Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

ROWAN

“What do you mean I can’t go with you?” she asks, looking somewhere between pissed and sad. “Of course I have to go, Rowan. You can’t expect me to stay cooped up in here by myself, possibly with a bug, while Harry is out there lost or hurt or—”

She lets out a sob, and I hate that I made her cry. It twists something inside my chest, almost like there’s a key in a skeleton lock somewhere in there, down deep, holding back everything I want to keep contained, and the key is being jarred. Fuck.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her to my chest. Even though it’s me she’s pissed at, at least partially, she leans into me, her tears soaking my shirt. I run a soothing hand down her back, because that’s what my sisters do when they hug each other when they’re upset. “It’s okay,” I tell her, even though I’m not totally sure it’s true. “It’s okay. I’m not going to rest until I find him and make sure he’s all right, and we’re not going to leave you here in the dark, Princess. One of us will get a message to you tonight. I guarantee you that. I’m not going to make you try to fall asleep without knowing he’s okay. I wouldn’t do that to you, especially not after—”

In my head, I see Jay clutching his shoulder again. I see him collapsing to his knees. The stab of pain is unexpected and unwelcome, and it leaves my heart racing. I find myself clinging to Kennedy a bit tighter because her warmth and scent are surprisingly calming.

But I do want to find Harry, so I pull away slightly and tuck her hair behind her ear. “I’m going to find him, but I need to leave now. Okay?”

“I don’t want to be in here alone,” she says softly.

I don’t want that either, but what am I supposed to do in the short term? The answer comes to me in half a second, but I don’t like it. “Where are the guys?” I ask gruffly.

“You want me to go spend time with them?” she asks. There’s something terse about her voice. I’ve pissed her off, I realize, and for at least half a second, I’m glad for it.

“No, I don’t want you to spend time with them,” I say. “I want to take you with me. I want to pretend that my grandmother never dreamed up this show, and that you’re—”

Mine .

It’s a stupid thought. I mean, I’ve known this woman for all of a week. So I shake it off and say, “And that you’re free to do whatever you want. But we both know that’s not the case. You won’t be helping Harry if you’re seen looking for him outside the house. You’d both get in trouble.”

It doesn’t escape my attention that this would bring me closer to my end goal of getting the show canceled early—a goal I’ve done diddly squat to pursue over the past several days—but I don’t want it to happen like that. I don’t want anyone I care about to bear the burden.

“Okay,” she says sadly. “I don’t like it, but I guess you’re right.”

I kiss the top of her head, and because that’s definitely not enough, bend down to claim her mouth. “You won’t be alone in here for long, Kennedy. I promise this will be fine.”

She nods and hands me Harry’s phone. We figure he might try to call it at some point, knowing it’s a way to get in touch with Kennedy.

“Keep checking the room,” I say with a grimace before I step out. “Make sure you’ve looked everything over. We didn’t finish.”

The look she’s giving me suggests we left a lot of things unfinished, and she’s absolutely right.

But I leave anyway, my heart thumping, because I’m not sure I can take any more bad news today. I like Harry, and I don’t want to think something bad might have happened to him, but I’ve worked as a parttime fireman for long enough time to know that the thing with Jay wasn’t an aberration. Bad shit does happen, and it doesn’t care whether it’s convenient for someone’s schedule.

Still, I see my grandmother walking through the hallways like a wraith on my way out, and I stop her. There’s an idea I need to plant in her head. I want her to think it’s hers.

“It’s about time you showed up,” she sneers. “I have a list of things for you to do. There’s a strange smell in the men’s wing. It’s been very upsetting to Jonah. He has a delicate constitution.”

Yup, that’s my bad. I tucked a dead fish into the back of the toilet.

“Tomorrow,” I say. “There’s something I need to do right now. But, hey, I had a thought.”

“Color me surprised,” she says, putting a hand on her hip. “You’re not known for thinking.”

“And you’re not known for listening,” I say. “But this show needs seem livening up. Maybe an animal sidekick.”

“There were horses today,” she says defensively.

“I was thinking about a puppy.”

“Dogs are dirty,” she says loftily.

