For Another Day (One Strike Away Book 2) Page 16

  "This is criminal," he said, his eyes troubled.

  "I'm fine," she assured him, pushing back the wet, dark hair that covered his forehead.

  "Thank you for coming to my rescue. My own personal cavalry."

  "You would have been fine without me."

  Pressing Rowan close, Nick whispered, "Fine, maybe. But I needed you, and you were there."

  ROWAN COULDN'T SEE the clock—didn't feel like rolling over to check. Wrapped in Nick's arms, knowing two juicy burgers from room service were on the way, she wished time would stop. Right here. Freeze this moment. Not forever. Just long enough. Whatever enough meant.

  "Nick?"

  "Hmm?"

  He sounded relaxed. Content. Rowan didn't want to ruin Nick's mellow mood by dredging up an uncomfortable subject.

  "I can hear the wheels turning," Nick lightly tapped her temple. "Spill the beans, gorgeous."

  "What Leo said about your mother?"

  Rowan felt him tense.

  "Lies."

  "Yes. I agree." Rowan hurried on. "But there must be people in town who remember her. Who knew her. We could find them. Ask—"

  "I appreciate the thought, Rowan. But I don't need anybody to tell me about Annie Sanders. Kind. Funny. Strong. To the bone beautiful."

  "At fifteen, she may have been careless with her heart. With who she trusted. But she learned from her mistakes. She grew up fast. And she was the best mother. The best woman." Nick's chest rose, his breathing ragged with emotion. "The best. Period."

  Nodding, Rowan kissed Nick's shoulder. He was right.

  What if Nick found a dozen people who remembered Annie Sanders? Would their opinions—good, bad, or indifferent—change his memories? Or his opinion of the woman who raised him? Of course not.

  Through the circumstances beyond the scope of Rowan's imagination, Annie raised her boy alone. Like his mother, her boy became a kind, funny, strong adult.

  Beautiful to the bone.

  "Now." Nick ran a finger across Rowan's lower lip. She felt a familiar stir in her blood. "Time to tell me who hit you."

  "For the love of…" Rowan rolled her eyes. "You're like a dog with a bone."

  "You took care of my bone," Nick chuckled at his own joke. But his eyes didn't lose their razor-sharp glint. "Black and blue aren't your colors, Rowan."

  Just a few words—spoken with quiet conviction—and Rowan's heart melted. If he asked, she would hand the organ to him on a platter. Always and forever. But Nick hadn't asked for her heart. Perhaps he never would.

  When would Nick leave? Tomorrow? The next day? Rowan had a day or two—at the most. She would deal with the pain when she had to. Right now, she had another problem.

  How to keep Nick from turning her brother into a pile of broken bones.

  "He was drunk. And before you blow your top, I know alcohol is no excuse. He hit me. I crushed his balls with my knee." Crushed was a good word, Rowan decided. Hopefully violent enough to take the edge off Nick's blood lust. "When I left, he was still on the floor. Crying and whimpering."

  "Your brother needs a reminder that a man never hits a woman."

  "How did you know—" Angry that she would fall for such an old trick, Rowan flopped onto her back, the mattress bouncing with the weight of her frustration. "Smartass."

  "I suspected from the start." Nick leaned over her. Anger lingered in his eyes, but mostly, Rowan felt his concern. "Men—with a few exceptions—are bigger and stronger. You can take care of yourself. I get that. But if Geoff decides to retaliate, he could hurt you."

  Frowning, Nick's gaze moved to the darkening bruise. "Seriously hurt you."

  "For the sake of argument, what good will beating him up do?"

  "He'll know his actions have consequences."

  "You give Geoff, what? A fat lip? A black eye?"

  "Sounds like a good place to start."

  "And when you aren't here?" Keeping her expression neutral, Rowan's heart raced. "After you leave town, who's going to remind him then? Theoretically, won't he be angrier than before? What's to stop him from taking that anger out on me?"

  "Maybe I should just kill him."

  "I know you're joking, but look close." Rowan, her face an inch from Nick's. "Not funny."

  With a sigh, Nick rested his forehead against hers. "Poor taste. But the facts haven't changed, Rowan."

