Page 40 of Back to Square One

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Rowan had just enough time to realize somebody was moving toward the door of their room, and she hurried to her own door, hoping it looked like she’d just gotten there.

Evie came out and didn’t slam the door behind her but shut it firmly. She stopped for a split second when she noticed Rowan standing there in her own doorway. Then, without missing a beat, she crossed the hallway and walked past Rowan, directly into her room.

Okay…

She followed Evie in and closed the door behind her. And stood there.

Evie walked across the room to the French doors and stood looking out. She tucked her hair behind her ears, then folded her arms across her chest, a clearly self-protective stance. The lights were off—Rowan hadn’t turned them on yet, and Evie hadn’t bothered—so the two of them stood in the dark on opposite sides of the room, neither one of them speaking.

Rowan was torn.

On the one hand, what she wanted to do more than anything was cross the room, wrap Evie up from behind and tell her everything was going to be just fine. On the other hand, she had so many questions. Was she with Claire? If so, what was happening? And if not…what the hell was happening? What was that kiss earlier? Why had she done it? Why had she stopped? And what was Rowan supposed to do with any of it?

“Evie.” She said it quietly, part of her afraid if she was too loud, she’d break something in the air, shatter something intangible that was hovering between them. “What’s going on?”

Evie sighed from where she stood but didn’t turn to look at her. She stood tall, her back rigid, her arms still folded, her armor. “I don’t have any more in me tonight, Rowan. I really don’t. I’m sorry.” At that, she did turn and looked at Rowan through the dark. Their gazes held for a beat before Evie broke eye contact, unfolded her arms, and gestured to the bed. “Would it be okay if I slept in here? I just…” She sighed again, and it was the sound of a woman who had zero energy left for anything. “We can put a row of pillows between us or…” She lifted her arms, then let them drop to her sides. “I just can’t go back in there tonight.” Rowan didn’t answer right away, and Evie waved a hand, dismissing the whole idea. “You know what? Never mind. I can sleep down on the couch.” She began to cross the room, but Rowan met her halfway and grasped her by the arm.

“No. It’s fine. You’re welcome to sleep here. Of course you are.” She smiled, hoping Evie could feel her warmth. “The bed is huge. There’s plenty of room. No need for the couch.”

The relief on Evie’s face was visible even in the dark of the night. She cleared her throat. “Do you have, um…”

“I have something you can sleep in, yes.” Funny how she still knew Evie so well, could anticipate her needs. It was also good to have something to do because right then? She was struggling. She went to her suitcase and pulled out a small pile of T-shirts, picked one at random, and held it out for Evie.

Who didn’t take it.

Instead, Evie’s eyes were on the pile and she said quietly, “You still have that one?”

Rowan followed her gaze to the shirts and knew immediately which one she meant. It was an old Buffalo Bills T-shirt, royal blue with the logo on the front in red. Rowan’s mom had given it to her for Christmas when she was fifteen and had first decided she was going to be interested in football because the girl she had a crush on at school liked the Bills. It had been washed about a thousand times by now and was so worn and soft, it was nearly see-through.

It had been Evie’s favorite when they were together, and she’d slept in it all the time.

“Can I wear it?” Evie’s voice was barely a whisper, her eyes soft. She tucked her hair behind her ears again—a new habit Rowan was quickly finding adorable—and her throat moved as she swallowed.

“Sure.” Rowan tossed it to her, pretending it made no difference to her which shirt she wore, what the hell did it matter, they were all the same. Just shirts. Just shirts. She literally shrugged. They were all just shirts. Nothing special. Nothing to see here. Move along.

Evie took it and went into the bathroom. When the door clicked, Rowan dropped her head down between her shoulders as she braced herself with both hands on the bed. What the hell was she doing? What was she doing? This was Evie. Evie. And she was going to sleep in the same bed. With Rowan. Tonight.

Okay, well, who needs sleep anyway?

She was seriously considering the pillow separation when the bathroom door opened and Evie came out.

“All yours,” she said, as if she wasn’t wearing her panties and a practically see-through T-shirt and nothing else. Her face was scrubbed clean and Rowan knew she’d helped herself to Rowan’s face cleanser, the way she always had. She walked right past her to the left side of the bed—the side she’d always slept on—lifted the covers, and slid under them, as if she’d been doing so for years and there’d been no split, no break in their time.

It was fucking surreal.

Rowan turned and escaped into the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and stood there. Breathing. Just breathing. Hands braced on the vanity, she stared hard at her reflection, spoke to it in her head.

You could have said no.

She let that line roll around in her head for a moment. Felt it. Tasted it.

You could have said no.

But she hadn’t. She took a moment to analyze that, to think about why. Why hadn’t she said no? It would’ve been easy (and saved her a lot of confusion and emotion) if she’d just agreed to Evie’s couch suggestion.