SIXTEEN ROWAN

SIXTEEN

Rowan

“brINGING a girl home for the holiday feels like a big step,” Dad says as casually as can be while we’re sitting together in his study.

I almost choke on the smooth-aged whiskey he poured me not even two minutes before he made that statement. I could pretend my choking is because of the liquor and not what he said so I lean into that, bringing my fist up to my mouth as I cough into it.

Dad just sits there in the overstuffed chair opposite mine, a faint smile on his face. Mom is right. I look a lot like him. Definitely more than Beau and Willow. My sister is the absolute spitting image of our mother, save for her blue eyes that are just like Dad’s.

“She’s just a friend,” I croak once I sort of find my voice. Damn, that whiskey really did burn going down my throat. “I didn’t want her to spend the week alone on campus.”

Dad frowns. “Where are her parents?”

“Hong Kong. Her dad is some big financial guru. She doesn’t see them much.” The words are bitter on my tongue. I don’t even know her parents, and Bells hasn’t said anything bad about them but …

I hate them.

“Does she have any brothers or sisters?”

I shake my head, taking another smaller sip of the whiskey. I love that Dad brought me into his study and gave me alcohol. Not that I want to party with my dad or anything, but I feel very much on his level right now. Almost like we’re equals—which we’re not—but it’s nice that he’s treating me like an adult.

“Her parents sound like assholes,” Dad mutters into his glass before he drinks from it.

I chuckle. “My thoughts exactly.”

“I know what that’s like.” He polishes off the rest of his drink, rattling the ice in his glass. “And it’s awful.”

I remain quiet. My grandparents aren’t the best, but according to Dad, they’ve softened since they’ve gotten older. When Dad was my age, his father put all sorts of pressure on him and had all of these expectations that Dad never believed he could meet.

My parents don’t do that to us. They’re open and accepting of all of us, and they rarely try to tell us what to do because they believe we know what we’re doing already—to an extent. Mom is always worried about our safety. Dad harps on us about respect and treating others how we want to be treated.

All the normal parent stuff. Plus, they trust us.

Until you give us a reason not to, we trust all of you.

We’ve heard that more than once and it always makes me want to keep earning their trust. I’m not about to fuck up a good thing.

“What are your plans this week?” Dad asks after he’s poured himself another whiskey.

“We don’t have any. We’re just going to hang out.” I shrug.

“Here?” Dad’s brows lift.

“What else are we going to do?”

“Row.” He sits up, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you interested in this girl beyond friendship?”

I remain quiet, staring into my whiskey glass. It feels like I’ve been in denial when it comes to Arabella for weeks. Months. Years. “I’m not sure.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“A truthful one.” I lift my gaze to his. “How did you feel about Mom when you were my age?”

He falls back into his chair as if I startled him with my question. A myriad of emotions seems to cross his face, one after the other until he finally says, “I thought I hated her.”

Him saying that is exactly my point, and I know he would never admit that sort of thing to Willow, who is a giant romantic and has been entranced with our parents’ love story since she was in diapers. “I thought I hated Arabella at first too.”

“Your mother says she’s beautiful. Stylish. And that she wears glasses.”

“She is beautiful and stylish and wears a different pair of glasses almost every day.” That I notice makes me look like I care and … I do. I care about Arabella. And sometimes my caring feels more than friendly.

Shit, it’s definitely more than friendly. I stare at her mouth way too often, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. I enjoyed every second of that car ride with her soft, curvy body nestled against mine. She’s warm and smells fucking amazing, and her hair is soft. Her skin is smooth and perfect, save for the tiny scar I noticed on the right side of her nose, and her right ear has three piercings in it. There’s a tiny mole on the underside of her jaw, and she has a long, elegant neck. All of these things I noticed on the drive where I blatantly stared at her while she stared off into space like she was in a daze or something. We barely spoke.

We didn’t need to speak. Words weren’t necessary. All I wanted to do was take her in and I did.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend,” Dad says, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. “Though when I was your age, I wasn’t big on having a girlfriend either. Commitment to any one person scared me.”

I feel that more than he knows. “What made you change your mind?”

“Your mother.”

“But why?” I drain the rest of my whiskey and it goes down smoothly. Dad grabs the decanter from the table in between us and pours me another one as if he knows I need it. “What happened to make you realize that she could be the one for you?”