  "You're right. Fact one. You won't be here to fix things every time my life goes a little sideways. Fact two. Even if you were, I wouldn't run to you with every problem. Like my blond hair or my blue eyes. The need I have to take care of myself is a part of me. That won't change. Ever."

  "I don't want you to change, Rowan." Nick kissed her. "I hope you feel the same about me."

  "Asking you not to beat up Geoff isn't the same as asking you to change."

  "I hate when I can't think of an argument," Nick said, his voice gruff.

  "Because you know I'm right."

  A sharp rap sounded on the door.

  "Saved by a burger." Nick rolled out of bed. Pulling on a pair of sweats, he opened his wallet. "Here's the best I can do. I won't seek your brother out. However, if I see him. Say, walking down the street. I will give him a piece of my mind."

  "Only a small piece," Rowan called after Nick. "You can't afford to lose very much."

  "Funny woman."

  Grinning, Rowan snuggled under the covers. Waiting, she played back their conversation, her smile slowly fading.

  Nick had addressed her worries concerning Geoff. And acknowledged her need to take care of herself. What he hadn't mentioned—whether by design or not—was the fact that soon, he would leave Jasper—and Rowan.

  The reason was obvious. Rowan hated the idea of him going. Nick? The thought didn't bother him.

  Nick liked her. Enjoyed her company—and her body. But from day one, he made himself and his plans crystal clear. Nothing had changed.

  When they said goodbye, it would be forever.

  "I'm starving. How about you?"

  Nick set the tray in the middle of the bed. Shucking his sweats, he climbed under the sheets, giving Rowan a long, lingering kiss.

  "A cheeseburger and a beautiful woman. Who could ask for anything more?"

  "Swap out the woman for a sexy man, and I'm right there with you."

  What choice did she have? Rowan would be happy with tonight. A hot meal. A glass of wine. And whatever else Nick had to give.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ● ≈ ● ≈ ●

  "JUST LIKE THAT? Wham bam, thanks for helping me clear up my murky past, ma'am. And then? Nick rides off into the horizon? What is he, a baseball player, or the Lone Ranger?"

  "Nice reference." Rowan added a foil-wrapped loaf of garlic bread to the basket.

  "I do my best." Angie handed Rowan several takeout containers with her restaurant's logo on the side. "I can't believe you're preparing a going-away meal. Inside, you're dying. But God forbid Nick Sanders goes hungry between Jasper and the airport. You need to find a way to keep him around, not fix him a glad to see you go care package."

  "I could cry."

  Angie nodded. "A few tears are always a good way to go."

  "Or beg."

  "Not your style," Angie said with a dismissive wave.

  Rowan's lips curved, though smiling was the last thing she felt like doing.

  "I know. After a few weeks, I'll drop him a text. Surprise. You're going to be a daddy."

  "Any chance a baby could be possible?"

  "For the love of Pete, Angie! Of course not."

  "Just a thought."

  Rowan tossed a handful of napkins in the basket before shutting it tight.

  Nick was leaving in less than an hour. Rather than watch him pack, Rowan enlisted Angie to help her take her mind off the awful truth. Time to say goodbye.

  She couldn't complain. Well, she could. But Rowan knew she had no right. Nick had stayed an extra two days. Forty-e
ight hours she hadn't thought she would have.

  Most of the time, they spent sequestered in her house. Laughing. Eating. Sitting in front of the fire—after burning Leo's file. Rowan drew the line at Nick tossing in the tennis clothes.

  The smell of burned rubber would have polluted the house for days.

  In the end, Nick was content to settle for tossing everything in the trash.

  As for Rowan's bed, she didn't know how he managed, but a new mattress and box spring arrived within hours of them walking through the front door. She didn't care what happened to the old one as long as it—and the lingering smell of musk—were far, far away.

  "Nice of him to wait until the last second to announce his departure." Angie huffed. "Probably didn't want a scene."

  Rowan didn't answer. She was glad Nick waited. If she'd known the exact day and time, a heavy shadow would have fallen over their last night. Instead, she enjoyed their last time together.

  Intensely sweet. Nick gave her pleasure over and over again, the sun peeking through the bedroom window as he held her while she dozed.

