AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It’s because you’re not a man,” Kellan winks.
“You’re joking.”
“Nope. I know his type. Macho, sexist.”
“Unbelievable. God that’s so antiquated.”
“It is what it is. You have to find a way around it.”
“How?”
“Keep me with you. At all times.”
As he says that, an icy intensity darkens his eyes. It’s then that I realize Kellan isn’t glued to my hip today so that we can make the best investigative team possible, it’s because he’s concerned for my safety.
FIFTEEN
ROWAN
Thirty years earlier
“What’s your name?”
Those were the first words Shepherd Velky ever said to me.
I remember looking up from the textbook I was studying and my stomach falling through the bottom of my feet. Not just to them, but through them. It was like one of those movie-moments where the boy enters the room in slow motion, the wind blowing through his hair, the sun sparkling against two rows of perfect white teeth.
It was a frigid January day. A thin layer of ice framed every window of the foster home—as if the environment wasn’t cold enough. I was in the “reading room” which consisted of two folding tables, plastic chairs, bookshelves, and posters that read things like: If You Can Dream It, You Can Do It. Shepherd was wearing a beat-up leather jacket with one pocket peeling away as if he’d torn it on the Harley he’d rode in on. That’s how I imagined him, anyway. A Harley-driving heartthrob.
I’ll never, ever forget that moment. It changed the course of my life.
“Rowan,” I squeaked out, then quickly cleared my throat. “My name is Rowan.”
The boy smirked, a cocky smirk, like he knew what he was doing to my hormones.
“Rowan; that’s a weird name.”
I didn’t respond. It was weird.
“I’m Shep,” he said and thrust out his hand like a grownup.
“Shep? That’s a weird name.” I slid my hand into his, feeling a rush of nerves as he squeezed and shook. His hand was warm, despite the cold.
“It’s actually Shepherd, but everyone calls me Shep.”
I smiled—not too big—and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I’d read somewhere that guys liked when women played with their hair.
Shepherd tilted his head to the side, regarding the textbook between my hands. “What are you studying?”
“Social studies. I have a test tomorrow.”
“What grade are you in?”
“Sixth.”
“I’m in seventh. You want some help?”
The butterflies in my stomach suddenly spun into a tornado of nerves.
