I shrugged. “It’s a bruise. I’m not dead.”
Dead was a heavy word, and it tasted acidic on my tongue, mingling with the aftermath of the spirits I drank.
“Nora, we’re going to the police station right fucking now,” Rowan bit out, blood leaking off his knuckles onto the concrete.
I noted that absently, same with his demeanor, the violence he’d unleashed earlier. The violence that had been unleashed upon me. Ronnie was angry. And willing to hurt me. Truly hurt me.
Who knew what would’ve happened if Rowan hadn’t shown up.
That should’ve scared me more, but it didn’t.
“Why are you here?” I asked him.
Rowan stared at me, still breathing heavily. I wondered why he stopped. If he would’ve stopped if I wasn’t here. Maybe he would’ve killed Ronnie.
“Why am I here?” he repeated, his tone low and dangerous.
I nodded, the world spinning more as a result. “Why are you always here?” I was shouting now. I didn’t quite know why, but I knew that I’d been holding in a scream for so long, since my mother walked in the door of the bakery. I was physically unable to hold it in any longer.
“Why are you coming here, saving the fucking day?” I shrieked, pointing to the bar while pacing the parking lot. “You’re watching me, saving me, getting blood on your hands for me.” I sliced a hand toward his fists. “It’s like you’re waiting for me to break so you can put all the pieces back together.”
I spun around, holding my arms out, unsteady on my feet.
“Well, here I am!” I bellowed. “But this isn’t me breaking. The pieces aren’t neatly scattered on the concrete for you to scoop up in those muscular arms of yours.” I glared at the arms in question. “No, those pieces got obliterated, turned to fucking ash the second my brother’s soul left this world. There’s no saving me here, buddy. There’s not gonna be endless assholes for you to beat up. And I can’t handle it. I can’t have you sitting there, being perfect and handsome and just being there. I can’t do it.”
I deflated at the end of my little tirade, suddenly tired. Suddenly so fucking exhausted I had no idea how I was still standing.
“We can’t be together,” I decided, suddenly more sober. Resolute.
Rowan’s lips thinned. “Like fuck we can’t be. You’re not pushing me away.”
“I’m not pushing you away,” I rolled my eyes. “You can’t know me.” I jabbed my finger in his chest. “You can’t call me yours. Not really. Not when you don’t know all of me. And you never will. Because you can’t know him.”
Though a lot of his palpable fury had retreated, his stubborn, unwavering expression remained.
“Let me take you home, Nora,” he spoke gently yet firmly.
“No,” I widened my stance, feet planted onto the concrete as if I could embed myself there in the parking lot. It wasn’t a good long-term plan, but I wasn’t really thinking long term at this moment.
I couldn’t.
Long term was a vast, yawning space of future in which my brother didn’t exist.
“I’m not who you think I am,” I folded my arms in front of my chest, not making eye contact. Eye contact was bad. Eye contact would weaken my resolve.
Rowan being Rowan would not allow that. His fingers grasped my chin, forcing it upward.
“You don’t know who I think you are,” he grumbled.
I’d been planning on being somewhat childish and cowardly by squeezing my eyes shut when he forced my gaze up, but then I got pissed off. So, I looked at him right in his stupidly hypnotizing eyes.
“Oh, yes, I do,” I snapped. “I know that you think, despite my quirks, I’m something desirable. Something to make yours.” I wrenched myself out of his grip. “Something, someone easy.” I paced, rage flooding my system, propelling my feet. “Because although men certainly like a challenge.” I paused, putting my hand on my hip. “We’re taught to play hard to get, not to give the milk away for free or whatever.” I waved my hand in dismissal. “I was only interesting to you because I was a challenge. But once the challenge was done, once I was won, you don’t want me to be difficult anymore. Well, guess what, Rowan? I’m difficult. Actually, I’m a mess. Especially now.” I inhaled sharply, and it hurt. But I sank into the pain.
“I’ve killed people,” Rowan stated flatly.
That jerked me out of my rant.
His face was expressionless. His eyes weren’t twinkling. They weren’t dark and raging. His features weren’t soft or hard. He was just… blank. Like he’d left behind the man I knew in order to convey this information.
“When I was deployed,” he continued in that horribly blank, vacant voice. “I saw shit. Bloated corpses that had baked out in the sun. I saw people get their limbs blown off. My friends. Watched a woman carry her dead child along the street. And I killed someone’s child. Someone’s brother. Someone’s father.”