Walking to the bed and pulls back the covers, slides into bed. He lies down next to me, slipping his arm behind my head, pulling me close to his body. I wrap my arm around his torso and entangle my legs with his.
I want to believe this could be easy. I want to pretend it wouldn’t be complicated as hell. So, instead of dwelling on what can’t happen, I lay my head on his chest, breathe in his unique, woodsy scent, that’ll I’ll never be able to forget, and listen to his heartbeat. He kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering for a long moment, and rubs my back in a gentle circular motion.
Before I know it, I’m fast asleep in Lark’s arms.
And when I wake later in the morning, the only sign that he was ever in my bed is the indention his body left in the sheets and his scent on my pillow.
Oh…and my memory.
I CAN’T SCRUB IT OFF. It’s stuck to me, embedded in my skin and I can’t wash it away.
I stand under the hot spray of the shower with a washcloth in hand. I scrub and scrub but nothing.
I still feel her. I still smell her. I still remember the way she felt in my arms. The way it felt to touch her skin. To put my lips on her lips.
I can’t make it stop and I wish I could.
It’s one of those instances where I want to, but I don’t. Forgetting her would be a mistake. It has the potential to be the biggest regret of my life. Not that I could. It’s not very easy to forget someone you see every minute of every day. Even when I’m not supposed to be with her, I am. I’m bound to her somehow and I don’t know how it happened.
I give up on trying to remove her from my body and finish my shower, huffing as I dry off.
The bathroom isn’t big, and for being the host to four men, it’s fairly clean. The condensation on the mirror streaks and I use my wet hand to swipe the water away.
The man I see staring back at me is the same guy I see every day, and yet something is different. I look deep into his eyes and tilt my head trying to fit the puzzle pieces together, but they never click in place. I shake my head and turn away from my reflection angry for letting my guard down.
BOOM! BOOM! Someone beats on the carved wooden door. “Oy! Arsehole. Get outta the can. I gotta piss like a bloody racecar.”
I laugh and turn on the faucet to brush my teeth. “It’s a race horse, you idiot,” I say around the toothbrush in my mouth.
“I don’t care, Tosser. Get out or I pee right here.”
I apply toothpaste to my brush and shake my head despite the fact that he can’t see me. He’s bluffing. “Do it.”
“I’m gonna,” he says and I know he’s smiling. Over the past month, we’ve become close. All four of us, actually. In a short amount of time, we’ve become like brothers. I don’t have a frame of reference, but you understand.
“Fine.” I brush him off and finish getting dressed as quickly as possible. The dark blue slacks and black shirt I had picked out today cling to my still-wet body and it takes great effort to get my socks on. Hastily heaving my feet into my brown stitched loafers, I make my way out of the bathroom, playfully shoving Liam as I pass him. My room is on the other side of the house, so as I make my way through the living room, I wave at Asher. It’s not like Rowan’s house. Hers is bright and colorful, ours is warm with darker colors. There are lots of browns, blues and reds scattered around. The hallway leading to my room is dark and I flip the switch on the wall, but nothing happens. Must be a dead light bulb. I open the door and stop in my tracks when I find Rowan sitting on my bed. Her hair is wet and she’s still in her pajamas and she looks magnificent. Why does she have to look so good first thing in the morning? I have to stop myself from going to her.
“What are you doing here?” I say in a harsh tone, cutting my eyes to the hallway to make sure we’re by ourselves. Evans is supposed to be watching her. I don’t feel like I shouldn’t be alone with her, again.
“Evan forgot something and I tagged along.” She shrugs, pulling her hair over her shoulder, playing with the ends. “Everyone was in their rooms, I thought I’d come in here in case we didn’t get any time alone before we left for the airport.”
I lick my lips and look to the window. Having a military father and being in the military myself made me a clean freak, and cleaning feels like the natural thing to do seeing as how I’m nervous as hell to have her alone in my room. I frantically move to my closet and begin organizing. I move all of my shirts, color coding them. The hangers clink and clang together, and I can feel Rowan’s eyes assessing me, but I refuse to turn to look at her.
