Before he can see me cry, I lower my lips to the scar. I hate that it happened at all but, more than that, I hate how close it came to his heart. His good, big, beautiful heart.
I kiss him there before wordlessly lifting and pressing my mouth to his. Hiding the tears was futile, he brushes one away with his thumb. I should stop. Think of something else to say, another question to ask, find another tattoo to inquire about. But my heart, my mind, my soul only screams three words—an anthem bellowing from every part of me.
I love you.
Maybe I can’t say them out loud, but I can kiss them into his lips, tunnel them through his hair with my fingers, brand them on his skin like invisible ink under my palms.
And perhaps it’s delusion or hopes I’ve let soar way too high, but, I swear, I feel the words right back.
39
do you believe in fate?
Rowan
“Dammit, Cecil!”Artie pounds a fist on the table, lamenting the dreaded checkmate his friend just doled out.
“It’s called chess. Ever played?” Cecil taunts.
Artie mumbles a curse into his coffee then levels a finger at Hannah. “And you? You gonna flatten me like agoddamnsniper this round?”
Hannah lifts a brow as she sets the board. “Keep playing like that and I won’t have a choice. Just cause you’re old doesn’t mean I go easy.”
“Oh, sunshine’s got extra snark today,” the big man snaps back.
Tom chimes in from my left, positioning his pieces to match up with Cecil. “Less talking. More playing.”
I snicker into my lap while I check my phone for the hundredth time. Nerves twist in my gut. Three texts split between Mom, Bri, and Dubs and they’ve all gone unanswered for hours.
Hannah squeezes my knee under the table. “I’m sure everything’s fine. They’re just busy.”
Logic tells me she’s right. If something was wrong, I’d hear from them. I give her a nod and tuck my phone away, trying to brush off the worry and focus on the present. Hannah’s hand permanently attached to my leg is the easiest thing to settle on.
She’s never shied away from touching me, but today it’s as if she can’t bear to lose any point of physical connection.
Something changed between us after she found the bullet-wound scar last night. A single kiss to my shoulder, then my lips, and it was like the storm clouds parted. She may have initiated it, but I dove in head first the moment I felt the shift. We made out like teenagers for hours before our mouths finally called it, too swollen and tired to continue. She never asked for my hand between her legs. Just a gentle, insistent need for contact. Nothing more than our mouths moving fast, then slow. Hard, then soft. The push followed by the pull. It was more passionate than any sex I’ve ever had.
I twine our fingers together, her knee knocking mine. She smiles, then discreetly juts her head. A reminder of why we came here today.
“So.” I clear my throat and shift in my seat. “Guys, I’m putting together a memorial service for my grandfather. Nothing fancy, just a small thing up at the lake house on Wednesday. Would love if you guys could come.”
“Of course we’ll be there,” Cecil says.
The others nod in agreement, and my girl squeezes my hand in a silentI told you so.
Then Artie goes and ruins it. “Hey!” he roars, every head in the VFW turning. “Memorial for Norm on Wednesday. All you sons of bitches better be there.”
No less than thirty pints are lifted in the air.
Hannah’s smile beams, even brighter when she clocks the glare on my face. “Don’t worry, big guy. Nothing a grocery run and a few extra chairs won’t fix.”
A shriek pingsoff the walls of the garage. I look up from the photo album in my lap to find Hannah bouncing on her feet. In her hands is Pops’ infamous briefcase.
“Is this it?” she asks, utterly giddy.
I chuckle. “That’s the one.”
She hugs it to her chest. “Oh my gosh, he kept it. That’s the cutestthing ev—STOP!” Briefcase forgotten, she rummages through the tub at her feet and pulls out the also-infamous needlepoint art my Nana made all those years ago. “Rowan! You have to hang this in the cabin.”