I was told forever ago that once a Lancaster meets their person, they are loyal until death. That it is instantaneous and our minds won’t be changed. Some of the Lancasters just take a little longer than others to figure it out. I hear my uncle Grant was one of those. Uncle Finn too. My aunt Charlotte was forced to marry Uncle Perry and they’re probably the most in love couple I’ve ever seen.

There’s a lot of pressure put upon you when you’re told that story as a child. When you know you’re a Lancaster and you’re going to fall fast and hard for that one person who belongs only to you. I wonder if that’s why I keep my distance from most girls, because I’m secretly terrified to find that one person, only for them to break my fucking heart.

“I got to know her. I hated her because she was beautiful and she wasn’t mine. She acted like she wasn’t aware of me, but I found out that’s because I scared her.” Dad’s smile is small. Almost menacing. “I was an asshole in high school.”

“You can be an asshole sometimes now,” I tell him, making him chuckle.

“True. But yeah. I scared her. And at first, I liked that. Her fear made me feel powerful.” He grimaces. “That’s really fucked up to admit.”

I’m shocked he’d confess that. “It kind of is.”

What’s worse? I can relate. I know Arabella doesn’t fear me, but I get a thrill out of treating her like shit. Knowing she’ll just come back for more, though she dishes out just as good as she gets.

“Then I started to fall for your mother. I fell hopelessly in love with her to the point of being completely obsessed with her. All I ever wanted was to see her happy. I still do.” His gaze turns distant, as if he’s lost in his thoughts. Memories. “She’s the most important person to me beyond the three of you.”

Growing up they were such a unified front. We never witnessed a fight. Maybe a minor argument but those ended up being nothing. He’d make her laugh so she couldn’t stay mad at him for long and the next thing we knew, they’d be making out again.

My parents are very affectionate with each other. Lots of hugging and kissing and touching and hand-holding. I witness that sort of thing now with Rhett and Willow. Those two can’t keep their hands off each other, and I love to give them shit for it.

“It’ll happen to you someday,” Dad says, his tone almost cryptic. “It might happen sooner than you think.”

“Doubtful” is my automatic reply.

Dad just shakes his head, chuckling. “Just wait, Son. Just wait.”

B Y DINNERTIME I’m buzzed after consuming two and a half glasses of aged whiskey. My dad is as calm as ever, sweeping Mom into his arms and delivering a kiss to her lips the moment he spots her in the dining room. I stumble in after him, taking in the table in front of me that’s decorated with fresh flower arrangements lining the center and the family’s finest china with our crest delicately etched into the center of each plate and bowl.

“Someone brought out the big guns,” is my first vocal observation, which has Mom scowling at me as if I insulted her.

“I wanted everything to look nice for our guests,” Mom says, vaguely defensive.

“Don’t you mean guest?” I notice Mom even put place cards by each plate and that I’m right next to Arabella because of course I am.

“Your aunt and uncle are joining us.”

“Which ones?”

“Grant and Alyssa. The kids are having a movie night and friends over so they needed somewhere to escape for a few hours,” Mom explains.

“They’re trusting everyone on their own for the night?” That doesn’t sound like Uncle Grant at all. He’s a complete control freak.

“He’s got cameras all over the house, and I’m sure he’ll be monitoring them all night.” Dad chuckles.

Beau enters the dining room seconds later, not as sullen as he was when we first arrived home. He lets Mom hug him this time and doesn’t try to pull away. I think he’s still mad at them for not letting him go to that girl’s house for the weekend or however long he was invited, but I think he’s gotten over it. He doesn’t ever hold a grudge for long.

“You both look nice,” Mom says as she watches the two of us. “You clean up well.”

“Anything to get out of the uniform,” Beau says.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” Arabella practically runs into the room, coming to a skidding stop right next to Beau. “I got lost.”

She’s breathless. Beautiful in a simple black long-sleeved dress that hits her at about mid-thigh, with black tights covering her long legs. Her hair is up, piled on top of her head in a messy but somehow elegant bun, showing off that beautiful neck that I was tempted to kiss earlier in the car.

I blink, shoving the wild thoughts out of my mind as I watch my mother introduce Arabella to my father. He smiles at her and pulls her into a hug, complimenting her glasses, which are bright pink frames tonight. What looks like giant pink diamond studs dot each ear, and her lips are a glossy pink too.

She stretches those lips into a friendly smile that she turns onto me, her hopeful gaze meeting mine, and I have a sudden epiphany.

When it comes to this girl, I’m completely fucked.