What happened can never happen again. I let my guard down for a few seconds. I don’t regret it—not at all. The girl is gorgeous and from what I can tell, she’s got a heart of gold. Kissing her wouldn’t be the worst decision of my life. But it’s also probably not the smartest.
“What do you need to talk about?” I finally say, tired of the awkward silence that has resonated between the two of us. Turning to face her, I observe the light shade of pink cascading on her cheeks. She fidgets uncomfortably on my bed. The white comforter is a contrast to her ivory legs and I have to force myself not to move close to her. She looks around the room, not meeting my eyes.
“I…uh.” The pitch in her voice changes and I know she’s tense. “About last night…”
I gulp. My hands begin to perspire and I shove them in my pockets. Taking a cautious step toward her, I force myself not to speak.
When she finally looks up to me, her eyes are slightly misted and she takes a deep soothing breath. “I’m sorry.”
What?
“I know I put you in a terribly awkward position.”
I shake my head and move to the bed to sit next to her. “No, Rowan.” And without a second thought, my hand goes to her temple and I sweep the hair from her face.
Damn thing has a mind of its own.
“What happened last night,” I say, “it was unbelievable.” She breathes a sigh of relief and a smile creeps on her mouth. “But, it probably shouldn’t happen, again.”
Her shoulders sag. “I know,” she whispers, pushing her face further into my hand.
This hurts. It physically pains me to be this close and know the crazy kind of chemistry we have and not be able to pursue it.
“Things don’t have to change,” I offer, though they can’t stay the same, either.
She laughs and it’s sad. “What? You go back to ignoring me during the day?”
Ouch.
I sigh. “Its not that I want to ignore you, Rowan.” My hand follows her jawline and I place it under her chin, forcing her to look up at me. “I have to. You do weird things to me.”
Her eyebrows wrinkle. “What do you mean?”
“Rowan.” I drop my hand. “You make me want things that I can’t have. Things I don’t deserve. Letting my guard down could mean catastrophic failure. And I refuse to fail. You’re top priority.”
Not to mention, if I allow myself to really like her, my obsessive tendencies could overtake me. I don’t want to be that person again. And there hasn’t been anyone in a very long time to effect my emotions the way Rowan has. And knowing I could slip back into my old ways means that I’m allowing the old me to be a part of the new me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to rein it in.
Her eyes soften. “I get it. Really, I do.”
I bring my lips to her forehead and let them linger for a few seconds knowing this’ll be the last time. “I’ll keep you safe, Rowan.”
“I know,” she answers without hesitation. She sets her hand on mine and squeezes. Her undying faith in me is terrifying and exhilarating. “I’m going to go back to the house.” She smiles, letting my hand go. “I’ll see you at the airport.”
She doesn’t look back as she exits the door. She doesn’t give me a last goodbye and doesn’t make an effort to stay. And as I watch her make her way down the hallway and through the living room, I wonder if I can keep my feelings in check to keep her protected.
“Oh God,” Rowan moans in
the backseat of the SUV, banging her head against the window. It’s dramatic and if her worry weren’t so warranted, I’d laugh. “Why did I think it was a good idea to come home?”
News broke to the public as we were leaving the house that a human trafficking group was targeting Rowan. I don’t know who leaked the story or why news outlets would report on it, but they did. And the second we stepped foot in the airport, reporters and journalists flooded the entrance and hounded Rowan for answers. Of course, the guys and I shielded her from the madness and made it to our gate without much problem, but by Rowan’s tone, I’d guess she’s wishing we’d stayed in the house in Connecticut where she could hide from the mass of people.
Liam turns the radio down and looks at her through the rearview mirror. “It’ll be alright. We’ll lay low for a bit.”
Lay low in Springsmallow, Alabama? Not likely.
“Where are you guys staying while we are here?” she asks, looking to me.
I grumble and cross my arms.
“Oh, we’re taking the guest room.” Liam smiles. And I swear he looks like a damn Cheshire cat. It takes a massive amount of restraint to not ball-punch him.
“In the house?” Rowan squeaks, looking surprised and panicked. She clasps her shirt. I know what she’s thinking about and I can’t help but sympathize. Us being in the same house will be…interesting.
