Page 44 of Beautiful Ruins
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. My fists clenched and unclenched. “You’re such an arsehole.” I wanted to throw more words at him like stones, but my voice caught in my throat.
He lifted a shoulder. “Never said I wasn’t.” He continued to stand there, and the distance between us stretched further.
It hurt like hell. Worse than I thought it would. Part of me wanted to close it, to give in to him, to feel his lips against mine again.
It was only a matter of time before I allowed myself to remember how in love I was with Rowan—still was. I’d just buried it so deep down, it was only now crawling its way up from the baggage I’d dumped on top of it.
The old lady pretence was supposed to protect me, but I knew better. Nothing about this place was safe, even with Rowan standing right by my side. Didn’t matter, though. I was still on my own with the mess Logan had made for me.
I paused at the front door, glancing towards Rowan. He was a stubborn figure in the dark. My pulsequickened. A thousand emotions clawed at me, suffocating me in the shadows and doubt.
Exhaling sharply, I slipped inside my house, and closed the door softly, leaning against it for a moment, breathing hard. The overhead light snapped on. My heart shot into my throat, and I stumbled back like someone had pulled a trigger in my head.
Dad sat in the living room, his face unreadable as shadows cut across his features.
“Jesus Christ, Dad,” I said, letting my hand fall to my side. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He was in the same spot he had parked himself in when I got in too late as a teenager, arms crossed and waiting for me to screw up. I never understood why he bothered, considering the only people I ever hung around were Logan and Jasmine.
What sort of shit did he think I’d find in a town like Barrenridge, with dead-end streets and crickets for company? What was he expecting now? An explanation? An apology for why I was coming in so late, hair whipped by the wind, lips still burning from Rowan’s ever-so-protective claim?
He’d need to hold his breath a little longer if he thought he was getting either of those things. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I didn’t owe him curfews, excuses, or apologies for a life he hadn’t been part of for years.
I could feel it brewing in him—the shift from disappointment to interrogation. I almost walked past, certain he’d keep up the silence he’d mastered years ago . . . but then his voice pierced the air.
“What was that all about?” His tone was as invasive as ever. He rested his beer bottle on the arm of the faded chair, like he had all the time in the world to interrogate me. “Why is Rowan bringing you home?”
I shook my head. His questions always made me feel like asuspect—a stranger. “Nothing,” I said, dismissing him as I hurried past.
No way in hell was I going to tell him anything, especially not about the kiss. The news would spread soon enough, and I was going to enjoy my freedom for a few more hours.
“Sadie! Get back here.” His voice chased me down, sharp enough to cut, just like it always did when he realised I’d stopped listening.
I stopped in the kitchen. The overhead light flickered, my shadow stretching across the linoleum. The fridge kicked on, its low buzz the only witness to what was coming. What I should have done was kept walking, but the pull of his voice and the frustration in it held me captive.
Same tactics, same silence, same bullshit. It took everything in me to turn around and face the wrath of my father. I tilted my head back and stared up at the ceiling, a sigh escaping before I backtracked into the living room. He needed to know one thing. That I couldn’t be controlled.
“What?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “He’s not good enough for you?”
Dad always had judged Rowan, even when we were kids. Always said there was something about him he didn’t like. But I knew that had more to do with Dad than it did Rowan.
Dad clenched his jaw so hard I thought he’d crack his teeth. “I don’t want you hanging around him. The Ridge Riders . . . they aren’t people you should be associating with.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes burning into me with that authority he thought had some control over me.
Dad wasn’t just talking about Rowan. The Riders had something on him, too.
I crossed my arms, but it wasn’t to shield myself. More to stop from driving my fist through a wall. “Why not?Jasmine works at the clubhouse. I was there with her. Rowan offered to give me a ride home.” The words flew out.
Not that he deserved an explanation. Still, some part of me—the stupid girl who used to wait for his approval—kept trying to explain, anyway. If I could get him off my back, I’d give him something to hold on to. A half-truth. It worked when I was fifteen. Maybe not so much now.
“Rowan . . .” Dad shook his head, frustration etched into every line of his face. “He’s not the boy you used to know. He’s changed. He walks in the same shadows his old man did. And you think he won’t drag you down with him?” He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s done things, Sadie. Bad things.”
It didn’t matter how pissed I was at him for what he’d done earlier, I knew Rowan was nothing like his father, and that spoke for something. Plus, I didn’t care what he’d done. Rowan’s sins weren’t for me to judge. Not when I had my own to carry. Not when I knew what it felt like to bleed for something you couldn’t explain.
My chest tightened. My hands itched to break something as all the anger from earlier rushed back in like it was on a mission to destroy me.
“Jesus Christ, Dad,” I said, throwing my arms up. “We’ve all done things. I stabbed someone, for Christ’s sake. And you? You think I don’t know you’re in bed with the Riders? I’m not an idiot. So, you, of all people, shouldn’t throw stones.”
His jaw ticked. “It’s not safe for you with him. Some of those men . . .” He blinked once. I didn’t.
