my eyes darting to her. She cocked her head. “You’re my daughter. Don’t you think I noticed the way you are with him? Always sneaking off to the garden or driving away in your car. You’re lucky it’s just me noticing. He’s fortunate to still have a job.”

“He’s my friend.” He was. He was more, too.

“He's on the payroll, Glenne. You know that. You know it’s not what you should be doing. You have plenty of friends. Invite them over.”

“I hate when you call me that,” I mumbled. “And why would I invite my friends over here? So they can flirt with your husband? Flirt with my boyfriend? The sad thing is they’d hook up with Asa the minute you passed out. Maybe I’m doing you a favor,” I sneered.

My mother laughed as if I hadn’t just insulted her. She had a habit of ignoring my snide remarks, ignoring what I was really trying to say.I miss you. I miss how you were before him, before all of this. And now I’m becoming you.

“Don’t do me any favors. I’m fine, and you know it.”

I laughed, pushing off the washer, done pretending Rowan was coming to save me. “Yeah, you look fine. Where’s the coke? I want some,” I dared.

My mother rolled her eyes and left me in the dark.

* * *

After I cried in the dark for half an hour, I snuck out of the party, catching a cab to Rowan’s apartment. I paid the driver, then ran up to his apartment complex, bare feet on the sidewalk, hair wild. I reached for his doorknob, then pulled back. I raised my fist to knock, then dropped it.

We’d barely spoken since the pool. Since he’d rejected half measures, the flirting, our rides out of the city to up high on the hill. We no longer read books together and told each other our favorite parts in the laundry room or in the garden.

Bodyguard. Stepdaughter of the boss. That’s who we were.

I felt foolish, and when I turned back to the road, the cab was gone.

I walked around the building to where Rowan’s window looked out into the sparse courtyard. Branches scratched me as I snuck through. His curtains were open, and there were no lights on in the living room. The light above his stove was on, casting the room in shadow. It was two a.m., and he was probably asleep. I was a foolish, foolish girl.

I moved to turn away, but something caught my eye.

I noticed then that the TV was on, but I heard no sound as the light of a commercial showed me Rowan’s form on the couch. There was a novel laid over the armrest, split down the middle, where he had left off. Rowan’s head was thrown back, and I thought for a moment he might be asleep, but he swallowed, and I smiled.

I decided to knock on the door, but then I noticed the movement of his shoulder.

He was moving his hand up and down, a rhythmic motion—unmistakable, raw. Heat pooled in my stomach, and my heartache flittered away. Desire, feral and unchecked, was just a few feet away. Nothing but glass separated us.

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