Chapter 22 Everly
It’s been two weeks since we found out our parents died. I’ve cried most of the tears, like usual. But the one thing that has made me feel better, is being here with Rowan. He is so strong. He only broke down once, and all the other times, he is the one holding me as I sob myself to sleep.
The storm is supposed to be letting up today, so hopefully we can get home soon and talk to the lawyers. We haven’t been able to get a hold of anyone because the cell phone towers stopped working the day we told our friends that our parents didn’t make it. Waiting for time to be in our favor, we laid around and watched TV, made love, cried, ate, and waited until we were allowed to leave the building. Anything to distract ourselves.
I’m not too sure what will happen when we can leave these four walls, but I’m sure Rowan and I will go our separate ways. Right now, emotions are high, and he is setting aside all the pain I caused him. He will remember, and I’ll have to start all over on figuring out how to get over Rowan Michaels. I don’t think it can be done because here I am, all these years later, only loving him more than I originally did.
The sound of Rowan’s phone ringing makes him roll off the couch so fast; it’s like he wasn’t even there.
“Hello?” he answers, gesturing with his hand to mute the TV. He jumps over the back of the couch and lands on the cushion. Rowan pulls the phone away from his ear and puts it on speaker. “Yes, we are here.”
“Mr. Michaels. Ms. Madison. I’m so sorry for your losses. I can’t imagine how this time has been for you,” the man on the phone says.
“Who is this?” I mouth to Rowan.
“Lawyer,” he explains.
Oh. That makes sense.
“Your parents combined their wills. They are a little unorthodox if you ask me, but this is how they wanted it. They want to be cremated, first off. And cast over the mountain they died on.”
“Well, that’s poetic,” Rowan responds, “They pick the damn mountain that killed them. I bet they wouldn’t choose it now, considering.”
I flick my gaze to Rowan and nudge him with my elbow to tell him to stop. He has been making passive-aggressive jokes like that the past few days, and I understand. People deal with pain on different levels, and this is how Rowan deals with his.
“Yes, well, regardless of that,” the lawyers flips a page in the background and clears his throat. “It seems the only way to get the inheritance and the house, is if whoever gets married first within the first thirty days after their death, gets it. The person must live and care for the property for six months. If no one marries, everything goes to your Uncle Roy, Rowan.”
Rowan and I stare at the phone like its lost mind. There is no way our parents agreed to that. There is no way. That’s impossible. Neither of us are dating people. Apparently, we stay quiet a little too long because the lawyer clears his throat.
“Hello?”
Rowan blinks, but I’m still dazed. I plop against the sofa and wonder who the hell I can marry within thirty days. They didn’t specify gender. I can always marry Blaire. She won’t care. And there will be no obligation for sex, since both of us are straight.
“Right, um, okay.” Rowan scratches his head. “So when do the thirty days start?”
“It started the day their death was officially recorded,” he says.
I gasp. We have lost almost half of our time! “That only gives us two weeks. That’s not fair,” I try and argue. We just found out about this. How can we prepare for something like this in just two weeks? Oh, our parents were cruel, cruel people.
“Don’t shoot the messenger. That is what they wrote in the will.”
“Okay, so we will talk to you in fourteen days. I doubt we will have good news, but there’s nothing we can do about it,” Rowan sighs, spreading his hand across his face until his thumb is rubbing his temple and middle finger rubs the other.
“I’m not sure why they did it like this. I questioned them, but they said they had someone they loved, but you kids were keeping that person at arm’s reach. They thought this would light the fire under your butts, so to speak.”
Oh, that’s just peachy.
“Okay, we need time to think about this. We will call you,” Rowan tells him.
“I’ll call you. Concentrate on the task at hand.” The lawyer hangs up, leaving us staring at a blank cell phone.
A few minutes of silence go by, and it is so awkward it starts to choke me. “I have no idea what to do,” I say.
“Me either.”
I tap my fingers against the coffee table, feeling restless all of a sudden, and let’s not forget the anger I feel toward my mother right now. I stand up, having no idea what to do with myself when I see the bar. “Want a drink?” I ask, sauntering over to the bar to start making myself a drink.
I want a good drink. None of that burning throat stuff. If men want more hair on their chest, that’s definitely a way to do it. I start making a Dirty Shirley, the one and only drink I know how to make and put cherry vodka in first. This resort really does have everything. “And if you say scotch, I’m not making you a scotch.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having. Looks good,” he says, relaxing against the couch as he tilts his head up to stare at the ceiling.
I decide not
