FIVE ROWAN

FIVE

Rowan

“HOW’S THE ANKLE?”

I smile at my parents, pretending everything is cool. Nothing is bothering me. It’s after dinner and Dad FaceTimed me like he usually does a couple of times a week, but during this call, Mom is with him. I have to put on a brave face or else Mom will get overly concerned and demand I ease up. And right now, well basically all the time, I don’t want to hear it. “It’s fine. Hurts a little.”

“Oh no. Are you doing too much?” Mom asks, her brows drawn together, looking as concerned as ever.

“Not at all,” I lie, shaking my head. I mean, I’m not out trying to run a marathon. And I’m definitely not on the field tossing a football. At least I’m keeping the boot on. I’ve been tempted more than I’d ever admit to her to take it off. “But I do have to walk around campus every day, which is … tiring.”

Mom turns to Dad. “Maybe he shouldn’t be walking everywhere. The campus is huge.”

“What do you suggest? We make him use a wheelchair?” Dad sounds amused.

But Mom is dead serious. “Yes. That’s a great idea.”

“No way,” I interject. “I’m not using a wheelchair, Mom. I’m fine.”

“Row, you have to be careful. Your ankle needs time to heal properly, and you can’t be on it all day.”

“I’m not on it all day,” I reassure her, sending a help me out here look at my father. “Trust me. I’m going to be okay. It’s healing properly.”

“He’s right,” Dad says, his voice firm. “I’m sure his ankle is doing well, and he’ll be able to get rid of the boot soon.”

“But not too soon,” Mom says, like she can’t help herself. Her big green eyes lock on me. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

“Right. Sure,” I say, desperate to change the subject. “So what else is going on?”

“You and Beau are coming home soon.” Mom’s face visibly brightens. “I can’t wait to see you both.”

My younger brother is a freshman, along with a bunch of our cousins. Supposedly, there are more Lancasters on campus right now than there ever have been in the history of Lancaster Prep, and most of that is thanks to all the Lancasters that are Beau’s age. Not all of them have Lancaster as their last name, but the family blood is flowing through their veins and we’re running rampant around here.

Can’t wait to leave and get away from the majority of them, not that my cousins bother me. They don’t really. My little brother can be a pain in my ass sometimes but for the most part, he’s okay. Helps that he worships the ground I walk on and I can get him to do whatever I want. Maybe I should take advantage of that in my currently hobbled state.

“I’m ready to come home too,” I say, though I don’t one hundred percent mean it. It’ll be nice to get away from campus and I won’t mind being back in my room. But Mom will want to pamper me, which is code for smothering me with attention, and she’ll be so stressed out over the state of my ankle that I’ll get annoyed.

I know I will.

And then there’s the fact I won’t see Bells for a solid ten days. That’s a long time. I’ll miss arguing with her. It’s the only thing that cheers me up.

“But we won’t have Willow with us,” Mom continues, her tone a little bleak. “I’ll miss her so much.”

“Cal told me they’re going to Mexico.”

“She’ll have a wonderful time,” Dad says, slipping his arm around Mom’s shoulders and giving them a squeeze. “It’s good for her to spend more time with Rhett’s family.”

“So true.” Mom sighs, all of her romantic imaginings showing on her face. “I assume Rhett will ask her to marry him soon.”

I make a face, panic making my insides clench up. They’re only twenty. Two years older than me, and they already want to get married? Get the fuck out of here.

“And you’re cool with that?” I ask Dad because come the fuck on.

His baby girl getting married at such a young age? How can Dad approve of that? Shouldn’t she be out living her life and figuring out what she wants? I’m sure she’d say she only wants Rhett, but that seems like such a big decision at such a young age. And it’s not like I enjoy it when people call us out for being too young for whatever, including myself, but marriage?

I’m not ready for it. Can’t imagine Willow and Rhett are either.

“Why wouldn’t I be cool with it? We got married pretty young.” He glances over at Mom, who just smiles at him, her adoration for him shining in her gaze.

While I sit in my dorm suite all alone, just the way I prefer it, rolling my eyes. Engaged at twenty. That is freaking incomprehensible.

“It’s not so bad, being married to your father,” Mom says, making Dad nudge her in her side. “Hey!”

“Come on now. You guys can flirt later,” I mutter. “Need anything else from me?”

“We were just checking on you,” Mom says, her voice soft, her eyes glowing as they meet mine through the screen. “I worry about you, Rowan.”

Guilt swamps me but I shove it aside. “I’m okay. I promise.”

“Take care of yourself,” she murmurs. “We miss you.”

“Miss you, Son,” Dad adds. “Can’t wait to see you in a couple of weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I’m about ready to end the call when they both tell me they love me, and I say it back because of course I do. I do love my parents. They’re great. Supportive and encouraging and they treat all of us with respect, which a lot of my friends don’t get that kind of treatment from their parents, save for Callahan, who’s lucky like me, I guess. It just sucks that my parents won’t let me wallow in my misery for too long. They always force me to snap out of it. This is why a part of me dreads going home.

