“What?” What does this look like, a pharmacy?
“It’s packed up.” I love him, but not enough to dig through unlabeled boxes to find the pain reliever.
I gesture vaguely to the mountain range of cardboard behind me.
His brilliant green eyes stare back at me unimpressed. The kind of stare that says he’s already decided I’m being difficult and somehow finds it charming anyway. “Good. My back hurts, and I don’t want to help you pack.”
It takes me a minute to register his words. Then I snap back, “That’s the laziest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
He shrugs. “I’ve been moving furniture the last few days. I need a break.” His shoulders roll like he can still feel the weight of whatever he’s been carrying, and there’s a tightness around his mouth that tells me he’s more tired than he wants to admit.
“I—” I shake my head and go to close the door in his face, but he shoves his foot through before I can.
“I didn’t have room for all your shit.” He tips his chin at the several mounds of boxes. “I had to move some things out first.”
Okay. Did I lose some brain cells after spending the weekend at that stupid retreat?
“What are you talking about?”
He pushes through the door, minding the pile of dirty clothes that I planned to throw in the car unboxed. He steps over them like he’s offended by the sight of my laundry but is too focused to comment. “I’m not in the mood for your backtalk.”
“What backtalk?” Has he lost his fucking mind?
He waves a hand between us like everything I’ve said is “backtalk.” Like my entire personality has suddenly become one long inconvenience.
“Start loading your shit into the truck. There are some first-years waiting to help you.”
Forgive me, I’m still confused. Deeply, spiritually confused.
“What are you talking about? Did you come to help me move?” How did he know I was moving? I told almost no one. Tiffany knows because she has eyes. My landlord knows because rent exists. That’s about it.
Rowan’s eyes widen, and his teeth grind. A muscle jumps in his jaw, ticking like a warning light.
“I don’t care if I’m getting on your nerves,” I snap. “I’m just wondering what the fresh hell is going on here.” My pulse is climbing now, irritation tangling with something far more dangerous. Hope.
“You’re. Moving.” He says the words slowly, as if I can’t comprehend them otherwise. Each one clipped and deliberate.
“Yes. I. Know.” I say the words just as slowly. “What I’m asking is, what are you doing here?” I point at him for emphasis, because apparently, we’re both committed to being ridiculous.
He exhales, obviously super annoyed with me, and drags a hand down his face like patience has become physically exhausting. “I’m moving you and Waffles into my apartment.”
“First of all,” I start, “you could have led with that. Second of?—”
I stop as the words settle. They don’t settle so much as crash into me like a dropped bookshelf.
He thinks I’m moving in with him.
No, no, no. I am moving back home and hopefully going to find a job instead of pursuing this whole attorney thing. Clearly, that is not going to work out for me. And frankly, I’m done worrying about it. The fight has gone out of me in quiet little pieces these last few weeks, and I’m too tired to keep collecting them.
My therapist says to fight for the life I deserve.
I deserve a life that is not constantly haunted by my past mistakes. I deserve a life where I don’t have to apologize for things I’ve made amends for. I deserve mornings where my chest doesn’t tighten before I even open my eyes. I deserve peace, even if it looks smaller than the dreams I started with.
“Is there a problem…” He draws the words out casually as if we’re discussing dinner plans. His hands slide into his pockets, posture loose. “Tessa.”
I take a deep breath and glance at Waffles, who is still asleep on Tiffany’s pillow. Completely unbothered. A furry little monk devoted to inner peace while my life combusts three feet away. “Yes,” I state, “I have a problem.”
His brow arches in a way that clearly shows his surprise. Like no woman in history has ever objected to being bulldozed by him before.