Chris cackles from the back seat, nodding, and Evan punches him in the bicep. This whole thing, this detail, has turned into four guys protecting a sister. Well, minus the insane attraction Rowan and I share. We’ve all become so incredibly comfortable with Rowan that seeing her uncomfortable makes all of us laugh.
I think they know something is up with us. And by something, I mean nothing is happening. Maybe if I think it enough times, I’ll start to believe it. They haven’t outright said anything yet, but the side glances and shoulder slaps are almost too much to bear. And let’s not forget it’s totally against protocol that I get that close. It’s not a good thing but the guys don’t seem phased by it. Not including Liam, though. I think he is a little angry he didn’t get her first.
If I had it my way, I’d stay away from her at night. Nights are the danger zone, as I like to call it. It’s risky and I do rash things. I don’t think with the correct head and the situation gets even messier. Being anywhere in the vicinity of her puts my protective mode into overdrive and I want to protect her from the things I can’t even see. And that, in turn, makes me want to stay with her. Defend her. Even when she doesn’t ask. And now, I have no choice but to share a house with her.
My own personal form of sweet torture.
We all settle into easy silence as we make our way to Rowan’s family’s house. Before I know it, we’re driving through a charming community just three miles from my own home. I had no idea we lived this close to each other. The neighborhood is intimate, just as I remember. All of the houses are built near each other, not much room between them, but each has its own personal appeal. Every home is a different, warm color, and each has beautiful trees and flowers spread throughout the yard. They’re smaller than the homes I’m used to seeing in this town and if I remember correctly, these houses are considered to be on wrong side of the tracks. Even though, Springsmallow doesn’t actually have train tracks. There are no bad parts of town in Springsmallow. It’s just the rich and the not-so-rich. Rowan must fall under the latter. God, I never realized how stuck up this town is. These homes still maintain a very Victorian look. All very elegant and beautiful, but it’s toned down. They don’t scream, ‘hey, I’m god-awful rich, look at me! People on this side of the tracks doesn’t need oversized mansions. They take pride in what they earned and it shows. They’re understated and very underrated.
Being here brings back memories of my youth. Nostalgic recollections flood my mind.
Liam stops the truck in front of a white house with dark blue shutters and a yellow door. It might be the most charming house in the entire neighborhood. It’s two stories but conservative and homey. Two large ancient looking oak trees sit on the edge of the paved walkway. The lush green grass is vibrant and the flowers lining the raised porch look like a vibrant kaleidoscopic.
The second the vehicle comes to a complete stop and Evan and Chris jump out to do a quick perimeter sweep, making sure the grounds are clear. Houses, here in Alabama, don’t have fences or gates, so they quickly walk around the house, taking notes of all the exits and windows, then Liam sends the ‘all clear’ through my earpiece.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, open the door and hop out of the suburban into the warm sun. The weather is much different here than in New York City. It was close to snowing this morning when we left, but here it’s a warm seventy degrees. Liam gets out and walks around to the back, opening the hatch and retrieving all of our bags. For four guys and one woman, we packed fairly light. I’m more of a less is more kind-of-guy. Being the stubborn guy that he is, Liam heaves all seven bags into his arms and grunts as he walks past me.
I open Rowan’s door, offering her a hand as she slides out. She looks different here. Her skin isn’t as pale and the freckles on her face look more sun kissed than ever. She thanks me in a timid voice and blushes, looking down at her feet. I attempt to keep a stoic expression and walk behind her as she makes her way to the front door.
Flashes of my childhood years hit me like a freight train and I’m reminded of a time I spent here. Not this specific house, but somewhere close. I knew this community looked familiar. I recognize the smell instantly. It’s not pretentious and stuck-up, like plastic and sanitizer, but welcoming and inviting. It smells of pine, my favorite scent. This side of the city is downwind of the forest because it always smells like Christmas.
The guys and I form a barrier around Rowan as she walks up the porch and steps in front of the door. With smooth elegance, she raises her hand and bangs the gold knocker. The deep boom vibrates the door and Rowan pulls at the sleeves on her arms. Eagerly waiting for someone to answer, she nervously twists the ring on her right hand.
