Page 87 of Dirty Fighter

More accusation.

But I’m ready. “I should have gotten to the mainland for the signal. Found a way to upload it somehow. I— I just never thought…”

Her favorite opening. “You never think, do you? You’re an adult now. Isn’t that what you keep telling me and anyone else who will listen?”

“Mom.” It’s more for effect than intention. She’s just getting going.

And I play along as she rolls into her next diatribe, nodding and making the appropriate noises while my mind drifts a handful of states away.

To a crackling fire and the steady hold of a man who made me feel seen and safe and alive and all the other things it has taken me too long to believe I deserve.

When it finally comes, I’m ready. “Why should I open my home to you after the way you’ve let me down? Let us all down?”

“Please, Mom. I don’t have anywhere else to go. Just until the cabin is safe to go back and get ready to sell… I’ll help you around here.”

31

Jason

Two days later, I’m at the cabin again.

Rowan’s gone.

Bruce’s network of spies and grumpy old men who live for harbor gossip reported seeing her and Ron leaving a few hours after me. They’d been loaded down with all the ridiculous, beautiful boxes and bags she’d brought. No mention of a return trip planned, but I had to come back anyway.

I needed to see the cabin again. I needed to check if she left a note or even her number. Any way to reach her so I could explain that I’d never wanted an escape. That I’d loved her from the start. That I wished I’d been honest, so at the very least, she’d know.

It hadn’t seemed fair to put all that on her. And even though I’m fairly certain not giving her those truths from the get-go is something that will haunt me, a part of me is still glad that I got to be what she needed. Even if only for a while.

I don’t spend the night. Don’t think I could handle sleeping on sheets that might smell like her… or worse, might not anymore. So I do what I came to. I close it up. And then, I leave my phone number beneath Ed’s time capsule on the shelf where we left it.

Maybe she’ll be back.

Maybe she’ll want it.

Simple enough.

The fridge is emptied. The dishes put away. Trash taken along.

And then I go home. I don’t take calls. I don’t go to the gym. I don’t let Wexler up even when he begs me to take Lattner off his hands for a few hours.

I just need a minute.

Or maybe a day.

Or a week.

I dream about my dad. I dream about Rowan.

I play back our conversations in my head, the way she looked at me, the sound of her laughter… those moments between us when I would have sworn if we looked down, we’d have been standing on a giant circle that read, Forever Starts Here.

I start looking through the socials for her, even though her Instagram hasn’t been updated in four years. I start looking for Ron. And then for organizations of doctors and then⁠—

I stop.

Because I know how to⁠—

“Dude.”