Page 38 of Fighting Spirit

“I don’t mind, Ruth. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty good at calamities. It’s kind of my thing.”

She just stares at me and it tells me everything I need to know. That she has noticed, that maybe she’s noticed far more than I’d realized, more than maybe I’d want her to.

“I don’t want that from you, Rowan.” Her voice is soft, her eyes filled with sincerity. “You don’t have to be that guy. That’s not why I like you.”

Oh.

Chapter Fifteen

RUTH

He looks at me like I’ve hit him. That stoic face twists in confusion, a deep groove forming between his eyes as he stares down at me. With anyone else, I’d probably start floundering, backtracking what I’d said until I’d twisted myself up in a knot so tight I’d barely be able to breathe. But there’s something calm about Rowan, something that makes me feel calm too.

I wasn’t lying, I do like him. Probably a lot more than I should, given our situation, but he’s fun to be around. He makes me feel relaxed in a way I don’t often feel. I get the sense that he’s used to being the guy people only call when they need something. My gut twists in shame as I remember the sound of his voice over the phone, running to my rescue like he knew that if he’d left me to my own devices, I’d have just fucked everything up ten times more.

The longer we stand in silence, the more I wonder if maybe I do want to flounder and backtrack? Maybe just a little?

“Rowan, I-”

“I’m gonna go wash the paste off my hands,” he announces, cutting me off as he heads toward the ensuite bathroom.

Oh god. I picture him going in, seeing the charts I’ve got tacked up, my medication on the edge of the sink, with the cap still off because I can never be bothered with the weird safety lid. I imagine his face, half pity, half wariness, as he finally realizes what a liability I am. Marshall’s words echo through my head, the ones he said when he saw my checklists.

Like kindergarten.

“No!” I snap. I shoot to my feet, almost head-butting Rowan’s chin. Glancing down, I can see that we’re almost toe-to-toe. He looks down at me, bewildered.

“Ruth, I need to-” He takes a step toward the door and I almost tackle him. I dart to the left, blocking his way as I grab both of his wrists in an effort to keep him in place. I’m sweating, my panic making me breathe hard.

“It’s kinda messy in there,” I blurt out. It isn’t technically a lie, but it’s not the whole truth.

“I’m not bothered by mess.”

“You can just use the kitchen sink. It’ll be easier.” I know I must sound crazy, but frankly, I’m too desperate to care.

“Easier how?”

“It’s really messy in there. I doubt your hands would even fit in the sink.” Frowning down at his very normal-sized hands, I wonder how long it’ll take him to decide that I’m a complete lunatic and never want to speak to me again.

He frowns down at me, eyes seeing more than I’d like. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to go in there. You can just tell me that.” He talks like he’s soothing a startled cat, like I’d scratch at his face and run away at the first wrong word.

I think I might be sick. My stomach churns at the gentle kindness in his words, but mostly at the way I hate that I need it.

“I don’t want you to go in there,” I whisper.

“Then I won’t.”

He takes a step back, and I almost don’t want to release my hold on his wrists.

As he walks back to my room after he’s finished, he pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame. God, why is it so hot when guys do that? I have to shake my thoughts away, even as I work hard not to notice the way that his biceps bulge under the long-sleeved navy shirt.

“All clean?”

He wiggles his fingers in response.

“I remembered I haven’t said thank you yet.”

He shrugs. “You don’t need to thank me.”

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