Page 24 of Forbidden Girl

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day, but please don’t ever say that again.” She sits on the edge of the bed, reaches out, and pulls me down beside her. “If you want fun, I’m not sure how you feel about jet skiing, but we can rent one at West Beach.”

“Are you a water sports person?” I just asked a woman whose family business is based out of a yachting marina if she likes water.

“There are multiple meanings to that phrase. Yes to one, no to the other.” I roll my eyes and she grins before continuing. “When my mom was alive we used to spend Christmas vacation in Cancun. I don’t remember much, but there are all these pictures around the house of us doing water activities—boating, jet skiing, snorkeling. I do remember swimming with dolphins once, though. The trainer was excited to have a pregnant woman in the water and told us that one of the dolphins was expecting, too. There was like, this natural bond that formed between my mom and that dolphin; she kept rubbing her snout on my mom’s big belly. The whole experience was wicked cool. I’ll never forget it.”

“You’ve never talked about your mom before.” Or a sibling… Oh, Jesus, she doesn’t have one. “How old were you when she died?”

“Six.”

“It’s been you and your dad since then?”

“Growing up there was a revolving door of women in my house. I guess Callum Monaghan isn’t quite forever material.”

Everything about Rowan Monaghan makes perfect sense now, like looking at a Seurat painting from far away: Sure, you can tell that it’s beautiful up close—the colors, the brush strokes—but its depth is unclear until you take a step back and get the whole picture. No one ever showed her that the most fundamental aspect of love is staying, so she always runs. Even at his worst, my mom stayed with my dad because she always saw good in him. And there are pieces of him that are good. Very few people are all bad, although Callum might be one of the few. My father talks a big game and has all this swagger. He’s beaten a few guys to within an inch of their life when “they deserved it,” but I don’t think he’s ever killed anyone. I know Callum Monaghan has. It’s common knowledge, and it’s why he owns Boston. The city fears him. “I’m sorry. That must have been hard.”

“It is what it is.”

I can tell she’s done discussing it. I glide my hand into hers again. “I like jet skiing. It’s exhilarating.”

“You’ve got a bikini on under that dress, don’t you?”

“I do.”

She’s wearing black board shorts, a black swim tank, a sheer-white button-down shirt, and—my favorite part of the outfit—a white Red Sox cap, backward. She looks more relaxed than I know she actually is, and prepared to be in the ocean. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, jet skiing, followed by some chill beach time, lounging and tanning, an early dinner at a very fancy lobster restaurant in town, because we cannot come to Maine and not eat lobster, and then we’ll come back here for sunset, a fire and some s’mores.”

“I’m sorry, s’mores? You said the magic word.”

Her eyes go wide with excitement. She points to a shopping bag resting atop a towel on the far side of the tent. “I got all the stuff; you wanna make ’em right now?”

Because I have functioning eyeballs, I’ve always known Rowan was sexy. Cute is a new discovery. It makes me smile. “No, we can save them for dessert.”

“Alright. Let’s move, we’re burning daylight, and I wanna get my ass on a water motorcycle.”

“A water motorcycle,” I chuckle.

“What? That’s what they are.”

“You’re right.”

“There’s something I have to do real quick. I haven’t gotten around to it with all the preparations.” She makes a sweeping motion around us. “But it’s a need, not a want.”

“Alright.”

She kneels over her black duffle, back turned to me. When she stands again, I see she’s holding her gun by its barrel. I loathe guns with all my being, and cringe at the sight of it, despite knowing that it’s innocuous in her hand. She glances at it, at me. “I’m done with these fucking things. I don’t ever want to own, hold, or even see one again in my life.” She marches out of the tent like she’s on a mission. I follow her down the sand, to the ocean’s edge, and beyond, into the water, up to our calves.

She releases an empty magazine from the bottom of the gun’s grip, then with her best impersonation of a big-league pitcher, winds up and throws it into the sea. She does it a second time with the body of the gun. The monstrous instrument of annihilation is swallowed by the waves. Rowan becomes instantly lighter, more like my Rowan. I think she’ll be okay eventually. And I will, too.

“Now, water sports,” she says.

“Water sports.”

“Do you want your own water motorcycle, or do you want to share one?” Rowan wonders as she’s looking over the jet ski rental board with pricing and time options.

“Mmm.”

The young guy manning the rental kiosk overhears her. He gives me a once-over and flashes a smile. “You definitely want your own. You look like a girl who likes speed and being in control.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Gross. What a lame line. I was contemplating getting my own, but now I want to share one with Rowan. Besides, I like the idea of holding onto her, and of shriveling this bold bro’s ego by making him watch me hold her.

---