Mom won’t let me hole myself away in my room like I’ll want to. She’ll expect me to interact with the family and participate in whatever activities she might have scheduled. Because knowing her, she’ll have activities. She lives for that kind of shit. Bringing the aunts and uncles and cousins together, making sure we’re all spending what she calls “quality time” together as a family.

Yeah, that’s not my thing. Most of the time, I just want to be alone. I’ve been surrounded by family my entire life. My sister and my brother and all my cousins. While everyone has a cousin or cousins that are the same age and they can hang out with them—save for August but he hates everybody—I’m the one standout. The cousin with no one who’s closer in age to me.

When we were younger, I tried to tag along with Willow and Iris, but after a while, I didn’t want to be with the girls. And the cousins who are all the same age as Beau—there are a ton of them—drove me nuts. The age difference is still noticeable. They’re pretty damn immature if I’m being real.

I’m my own island and most of the time, I like it that way.

Particularly now.

After my call with my parents, I remove the boot and take a quick and agonizing shower, grumpy as fuck because I’m sick of dealing with my still-healing ankle. I’m in a state of constant pain, but I kicked the meds a while ago, not about to get hooked on them. The ankle is an incessant reminder of what happened to me out on that field. The boot is a symbol of my dreams shattered and my senior year ruined.

I hate it.

I’d give anything to change that night, and when I go over the moment in my brain, I wonder if it would’ve happened if I’d jagged left instead of right. Maybe that lineman would’ve sacked me, but I wouldn’t have broken my ankle. The injury wouldn’t have been as bad. Could I have avoided getting injured at all?

I’ll never know. I can’t change what happened that night. What’s done is done. I just have to deal with it.

It fucking sucks, but I don’t have a choice.

T HE NEXT MORNING , I decide to change up my routine. I walk a different path from my suite to the dining hall, and once I get there, I purposely stay inside longer than usual, holding court with my friends who also remain at the table with me far longer than normal. I eat a breakfast burrito instead of an egg and sausage sandwich. I drink a vanilla latte instead of a mocha. By the time the warning bell is ringing, I’m only then hustling out of the dining hall the best I can, slower than usual thanks to the fucking boot, limping my way across campus as I head toward first period.

“Hey, Lancaster, need a ride?”

I glance over my shoulder to see Artie Daniels, our newish groundskeeper sitting behind the steering wheel of his golf cart, a grin on his weathered face. He’s a good guy, Artie. Prefers to keep to himself and doesn’t talk much, though I have caught him talking to the plants and flowers in his garden and all over the grounds.

Normal me would refuse the offer because I don’t need any help from anyone, but again, I’m trying to make a change. “Sure.”

I climb into the passenger seat and grip the side bar hanging from the golf cart roof, grateful I do when he takes off at a rapid speed, causing my body to sway toward the right. We pass the last-minute stragglers who are hurrying to beat the first period final bell, including a very familiar figure breaking into a light jog just in front of us, her dark hair swinging from the ponytail that sits atop her head.

She’s not wearing sparkly tights today. Nope, Bells is barelegged in the middle of November, her skirt hiked up so high I swear I see the curve of an ass cheek as she runs, the hem of her skirt flapping.

Huh. Arabella is late and she is never, ever late.

“Bells!” I cup my hands around my mouth and yell her name, causing her to slow down as she glances over her shoulder. “Let’s pick her up,” I tell Artie, who comes to a screeching stop.

She leaps out of the golf cart’s way, obviously out of breath, her gaze shifting from the cart to mine. “There you are,” she breathes, puffing.

I sit up straighter, frowning. “You were looking for me?”

“You weren’t in your usual spot.” She glances toward the building where our first period class is, her delicate brows drawing together in concern.

“Get in.” I jerk my thumb behind me.

“The back seat is full,” Artie says, voice full of regret. “She won’t fit.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can walk.” She starts doing exactly that, and I wave a hand at Artie, who lets the golf cart roll forward.

“Get in,” I command as Artie drives the golf cart, keeping pace with her brisk stride. I envy her ability to walk on two legs. “Now.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” She says it with a blissful smile, her dark eyes sparkling behind her heavy-framed glasses, and I huff out an irritated breath. Normally she’d agree with whatever I say, but for whatever reason, she chooses this morning to be difficult.

“Sit on my lap, Bells. Artie is going to get us to class on time. Come on.”

She stops walking, her gaze going to the spot on my thigh that I’m currently patting. Where I want her butt perched because I guess I feel like torturing myself.

“I won’t hurt you?” she whispers, her worry obvious.

“Not a chance,” I say with more confidence than I feel.

And I’m not referring to my ankle either. She might have the power to hurt me in a multitude of ways.

Most of them I don’t even want to consider.