The door swings wide and we’re greeted to the smiling face of Mr. and Mrs. Townsend. Mr. Townsend looks much like Rowan. His hair is red, but peppered with white. His eyes shine the moment they find Rowan’s face and I can see the outpouring of love he has for her. Mrs. Townsend has dark black hair and the same youthful smile I’ve seen from Rowan.
They engulf Rowan in a hug. “We are so happy to see you, Bumblebee,” Mr. Townsend says, his voice cracking somewhat.
They pull away from each other and Mrs. Townsend touches Rowan’s face. “You look fantastic. We’ve missed you.”
Rowan places her hand on her mom’s and nods. “Thanks, Mama.” She steps away and gestures to all of us. “These are the guys,” she says. “Evan, Chris, Liam, and…” She hesitates, turning toward me. “Lark.”
Mrs. Townsend’s smile widens and her eyes go big. She chews on her lip and I’m the first to stick my hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”
She pulls on her flower blouse, adjusting it, and blushes. “Don’t ma’am me, Lark. Call me, Cindy, please.”
I chuckle under my breath and nod. The rest of the guys exchange pleasantries and we head inside.
“You can call me, Greg, as well,” Rowan’s dad offers. He slaps me on my shoulder and I walk past him.
It’s so odd being accepted so easily into a family. I don’t feel awkward or weird in the slightest. The Townsends are incredibly welcoming and I have a feeling they’ll be hard to forget when I leave.
The wide, open space of the kitchen and the living room is pleasing and warm. Greg leads us to the couch and I sit down. Rowan sits in the chair across from me and Evan and Chris sit in the loveseat off to the side. Liam heads upstairs with Cindy to drop our bags off.
“How was your flight?” Greg asks us.
“It was fine,” Rowan replies and cuts a look to me.
I immediately look down. Every look from her seems way too intimate, after the other night. Inte
nse and evocative.
It also doesn’t help we had a moment on the plane earlier today.
I had gotten up to stretch my legs and she had gone to the bathroom. We were fine until the stewardess left us alone in the back room. The sexual tension was intense. Rowan was waiting for the bathroom to open up and I had decided to see if she was doing okay. The moment we began to share the same small space, I knew I had to get out of there. Her chest began to heave and my breathing became erratic. She bit her lip and I adjusted myself in my pants. Something had changed. She moved toward me. I let my eyes move to my right to make sure we were alone. When I knew we were, I stepped toward her. We were inches from touching. Her cool breath washed over my face and my head leaned in close. Our left hands touched. Our fingers entangled and I felt like her delicate, little hand should live there. Never leaving my grasp. My vision blurred and I edged even nearer. I couldn’t ignore my feelings. I let them push me.
And then, someone sneezed and I stepped back, snapping out of the haze. I shook my head. Rowan’s eyes grew wide.
“Oh, God, Lark.” She reached for me.
I forced my rigid expression to return and her face morphed into obvious embarrassment as I walked away. I left her alone.
I was a dick.
“Mind if I go look around?” I ask the group. The memory of our moment on the plane makes my neck and hands sweat and I need to get out of here. Rowan narrows her eyes and Greg nods.
“Sure.” Greg grins. “The room you boys will be staying in is upstairs at the end of the hall on the right. Feel free to wash up.” He looks away, making contact with Evan and Chris. “Same for you both. My home is yours. If you need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
I stand and offer a thank you, walking up the stairs. I let my hand follow the smooth, white wood of the banister as I make my way up to the second floor. Family photos decorate the walls and I walk past them, not taking much note. And like most homes in the south, there are tons of Coke products. I don’t know why that’s a thing, but it is. Tons of apple merchandise and a lot of rooster pictures adorn the walls, as well. I’m fairly certain my grandparents’ house looks exactly the same. I haven’t been there since I was a young child, but I distinctly remember it looking similar. And it makes me like the house that much more. It’s not stuffy and polished. It’s lived-in and comfortable.
The Truth of a Liar Page 10