“Yes,” I say. “And most of the guys will hate it, but Kennedy will love it. I heard her telling someone she’s always wanted a puppy. Used to ask Santa for it.”

The way she tilts her head with interest tells me she’s not aware of everything that passed between Kennedy and me the other night, thank God.

“A bulldog puppy,” I continue.

“You want me to get her a dog?”

This is the part I don’t like so much. This is the part that’s going to get her the dog. “I can locate one, if you want. You could have one of the guys take credit. Your frontrunner.”

Her expression is contemplative, but I know I’ve got her on the hook. I can’t sound too interested or invested now; it would put her off. “Anyway, just a thought. I figured it would add something to the show.”

“So you have half a brain after all,” Nana says, patting her bun. “Up until now, your mother is the only one who’s shown any interest in the show, and her suggestion was preposterous.”

I stiffen, because I have a pretty damn good idea of what she suggested. I can’t believe she asked Nana about it even after Jay told her no. Actually, shit, I do believe it. It’s precisely in her nature.

“Goodnight, Nana.”

“I’ll let you know what I decide,” she says. “But in the meantime, see if you can source one.”

As if a puppy were a side of meat or a bag of grain.

I walk off without a wave or a feigned gesture of affection, and she does the same.

Once I’m outside, I dial Oliver. “Hey,” he answers, sounding like a guy who’s just been stood up.

“Hey,” I tell him as I make my way to the truck. “We need to find Harry. I was just with Kennedy, and from what she said, he was pretty excited about meeting up with you. He even left his phone with her because he already knew where to go and when. I’m hoping he got lost, but…”

“Shit,” Oliver says, his mood transforming in an instant. “I figured he’d stood me up. That he ran away like the last time something…anyway, that doesn’t matter. Goddammit.”

“Yup, that’s what we were thinking.” He doesn’t ask why I was with Kennedy, probably because his mind is busy working on the problem of where Harry got off to. I’m good with that. I don’t have any sensible answers, and I want to find Harry too.

“Meet me at…where were you supposed to meet him? I never asked.”

“Salt and Bone.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

I drive faster than I should because I’m getting more and more agitated.

My phone rings when I’m a minute and a half away, and I pick it up in case it’s Oliver. It’s not. It’s the fucking emergency room.

I answer halfway through the first ring. “What’s going on?”

“Sir,” a woman says in a calm, measured voice. “We have a man here who says he’s your roommate.”

“Harry?” I blurt. “What’s happened to him?”

“He’ll be perfectly fine, sir. There’s really no reason for him to be here for something—”

“Let me talk to him,” I hear Harry say, his voice practically bouncing with nerves.

“No, sir. You will not use my phone.”

“I’ll be right there,” I say.

“He’s perfectly fine to drive ho—”

“No, I’m not, I’m a mutant ,” I hear Harry wail.

Well, shit, I’d better get over there. “I’ll be right there,” I repeat.

Instead of trying to find street parking, I call Oliver and tell him to meet me outside the restaurant because Harry’s in the hospital.

He’s there when I pull up, his face drawn with worry, and it’s obvious that he likes Harry. A lot. I shouldn’t take any satisfaction in that—I’ve done almost nothing to help throw them together other than suggest the Christmas tree outing—but I’m surprised to feel almost…excited by the possibility. Fuck. Kennedy is clearly messing with my head, because that’s not like me. At all. I’ve always run away as fast as I could from my family’s matchmaking legacy.

“What’s happening?” he asks, as I drive toward the hospital. “Car accident? Shit, was he involved in a hit and run?”

“No, I don’t think it’s anything like that,” I say, then share the weird exchange I overheard at the hospital.

He frowns. “What could have happened? Especially within such a tight timeframe?”

I pull into the hospital parking lot. “I have a feeling we’re about to find out.”

And we do, fifteen minutes later. Or rather Oliver does. With the flu running rampant through Highland Hills, they have a one-visitor policy, and I tell him to go. He doesn’t fight me on it, not that I thought he would. I send him back there with Harry’s phone too.

