Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ROWAN

“She didn’t send Jonah home?” I ask Harry, my hand squeezing hard enough to break the car part I’m holding. I’m in my workshop in the garage, trying to finish the third car this week because I can’t banish Kennedy’s words from my head. Suddenly, messing around and finishing a few of them before Christmas doesn’t feel like enough. I want to do more. I want those little kids to believe in magic the way she does. The way she makes me want to. Except that’s obviously bullshit because, based on what Harry’s saying, she didn’t send Jonah home when she had the chance. Instead, she sent home Quinn and Ray. “Why the fuck not?”

He shrugs and then scratches his head. He does it with feeling, like there’s an itch he can’t get out, something I understand well enough. It’s Sunday afternoon. I haven’t seen him since Friday morning. I guess the last couple days have been busy at the Labelles’ house. My grandmother’s been sending me multiple texts, asking me to “pop by” to do everything from snake the drain in one of the bathrooms the guys have been using to teaching the puppy how to do tricks that would look good on camera. I haven’t answered, but I feel a phantom itch on the back of my neck every time I ignore one of her texts— not because I feel bad for ignoring her stupid tasks, but because she’s giving me an excuse to see Kennedy, and turning her down feels like taking a shot of battery acid.

“He claimed he gave her the puppy,” he says, keeping his voice pitched low, like he’s afraid I’m an animal that’ll pitch a fit if he’s not careful. I don’t like that I’m coming off that way, but I can’t deny that I want to break something. I set down the mangled car part and grab a piece of waste wood to squeeze instead. The little splinters bite me, but I couldn’t give a shit.

“So she obviously would have looked bad if she sent him home after that,” he continues, “plus she…” Scratch. “We think it’ll give her a better chance to reveal the truth about your grandmother if we keep her…”

Boy toy? Fuck stick?

“Paramour around.”

“That’s a fancy way of putting it,” I growl, throwing a piece of waste wood into a bucket. “But she knows that I really—”

“She knows the puppy’s from you,” he finishes. Then his eyes brighten and he rummages in his pocket, coming up with a sealed letter. “She asked me to give you this.”

I just barely stop myself from lunging for it. Truthfully, these last few days have been hell. I’ve gone about my business, preparing the light display at the mayor’s house, helping put out a kitchen fire that started at an old guy’s house because he tried to microwave a packet of pop tarts, and working on the cars. My sisters all went to see Jay again last night, but I couldn’t bring myself to go. He was discharged from the hospital earlier today, and Ivy is helping him settle in at home. Holly is with Cole at the brewery. Oliver is helping his mother reorganize the house now that his father’s sleeping downstairs. His dad’s new meds make him dizzy, and going up and down the stairs multiple times has become a health hazard.

I’m…here.

None of the things I’ve done have made me stop thinking about Kennedy— what she’s doing, what she’s wearing, who she’s talking to, and whether she loves the puppy.

Of course she fucking loves the puppy. She’s probably knitted it hats and written it sonnets. Am I jealous of a dog?

I am jealous of a dog.

Which makes me have even more mixed feelings about the fact that I’m holding a letter from Kennedy in my hand .

“I need to read this,” I say.

“Yes,” Harry nods, then frowns and scratches his head again. “You do.” He studies me for a long moment. “I have something to say.”

I give him a pointed look. “Okay. You can talk to me.”

He looks around, and I realize he’s searching for somewhere to sit. There aren’t many options, because every available surface is covered in tiny car parts. There’s no system, no order, and the look on his face suggests this is his own personal horror story. I’d laugh if I weren’t so hung up on the letter in my hand.

Harry settles for leaning against the wall. “Did you set me up with Oliver? Kennedy thought you did.”

Well, shit. I don’t particularly want to cop to it, but I don’t want to lie to him. “I thought Oliver was interested, and he’s had a shit time of it lately. So yeah, I invited you to the tree farm hoping you two would hit off. I was just trying to help him out. And you.”

He nods as if this is what he expected me to say, and I’m glad that I didn’t piss him off. I don’t need another person I care about to be pissed at me.

“Thank you for that,” Harry says, studying me.

