Page 44 of Waiting For A Girl Like You
“They were once my family when I was a young fool.” Vivian's spine snapped straight. “Back when I was so in love, I couldn’t see Charlie for what he really was.”
He shouldn’t say it. He should keep his damn mouth shut because his aunt had suffered enough, but he wasn’t about to sit here and listen to a bullshit comparison. “Annabeth isn’t Charlie. Hell, she’s not even a Fairweather.”
“It doesn’t matter that she’s not a Fairweather by blood. That girl is one of them.”
“And what if she is?” He leaned forward to drive his next words home. “Fairweather or not, she’s mine.”
Vivian’s mouth slammed shut, her nostrils flaring.
“Yeah, you heard me. This is the end of the line for me. I want nothing else in life but her,” he continued. “I love Annabeth. I’ve loved her for years. Years, Aunt Viv. I’ve bided my time until I couldn’t wait anymore.”
“You do realize you’ll likely never leave Haven House?”
He was so damn tired of hearing this argument. “So what if I live and die in the same spot? If I’m with her, it doesn’t matter.”
Vivian relaxed, settling back into the kitchen chair. “My, oh my. You sound just like your father.”
He loved his father, but they were nothing alike. Phillip McIntyre was a serious man who had dedicated his entire life to running McIntyre Industries until his health no longer permitted it. Rowan would never call his father uptight, but yeah, that was as close of a description as possible and the exact opposite of himself.
No, he was more like his mother. Margie McIntyre was a free spirit who could hold her own with Bianca. His mom always wanted everything to be fun and beautiful for their family, even coaxing her husband to engage in a few of her more eccentric ideas.
“I don’t know how I could possibly sound like my dad.”
“When Phillip brought Margie home, our parents hated her and thought she was just a passing phase,” Vivian explained. “Then, whenhe said he wanted to marry her, I honestly thought The McIntyre might disown him.”
Well aware that the man he shared a name with had been an evil son of a bitch, Rowan wasn’t surprised. His grandfather was always tough on everyone, but none more so than his own son.
“And your dad told him to fuck right the hell off.” Vivian chuckled at the memory. “Phillip was prepared to leave it all behind for your mom, and he gave this big speech in front of the whole family. It was probably the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”
Rowan tried to picture his father as romantic but couldn’t. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“I know Margie draws everyone to her, but have you ever stopped and noticed your father whenever they’re together? How he watches her?”
“Uh, no?”
“You should.” Vivian rose to take her coffee mug to the sink. “He’s so in awe of her and the love she stirs in him. McIntyre men aren’t known to show their emotions very much. Take your brother, for example. I don’t know that Killian will ever settle down.”
Killian would never marry. That was a given. A house with a white picket fence and two and a half kids would never be in the cards for him. There was absolutely nothing wrong with that, either. His brother enjoyed life and was happy having a constant parade of women rotating in and out of his bed.
“I once thought the same of you,” Vivian said, returning to her seat. “But here you are. Battling armies of psychotics and serial killers, all in the name of love.”
He rubbed a hand down his face. “How much did Killian tell you?”
“Enough.”
“And how much did you tell my parents?”
“Not a damn bit of it,” she replied. “I might not be a Fairweather anymore, but I remember the rules. McIntyres live by the same ones. The less everyone knows, the better.”
Rowan hesitated to tell her what he’d heard during the phone call, but ended up blurting it out anyway. “Toby talked about Charlie this morning. He talked about how Charlie was screaming when he died and what he said.”
Vivian stilled. Whatever bravado she’d clung to deflated in a breath. “Tell me.”
He shouldn’t. It was wrong on so many levels, but he wanted her to understand how fucked up this all was.
“Toby said Charlie was screaming for people to help him. CeCe. Ben.” Rowan met his aunt’s steely gaze. “You.”
Her bottom lip trembled. She turned away, staring through the kitchen window. “Charlie deserved so much, but not that. Never that.” She wiped a wayward tear, and a small sob slipped past her lips. “God dammit. That man can still make me cry.”