I pace the lobby, nerves prickling, until Oliver calls me on my cell.

“Well, they’re releasing him,” he says. “But you know how long all the paperwork can take.”

I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “I know. So what the hell happened?”

“ Your grandmother happened,” he says, sounding mad as hell. It takes a lot to piss Oliver off this much—leave it to my grandmother to manage the impossible.

“What do you mean?” I ask, catching his anger like it’s a flame to my paper. “What did she do this time?”

“I guess she ran into him when he was on his way out of the house, and she told him his skin looked dry. Offered him some of her special cream. He’s allergic to lavender. We think she knew.”

“Fuck, of course she knew. I’m so sorry, man. How does he look?”

“His face is covered with hives. His hands and arms too. They say he’s going to be fine. He doesn’t need anything but topical treatment. He keeps talking about the past repeating itself, but I have no clue what he means. He took a few CBD gummies for the nerves.”

“She needs to be stopped,” I say, anger thrumming through my veins. “She’s trying to make sure he misses shooting so she can be the star. That bitch .”

“You’re right,” Oliver says. “I wasn’t on board with your pranks in the beginning, but you’re goddamn right. There’s something missing in that woman, and now she’s rolling other people into her schemes. She’s power tripping.”

“Will you take him home?”

“Of course.”

We hang up, and I’m left more unsettled than when I started the drive from the Labelles’.

I hate the thought of Kennedy being stuck in that house like a princess living with an evil stepmother. My grandmother might not live in the Labelles’ house, but for the next month, it’s her territory, no mistaking that, and she will take every last advantage that role affords her. Over the past several days, I’ve felt my will to destroy the show crumbling because Kennedy wants this, even if her reasons for wanting it have nothing to do with the supposed purpose of the show. But I can’t let this go. I can’t. I turn to keep pacing and almost run smack into my little sister, who’s wearing a pair of overalls that suggest she’s ready to tackle some kind of dirty task, even though I’m pretty sure she’s never changed a tire.

“Rowan,” Ivy says, her lips turning down, and I see it now. Ivy has always looked different from the rest of us kids because she got Jay’s light coloring. But we also look more alike than I ever registered. It’s there in the shape of our eyes, the similarity of our noses. The evidence has been there all along, and it’s disconcerting to see.

I shake myself, because Ivy looks fucking pissed, and she’s not going to give me the luxury of a stroll down memory lane.

“You’re finally here, huh?” she says, lifting one eyebrow. Her ability to do so is a gift, according to Holly, who always complains that she can’t manage the trick.

I didn’t come to see Jay, of course, but I can hardly tell her that.

My mind skips to Kennedy, to how I promised her that I’d tell my sisters the truth, Ivy and Willow first of all.

“Is Willow here?” I ask, and something falls in Ivy’s face, like she’s hurt that I asked.

“Can’t talk to me for two minutes without backup?” She says it like it’s a joke, but it doesn’t sound like much of one. I’ve barely said anything, and I’ve already upset her. That has to be some kind of shitty brother record.

“We talked the other day, didn’t we?” I object.

She makes a sound of disapproval. “Willow’s not here, but she wanted to put in one more visit before she heads home to Asheville. She’s coming in fifteen minutes.” Her expression sharpens. “From what I understand, you haven’t seen her either. Who pissed in your cornflakes? I know it wasn’t my dad because he’s not exactly in cornflakes pissing form.”

“Nana,” I say deadpan, but my heart is racing in my chest. I’m still not ready to talk to him, but maybe I’ll never be ready. Maybe it’s the kind of thing you just need to do, with the hope that you can manage it because you have no choice.

She laughs before she schools her expression. “I’m mad at you.”

“You’re probably the only Mayberry who’d say it so directly. I was expecting one of those bullshit lines, like I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.”

The corners of her mouth creep up. “Oh, I’m both. I guess it’s a good thing I’m not a Mayberry.”

My heartrate kicks up a notch. She’s the only one of us kids who doesn’t go by Mayberry. “Let’s get some coffee, huh? Wait for Willow together?”

She looks half-tempted to turn me down, but she nods. “Fine.”