  Rowan's phone buzzed. Reluctantly, she let the incoming text pull her back to the present.

  "I have to go. Nick has checked out of his hotel. He should be at my place in a few minutes." Rowan gave Angie a quick hug. "Thank you. For the food. For… everything."

  "Say the word, and we'll spend the night binging on rom-coms, emptying a bottle of wine or two, and not talking about Nick Sanders."

  "I'll let you know."

  Nick waited for her, closing the door to his SUV as her truck came to a stop. Was his usual smile a bit subdued as the gravity of the moment finally hit him? Or was Rowan seeing something that wasn't there? She wanted him to feel regret, so she looked for some sign—any hint—to prove he might miss her. Just a little.

  "All packed?" Rowan asked, her tone cheery

  Inwardly, Rowan cringed, chiding herself. Dial back the fake happy. Nick wasn't expecting a joke a minute. Taking the basket, she handed it to him.

  "What's this?"

  "A few goodies courtesy of Angie. I know you can't take them on the plane, but if you get hungry on the way, you won't have to stop at a restaurant with iffy cuisine."

  "Thank you." Nick opened the passenger door, stowing the basket. "And thank Angie."

  "Want to come in for a few minutes? Or do you have to get going?"

  Nick took her hand, walking with her to the front door. Once inside, he took her in his arms. Don't, she thought. Whatever you do, don't cry. But the tears were close, lurking behind her eyes.

  Why couldn’t he be a little less sweet? If he called her a name. Or drove off with a careless wave. Anything to make saying goodbye easier.

  But no. Not Nick. He had to hold her in his strong, warm arms, reminding her one more time what she was about to lose.

  "I wish I could stay a little longer." Nick cupped the back of her neck, looking into her eyes. "Thanksgiving with the team is a tradition. Anybody who lives in Seattle. We make a point of getting together every year."

  "That's nice. Where do you meet?"

  "One house or the other. Depends. I don't know who's up this time."

  "And Christmas? Any fixed plans?"

  "Really? Small talk?" Nick paced away. When he spun around, Rowan saw what she'd been hoping for. Raw emotion. "All we can do is talk about my plans for the holidays?"

  "We've talked about everything else."

  "Not everything."

  Rowan didn't pretend to misunderstand.

  "What's the point? You have to leave. And I have to stay."

  Nick took a step closer. "Yes, I have to leave. I signed a contract with the Cyclones. For the next six years, they agreed to pay me a very nice salary—with some very nice performance-related bonus money. In return, I agreed to put on the uniform and do my ever-loving best to help the team win."

  "I know."

  Rowan knew Nick had to be heading somewhere. She clutched her hands behind her back and waited.

  "I'm stuck. No, I'm not stuck. I could quit. Or demand a trade. But I don't want to. I like Seattle. I love my team. We're good, Rowan. And we should be for a long time. I'd be a fool to walk away."

  "I wouldn't ask."

  "And I can't ask you to leave your life here in Jasper. Your family is more than a little suspect."

  "I wish I could argue," Rowan said.

  "Your friends, on the other hand, are top notch. And your business is here. You've made nothing into something pretty damn great."

  "Which brings us back to—"

  Nick stopped her, placing his finger to her lips.

  "I don't want to say goodbye."

  Rowan swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek, to stop the tears from flowing.

  "Long distance relationships don't work."

  "Who says?"

  Nick's unexpected question threw her. Needing to think, Rowan headed toward the kitchen.

  "Well?" Nick followed on her heels. "What law says two people have to be in the same city—or state—to have a relationship?"

  "I'm sure I could find a boatload of statistics." For something to do, Rowan set about preparing a cup of tea she had no desire to drink. "Plus, you're a professional athlete."

  "Hardly news."

  "Temptation. A different woman in every port."

  "I think you have me confused with a sailor," Nick smiled. "Can we sit down? Following you around is making me dizzy."

  Rowan abandoned the unwanted tea for a seat on the sofa. She had a point, and Nick would listen.

  "We met just over a week ago. Yes, we have a strong connection. But will we feel the same when you're three thousand miles away?"

