The rest floats out of me like whispers on a cloud. I’m saying the words, I know I am, but they land without conviction, drifting away before I can take them back. “She beat it once already. But it came back and the treatment isn’t working this time. And, I don’t know…she’s always been this bigger-than-life, happy-go-lucky person, and I think I wanted to show her I was happy too. I felt like if I broke things off with him, I’d be breaking her heart as much as his. I realize now that’s dumb because his heart clearly wasn’t in it either, but…” I shrug, a new set of tears threatening. Tears that count for something. “I didn’t want her to die thinking I’d be alone. I wanted…” I pinch my eyes shut. Rowan sweeps a tear off my cheek before I can. I inhale a shaky breath. “All she’s ever wanted is for me to be happy, and of all the things I can’t fix for her…I figured I could at least give her that.”
Alan interrupts, quietly setting a fresh beer on the bar. He pins an inquisitive look at Rowan. “You responsible for gettin’ the lady home tonight, young man?”
Rowan squares his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”
Alan nods, swipes Rowan’s unfinished beer, replaces it with a glass of water, and walks away.
Rowan and I exchange a confused look for a beat before we both lose it.
“You know what?” Rowan says, laughter subsiding. “Respect.”
Long seconds tick by, Rowan sipping his water, me nervously spinning my fresh pint.
He finally breaks the silence. “Sorry about your mom.”
“Thanks.”
The jukebox goes quiet again, the gears inside clicking and spinning as a fresh track comes through the speakers: John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High.” Rowan meets my wide-eyed gaze. I’m so confident this has to be it.
He shakes his head.
I gape. “Really?”
“Nope. Good song though.”
It’s the best. I close my eyes and let the familiar soft melody wash over me, swaying slightly in my seat. When I open my eyes, Rowan’s are right there to tether me.
“More questions?” I ask.
His gaze searches the contours of my face. “For the sake of my own sanity, I’m gonna need you to tell me that William McDouche III is indeed a douchebag.”
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Your ex-fiancé.”
“Yeah, I got that, but what did you callhim?”
“William McDouche III, or I thought maybe he could have been Robert Robertson.”
I laugh so loud, straight from the belly, head craned toward the ceiling.
When I compose myself, I drop my chin and lean into Rowan’s space, acutely aware of where his knee is pressed into mine. I pop my brows. “You wanna know his real name?”
“Only if it’s better than the ones I gave him.”
“Oh, I assure you it is.”
He drags a hand from his forehead to his chin, two dimples appearing on the way down like a magic trick. “Hit me.”
“Gerald.” His mouth quirks. “Eugene.” Brows soar. “Masters.” He cocks his head and I push in closer. “The fifth.”
He howls. A smile so big it nearly splits his face sends a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Muscled arms barely contained by his shirt crossed over his chest, his head tips back on his laugh.
Beautiful.
A blush warms my cheeks and I sip my beer to hide it.
“Sounds like a gem,” he quips.