We do, and then we’re sitting at a little table in the lobby with cups of coffee, the silence between us awkward and a little antagonistic.

“So you’re pissed at me,” I finally say.

“Obviously,” she tells me. “You’re the one who told me about my dad, but for the past several days you’ve been off doing God knows what while we’re in here trying to cheer him up because he just had a heart attack that’s going to force him into retirement years early, and his bitch wife left him for a podiatrist.”

“Seriously? A podiatrist?”

“The only one in Highland Hills,” she says, her lips twitching. “He treated her bunions. She posted on Facebook that it’s the most romantic thing to have ever happened to her.”

“What did you say?” I ask, because I know her enough to know she said something.

She laughs. “I commented with a video from her wedding to my dad, where she said meeting him at the Christmas tree farm was the most romantic thing to have ever happened to her. She commented that she’s not surprised I’d take his side, as if there’s any other side to take, and then defriended and blocked me.”

She says it offhandedly, as if it doesn’t matter, but I can tell it does. That woman was in her life for years, and it sucks that she’d throw her away so carelessly, as if she’s nothing. Maybe Ivy’s not so different from the rest of us Mayberrys after all.

“I’m sorry, Little Bit. Goddamn. I thought she was different. Jay always seemed so happy with her.”

She grins at me, but there’s a hint of sadness in it. “He’s always like that. I think he’s worried that if he ever stops acting happy, he’ll figure out how he really feels and won’t like it.” Then she laughs. “Kind of like how you act like an asshole three-quarters of the time so no one will know you have a bleeding heart.”

“Bite your tongue,” I say, teasing, but the words burrow into me.

“I’ve been trying to talk him into getting a roommate. He could use the extra money, especially if Kerry’s going to take him to the cleaners, and he’s the kind of person who does better having someone else around.” I don’t miss her meaning. She’s staying, but not forever. “I’m going to write an ad for him.”

“You think that’s necessary?” I ask with a laugh. “You tell one person what he’s looking for, and suddenly everyone in town will know.”

“True,” she acknowledges with a bob of her head. “Besides, I’ll be around for a while. I can help him find someone who won’t take advantage of him.”

“Have you talked to Holly about working at the brewery while you’re here?”

“A bit,” she says. “I’m not ready for that yet, though. Dad really does need someone around.”

Guilt slings its arms around me and hugs.

“I didn’t mean to guilt trip you,” she says, giving me some side-eye that slips into a grin. “But if it gets you off your ass, I don’t hate it. Now, what’s this I hear about you and the bachelorette?”

“That’s a different show,” I say.

She nudges my shoulder. “I obviously want to know everything.”

“Don’t you dare put this in a book someday,” I say. “The guys are still handing your fireman romance around at the firehouse, calling me Cupid. If you write about me and Kennedy, I’ll never live it down.”

She gives me another shoulder nudge. A guy sitting at a table across from us is checking her out like she’s dessert, and I scowl at him until he turns away.

“The Cupid nickname has as much to do with our big sisters as it does with me,” Ivy says. “And how would they even know it’s about you and Kennedy unless something happens between you and Kennedy?” she asks, watching me carefully. They see too much, my sisters. They see through me, certainly.

“Rowan?” I look up and see Willow walking toward us, and it’s like someone’s reached into my chest and squeezed. I can tell she’s been crying, and I’ll bet some of that’s because of me. I’ve been an asshole, icing her out when she needs me. They all need me, and I’ve been off moping and daydreaming about the bit of heaven between Kennedy Littlefield’s legs.

Both Ivy and I get to our feet, and I wrap my arms around Willow when she reaches us. I can practically hear Kennedy telling me to let them in—both of them—so I pull Ivy into our embrace.

“Ho-ly shit,” Ivy says, giving each syllable some play. “Rowan Mayberry just initiated a group hug. Sometimes life really is stranger than fiction.”

But I can tell she kind of likes it.

I kind of do too.

“I need to talk to both of you,” I say, still holding them. In that moment, I need to be anchored to them. I need it. “There’s something I have to tell you. Can we go sit somewhere private?”