“Seems to be going well,” I say evenly, feeling suddenly embarrassed. I know they had a late dinner last night, after Harry was released from his duties with the show. They both made it to the restaurant this time, and Oliver told me he owed me a bottle of whiskey, which suggests he’s happy with the way things went.

“It is. Finally,” Harry says, giving his head a scratch. “I was starting to think I was cursed. But no animals jumped on my head last night, I avoided dairy like the poison it is, and everything went okay. Better than okay.”

I only understand half of what he said but nod anyway. “Good. I’m glad. You know, Oliver’s like a brother to me.”

“He’s said the same about you,” he tells me, and a warmth spreads through my chest. I knew as much, but Oliver and I are both the kind of guys who’d tell someone else that but not each other.

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” I ask when Harry makes no move to leave. “Yeah, but not just that. You like Kennedy.”

I could object, but we both know it’s true. Even if I hadn’t admitted as much in front of him and everyone in my family, they would have known. I wouldn’t ask a favor of Rory for just anyone. I like her. It’s an established fact.

“I meant what I said. I’m not going to mess with the show anymore, Harry,” I tell him with a sigh. “I shouldn’t have done that in the first place. Especially not without talking to you.”

He nods. “If you’d told me, we could have worked on it together.”

I nearly drop the letter in my hand. “What do you mean?” I ask when I’ve recovered enough to speak. “You love the show.”

“Yes,” he says, his expression souring. “That’s exactly why I don’t want to see it ruined by your grandmother. She’s carrying on with one of the contestants. She’s recording Kennedy’s private conversations. She’s a menace. A disgrace to reality television!”

A laugh slips out of me. “You really think most people on reality TV have higher moral fiber than Nana?”

“They should!” he says crisply. “Everyone should!”

I don’t disagree with him, so I settle for a shrug. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at there, bud.”

“We need to take Maeve Mayberry down,” he says firmly. “We need to make sure she’s never allowed within ten feet of a camera. Ever. I’m staging a coup.”

I can’t deny that I like the thought. Harry staging a coup. My grandmother booted off her own goddamn show. She deserves it. He deserves it—if anyone can pull off working in reality TV while not being a garbage person, it’s him.

“Okay,” I say, tapping the letter against my hand. “I’ll bite. What do you need me to do to help?”

“Can we sit down in the house and talk?” he asks. “It’s cold out here.”

I hadn’t even noticed, but now that I’ve stopped working for five minutes, I can see that he’s right. I give a nod, and we both head into the house, shutting the door behind us.

“I can help you organize out there, you know,” Harry tells me as we walk into the living room.

“You’re as allergic to my workroom as you are lavender, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he says with a shudder.

“Sorry, bud,” I tell him. “The chaos suits me. It lends to my creativity.”

“But wouldn’t you be more creative if all the different parts were sorted into bins where you could immediately find what you need?”

“Nope,” I say, gesturing for him to sit on the couch. “Want a beer?”

“Please.”

I pop the tops on two beers from Ziggy Brewery—now that Holly is with Cole, all our beer is from Ziggy Brewery—and hand one over to him before sitting.

“There’s a recording device in the pool room,” Harry says as he takes it. “Kennedy and I found it the other night. She got the idea it was in there, and sure enough.”

Shit, they really have been busy.

“That’s how Nana knew about Truth or Dare,” I say, rubbing my whiskers. Fuck. It makes me feel physically ill to think that my grandmother might have a video of me going down on Kennedy. That was our moment. “Audio or video?”

“Audio,” he says.

I breathe a sigh of relief, although this whole thing is still seriously fucked up. Yes, Kennedy and the others agreed to be taped for the show, but they didn’t agree for their every moment at that house to be watched and taped. “You destroy it?”

“Nope,” he says. “We don’t want her to know that we know.”

His expression turns crafty. “Think about it. This is our in, Rowan. Kennedy and I can give Maeve bad information, and she’ll sway the show around it.” He pauses, then grins and adds, “I also suggested that we plant a camera down in the pool room. We know they meet down there. The next time they do, we’ll have it on tape.”