  "Rowan—"

  "You're a physical man, Nick. You like sex." Rowan didn't like where her thoughts had taken her. But she refused to put her head in the sand. "Temptation is everywhere. Especially for a man like you. You could be strong. And start to resent me because you made a commitment. Or, you'll cheat. And resent me because you feel guilty."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

  Rowan braced herself against the hurt she saw in Nick's dark eyes, certain he would thank her—in the not-too-distant future.

  "Maybe I'll be tempted. Obviously, my theory works both ways."

  "Bull. Shit." Nick glared. Hurt mingled with anger. "You know you wouldn't cheat. But you really believe I would?"

  "I believe you are used to a certain lifestyle. If we tried a long-distance relationship, you would feel obligated to change." Flailing, Rowan grasped at the word. "Remember? We said we didn't want to change each other."

  "You think I'm a man-whore."

  "I think you're wonderful. Exactly as you are."

  Nick opened and closed his mouth, for once, at a loss for words. Throwing his hands in the air, he surged to his feet.

  "I should go."

  "Now?"

  "Why stay? We're running in circles."

  Speaking of running. Rowan could either hustle her butt after Nick or stand in her living room, her mouth hanging open as he drove away.

  "Damn it." Rowan grabbed Nick's arm before he could leave the house. "At least say a proper goodbye."

  Taking her face in his hands, Nick kissed Rowan. A bone-melting, knee-collapsing, ruin her for any other man kiss.

  "I'm not saying goodbye," he told Rowan, making certain she was steady on her feet before letting go. "We aren't over. If you need time. Fine. I can wait. A month?"

  "I…"

  "Six? Will six months work for you? Or a year?" Nick frowned. "Personally, I think a year is a stretch."

  "Nick—"

  "I will call. And Skype. And text. If you like, I'll even write by snail mail. As long as you promise not to send the letter back unopened."

  The fact that Nick could joke about something that a few short days ago was no laughing matter, amazed Rowan. And made her admire him even more.

 
"I—"

  "Don't answer. We have time." Nick opened the door. "I'm leaving Jasper, Rowan. But I'm not leaving you."

  ROWAN SPENT THE rest of the day in an odd haze. Part sad. Part confused. And part—the best part—hopeful.

  As she puttered around the house doing the usual chores that had to be done no matter her state of mind, she cranked up her tunes to work by playlist. Two hours later, the downstairs sparkled from floor to ceiling—windows included.

  And, she received a text from Nick.

  Meatball sub is my new favorite thing. I'm sure I never mentioned my love for root beer. How did you know? Great minds, Rowan. Great minds.

  Rowan clutched her phone to her chest, trying her best not to get carried away. One text didn't a lasting relationship make.

  The doorbell saved Rowan from butchering any more famous phrases—or trying to remember who said the original.

  Plato? Socrates? Maybe Aristotle. She always mixed them up.

  "Mom!"

  Grasping the doorknob, Rowan couldn't keep the lack of enthusiasm from her voice. She'd known her mother would show up eventually. But she'd hoped for a longer reprieve.

  "Hello, Rowan." Smartly dressed—as always—Tess Cartwright fussed at the collar of her long, gray cashmere coat. "May I come in?"

  "Of course."

  Her mother looked as if she were headed to afternoon tea with the Queen of England. Rowan, in jeans, an old flannel shirt, and bare feet, wouldn't be allowed to clean Buckingham Palace's floors.

  The thought made Rowan smile as she hung Tess's coat in the closet.

  "I'm glad to see you're in a good mood. Word is your friend left town today."

  "Word is correct. Would you like something to drink before we get down to business?"

  Sitting, Tess smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her pleated skirt.

  "Water. Flat, no ice. And in a glass. I can't abide drinking from a plastic bottle."

  Rowan was used to how her mother made every request sound as though she was speaking to the hired help. After all these years, she barely noticed.

  "Your house looks nice."

  "We both know why you're here, Mom." Sitting, Rowan crossed her legs.

  "You can save your breath. I am not going to apologize to Geoff. He's lucky I talked Nick down. I only kicked his balls. Nick would have ripped them off."