Page 9 of Late Nights & Love Lines
She nods and picks at a fingernail on her left hand.
“You did it from what? Lyrics? Can you sing them for me?” What are you doing, Rowan? It doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You need to get out of here before history wraps its grimy little paws around you and ties you to itself.
The little girl opens her mouth and sings my words with her own special twist.
“Because you broke me just like stained glass, then left before I could shine. Hope is that line between happiness and me.” She bites the corner of her lip. “Well, that’s how he always sang it, but it wasn’t right, was it?”
I’m shaking my head and completely unable to force air into my lungs, but she’s good. Really good.
“Ah, you were close.” The words are pinched. My throat aches. Maybe I’m coming down with strep throat.
“Huh,” she says with a roll of her shoulders. “He said he only heard it once, so I guess his memory isn’t complete shit.”
“You’re very talented,” I say, directing the conversation away from her father, then lifting myself off the bench.
Unease has me biting down on my bottom lip, and it’s reflected in the way this little girl curls in on herself. Again, I’m struck by how much she reminds me of myself at this age. It has to be the camp atmosphere. That’s the only similarity. I’m so on edge, I’m seeing things where they don’t belong.
She lowers her chin to avert her gaze. “So,” she says with discomfort clouding her tone. “You’re Rowan?”
The air whooshes from my lungs, and I nearly topple over. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, you don’t look like you want to see my dad any more than I do, so don’t worry. He’s in a meeting.”
How the heck do I process the relief that washes through me with that admission? I love Pappy, and Pappy loves his grandson, but it’s the kind of love that grows roots, and I know better than anyone that all roots die eventually.
“But Pappy sure does talk about you a lot. He’ll be happy to see you.”
“What?” The walls tunnel in around me.
I’d bet my last cent that Pappy is behind this. This shit doesn’t just happen, and it certainly doesn’t happen to women like me.
“Yup, he’s at the house with my brothers.” She keeps talking while sweat collects into a stream down my spine. “The house is fine, but I have to participate in some bullshit camp activities with nine other girls for an entire week.”
The adult in me screams that I should say something about her swearing, but twelve-year-old me understands. I allow my lips to tilt into a slight grin.
“I’m Seren, by the way. Thanks for sharing your song, it’s a flex for sure. But don’t worry, I’m not going to bug you. The last freaking thing I want right now is a nanny, so you’re clear.”
Nanny. Oh my God. I’m her nanny.
She slams the lid down on the piano and waltzes out of the cabin as though she didn’t just shoot my carefully formed boundaries right to hell.
Danger has never looked so innocent.
3
FUCKING PERVERT
SEBASTIAN
Iwalk the trails without searching for a destination. That woman is a complication I shouldn’t want or need, but I can’t rid my mind of the full-body shiver I experienced when we made eye contact.
For one brief moment in time, I was the old me, the one who believed in true love and happily ever afters. For fuck’s sake, when I was Miles’s age, my life goal was to fall in love, have a family, the white picket fence—everything my father never gave me.
One glance at a stranger today had that sensation of pureness and love flowing through my veins.
I blame my ex, Mya, for fucking everything up.
Is it all her fault though?