They’re not bad ideas. In fact, they’re pretty damn good ones. Still, I snort. “We’ve already established that I’m bad at sabotaging things. Why are you telling me this? If I got involved, I’d probably mess everything up worse.” I take a swig of beer and rub at my chest. It’s not that it hurts—I don’t think I’m on the verge of a heart attack, thank God—but something feels wrong . Like I’m a puzzle with a crucial piece missing. The face of the dinosaur, the nose of the princess, King Kong’s leg.

What can I say? All my puzzles were missing pieces when I was a kid.

“You like Kennedy,” he says significantly. “That’s why you’re involved, Rowan. Do you realize that the absolute best possible TV that could come out of this show would be if we take down the evil witch…”

He means my grandmother, obviously. I don’t object.

“And find the princess real, lasting love,” Harry adds.

I feel a twinge of something—possessiveness, sadness, anger—at the thought of any of those assholes making a move on her. They can’t, my heart and head both insist, because she’s mine. It’s not true, and my sisters would probably tell me I’m a sexist jerk for calling any woman mine , but I can’t deny that’s the way I feel—a way I’ve never felt before.

Worse, I’m pretty damn sure I’m hers. There’s this warmth that’s uncracked in my middle, and every time I’m with her, it seems to take over. To guide me. I’m not sure I like it, but I don’t know how to shut it down.

“Let’s get real with each other,” Harry says, and something about the way he says it tells me I’m not going to like what comes out of his mouth next. He hunkers down, his elbows on his knees, as if to show he means business. “That’s not going to happen with any of the assholes on this show. None of them. A couple of them are okay, but do you really think Kennedy is the kind of woman who should have to settle for okay?”

No, I don’t, which is why she deserves better than a handyman who makes toys. I open my mouth to say so, but he lifts a hand, looking surprisingly bossy for a man with such a nervous temperament. “Please don’t say anything self-effacing. No one’s saying you’re perfect. Trust me, no one’s saying that.”

“Do you need to sound so adamant about it?” I grump.

Suddenly, I’m not so sure I want to open the letter that’s currently burning a hole into my hand. Despite what he’s told me, I’m worried about what I’ll find inside of it. What if she sends me away? What if she tells me that she’s decided to throw her everything into the show? What if she’s in love with Marcus or Colton or one of the others whose name I don’t remember?

“Well?” Harry asks, as if to tell me he doesn’t have all day to sit around and watch me not opening the letter. Fair point.

I tap it on the table once, suck down a gulp of beer, and open the handwritten note.

Dear Rowan,

I know that you arranged for me to have the puppy. I’ve named him Jester after the name you used the night we met. I know you got him for me because you know how alone I feel in this house. Thank you. Thank you . Both he and the tree have been such a comfort. I turn on the lights every night. You’ll be happy to know that he’s already peed on Jonah’s leg twice. They say dogs can sense evil, but I’m convinced this one can sense BS.

I’m not angry with you anymore. You shouldn’t have turned me orange (obviously), but I understand why you did. Your grandmother’s not a nice person, and she’s made life hell for you and your sisters for years. I don’t blame you for wanting to stop her. You didn’t know me personally then, so even though you knew why I wanted to do the show, I get why you didn’t ditch your plan. Still, I want to share a little more about Leto’s Hands with you, so you can see how special their mission is. I’ve enclosed a pamphlet I wrote for them before coming here.

I hope you’ll come see me again, Rowan. I miss you. I want you. I know why I’m here. I know I’m supposed to pretend to be happy with one of these guys, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I still want to help Leto’s Hands, but maybe I can figure out a different way. If you come to see me, maybe we can do that together.

Love, Princess

“I’m an asshole,” I say, glancing up at Harry.

“I mean, I’m not going to tell you no,” he says, though he has the grace to look a bit sorry about it. “Are you going to look at the pamphlet?”

I do, and by the end I have tears in my eyes. Again.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I say out loud.

Harry looks at me with something like fondness. “I think you’re falling in love.”

“I need to go to her.”

He pulls a face. “Yeah, there’s just one problem with that. The house is on lockdown. Jonah’s fault. He bribed one of the PAs to use his phone and ordered stuff from five stores downtown. Delivery. Obviously not the kind of attention we want. No one in or out at night.”