I don’t know how I have managed, but Rowan and I have completely ignored each other today. We are acting like children again.
“Everly! Wait up,” Gray shouts from the lobby of Rowan’s childhood home.
I drop my bag by the door and meet his hug. “Gray. A friendly face. How are you?”
“I’m okay. You look like you’ve had better days,” he says.
“Oh, I have.”
“I have good news. I know that isn’t what you want to hear right now, considering the horrible day, but you won. All the debt is getting cleared, along with your criminal record.”
I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Oh,” he says, shocked. “You’re welcome.”
I pull back and wipe some more tears. I seem to just be leaking from them all day now. My face seems to be raw constantly from the salt. “You have no idea how much this means to me. When will it be cleared? Will I get the money back that she spent?”
“Yes, but it won’t be for another month, I’m afraid.”
“I can live another month. That’s not bad. I’ve made it this far. Another month is cake.”
I go to pick up my bag again, but Gray grabs the hand that has the ring on it. “I know what happened, Everly. I know this ring isn’t for show.”
My throat bobs as I swallow. I shrug my shoulders. “It’s okay. Things happen, right?”
“No, Everly. Things just don’t happen to Rowan. He makes things happen. There is a really big difference. I’m worried about him. He loves you. He misses you. You need to talk to him.”
“I don’t know how. I’ve messed things up. I don’t even know how I did it—again. That’s all I’m good for, Gray. I mess things up.”
“Don’t give up on him.”
I pick my bag up and look over my shoulder before I leave, not saying another word. It’s hard to move on when I can’t seem put one foot in front of the other. I have one foot stuck in the past and the other stuck in the present, and the common denominator is Rowan. It’s always Rowan.
I toss the bag in the taxi and feel eyes burning into me again. It feels familiar, like four years ago when we came here and found out our parents were married. I turn around and glance up to the second story window to the right. My breath catches.
It’s Rowan.
I want nothing more than to run inside and throw myself at him, but at this point, I know I’m not good for him. He deserves better. It kills me to turn my back on him, again, but I’ll do what I need to do for him. I’ll stay married to him and sign the paperwork when he sends it to me to get divorced. It’s the least I can do. Even if it will kill me to do it.
He looks different. It’s only been a day or so since I’ve really looked at him, but he looks tired, his hair is a mess, and his beard is thick from not shaving. He looks good with an unruly beard. He is even wearing an old band t-shirt now that the funeral is over. It has holes near the collar, and the words are faded, but he still makes it look good.
He can make anything look good.
This time, instead of him turning around, I do. I put one leg in the car, slide on the leather seat, and slam the door. “Airport, please,” I tell the taxi driver.
We pull out of the driveway, leaving the huge estate in the rear-view. I don’t look back. I don’t bother wiping the tears. I deserve to feel every single one of them drip off my face. I stare at the ring, the one I refuse to take off, and my heart breaks. I miss him so much. I just want to tell him that being married is enough. I don’t care how we did it. I don’t care why. All I care about is us. We can make memories for the rest of our lives.
I finally had the man of my dreams, and I ruined it by opening my mouth. I lean my head back against the seat and stare out the window, watching the Douglas Firs pass by as the taxi speeds to the airport. Every mile that I put between Rowan and I feels wrong, but I don’t know what else to do.
Talk to him? We don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. We always fight. Maybe a few days away will be good. We did come crashing together for the first time in years, and it was really exciting. Maybe the excitement came falling down. We are different people on some levels, not all, and spending all that time together, in the short of amount of time, would be bad for anyone.
The tires squeal when we pull up to the airport, and the driver parks. I sigh as I pick up my luggage out of the trunk and walk inside. A gush of heat hits me in the face, drying my tears quickly. I grab my ticket, go through security, and walk to my gate. I don’t want to go back, but I have to. I owe the tattoo shop that much, and I need to catch Blaire up on everything.
She has probably called my phone twenty times.
When I board the plane, my stomach turns, and I gag from the smell of the cabin. I hate flying. People are shoved into a tight space, they burp, cough, and do who knows what else, and the idea of inhaling that stuff makes me want to vomit.
I try and calm myself, but for the entire plane ride back to New York City, I’m on the verge of puking. I run off the plane with my bag and burst through the automatic doors like I’ve just run a
