Page 39 of Back to Square One

And cold now. Because suddenly, Evie was against the opposite wall and she’d taken all her body heat with her.

“I’m sorry,” Evie said, looking just this side of horrified. She covered her mouth with her hand, and when she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hey.” Rowan reached out for her, but Evie sidestepped her hand.

“No. Don’t. Don’t touch me. Please.” Evie shook her head as she backed out of the hallway. “I’m sorry, Rowan. Forgive me.” She turned and left, and Rowan heard her hurrying up the stairs.

A door slammed.

Rowan stood there, damp underwear, racing blood, turned the hell on, and wondering what the fuck had just happened.

Chapter Nine

Evie didn’t come back to the fire. Rowan tried hard not to pay attention to whether she did or didn’t but found herself glancing up at the house more often than she meant to, chiding herself every time. Such a mix of emotions swirled around inside her head, she couldn’t really focus on any of the conversation around the fire. So she sat there, quietly confused, worried about Evie, a little bit angry about it all, and still turned the hell on. Any time she flashed back to the hallway, a little throb hit between her legs to remind her what it felt like.

I don’t need reminding, thank you. I know perfectly well what it feels like to be with Evie. Still. Whether I want to or not.

Claire headed up after about an hour, and Rowan did her best not to have any feelings about that—did her best and failed. It was another hour before everybody started to shift in their seats, exhale tired breaths, and float the idea of heading off to bed, and Rowan felt bad that she was relieved about it, but her body was fighting with itself. Her muscles were exhausted—another day without a nap—but her brain was wide awake, firing on all cylinders, sending her visions of Evie ambushing her in the hallway as if they were clips of the best scenes in an Oscar-nominated movie. It was infuriating. And also hot. Very, very hot.

No.

No, she would not be sucked into this. She couldn’t. She couldn’t let herself. Evie didn’t love her. Rowan had no idea what was going on with her lately, but she’d literally told her in those exact words. She didn’t love her, and letting herself get reeled back into something with her would not end well for Rowan. Because she did love Evie. It really wasn’t even a question. She loved her, still, and she always had. Just because Evie decided she no longer felt that way didn’t mean Rowan’s love for her stopped. It hadn’t. And the accident and the amnesia hadn’t helped her at all by bringing it all back and erasing any progress she’d made.

That was something she couldn’t dwell on or she’d find herself falling into a depression. Again.

They cleaned up and hauled everything up to the house, and then one by one, everybody headed off to their rooms until the first floor was empty and Rowan climbed alone up the steps to the second.

It was at the top that she heard them.

No, not having sex, thank fuck. Fighting. Again.

Their voices were hushed, but she could hear them clearly from where she stood.

“I told you to be careful.” That was Claire.

“I know you did.” Evie.

“Why don’t you listen to me?”

“I do.”

Evie’s tone said she was getting frustrated. Rowan’s heart was like a tuning fork to Evie’s moods, and nothing, it would seem, could stop the vibration.

“You don’t. Clearly.”

There was a beat, and Rowan felt herself bracing. Like old times, knowing when Evie went quiet during an argument, it was likely a verbal blow of some kind was coming. “How can I not listen to you, Claire? You’re constantly ordering me around.”

There it is. Rowan grimaced. Ouch.

“I don’t order you around.” There was an edge of hurt in Claire’s voice.

“No? Take a nap, Evie. Take your meds, Evie. Are you walking too much, Evie? How do you feel, Evie? You should sit down, Evie. The boat is too bouncy for your pain, Evie. Stay away from Rowan, Evie.”

Rowan could picture Evie’s face, picture her ticking the list off on her fingers. Fighting with her was always hard; she used to joke that Evie should’ve been a lawyer because she could dismantle you in an argument without even raising her voice. It was frightening, and Rowan felt an unwanted pang of sympathy for Claire, but only because she knew how frustrating it could be when you were on the losing end of an argument with Evie Price.

“You are welcome to deal with all of this on your own, you know.” Claire again, but her voice was softer now. “I don’t have to help you.”

“No. You don’t.”