Rowe by Jessica Gadziala

CHAPTER NINE

Billie

It’s not like I got the boxes and thought ‘Oh, what a lovely sentiment!’ I wasn’t a complete idiot.

But I also understood that sometimes people couldn’t see how creepy they were being, thanks to either immaturity or inexperience in social situations.

It also wasn’t the first time someone sent me naked drawings of myself. That was often the byproduct of being as free with your body as I was in a society that sexualized the female body even when she wasn’t using it sexually. Like the weirdos who think a baby nursing is obscene when tits literally only exist to feed the young.

The letters, well, okay. I did understand why everyone got up in arms about them. They weren’t exactly love notes. Or, if they were, they came from someone who didn’t fully grasp the concept of consent. But I could also see that it was probably just meant to be, I don’t know, flattering.

Nothing in it was outright, unmistakably violent.

There weren’t even, in my opinion, any direct threats.

It was kind of like that sick shit my mom liked to read. Sick thoughts can come even from healthy minds. It was just an outlet.

If the sender actually meant me any harm, why wouldn’t they have tried the door handle, let themself in, and taken advantage of me before I was any wiser about their existence?

“I’ve never seen you with a gun when I’ve seen you lately,” I said, uncomfortable with the silence in the room. It was making my heartbeat skitter around and my stomach twist, even with the rhodonite stone to help calm me down.

“Well, when you’ve come to me at the clubhouse, the guns have been in the nightstand. When I go out, they’re usually in ankle holsters since the brace is bulky enough and I can’t carry it openly on a belt holster.”

Right.

Because they were illegal guns.

“You have two guns on you right now?”

“Yes. Did you really knock someone’s teeth out?”

“My mom was exaggerating. It was one tooth,” I said, sharing a smile with Rowe. “I don’t think passivity is always the answer. I just don’t instantly believe that violence is either.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” Rowe said, shrugging. “But you’ve been around these people even longer than I have. You’ve got to know by now that none of these men or women take violence lightly.”

“None of them?” I asked, brow arching. “Have you met Pagan and Niro and Dezi?”

“Okay, well, those three are the exceptions, not the rule.”

I had to admit, that was fair. Whenever they could avoid violence, they did. Likely because their profession came with built-in violence, so they tried to avoid any extra if it was possible.

“Well, since we’re stuck together, help yourself to the TV,” I said, waving at it. “I’ve got some orders to work on,” I added, making my way toward the kitchen, silently praying he would take the hint and leave me alone.

I should have known better.

“Orders?”

“Yes. I have an online shop,” I said, keeping my back to him, trying to form an invisible wall.

But Rowe wasn’t the sort to back away from a wall. He decided to burst right through the damn thing, actually following me into the kitchen as I gathered supplies out of my storage cabinet.

“What do you sell?”

“Salves and creams and candles. Among other things.”

“Is that new?”

“Relatively, yes.”

“Do you need to do it? Are your dozen other jobs not cutting it?”

“They are.”

“But?” he prompted, refusing to take my very short answers as a sign that I didn’t want to talk.

I didn’t understand him.

All the times in the past when I’d tried to engage him, tried to start or hold a conversation with him, he rarely had more than one word answers for me. Now all of a sudden when I didn’t want to talk, he was going to put the effort in?

“But I like having diversity. And I am trying to save up to buy some land like Malc has.”

“That’s your dream, huh?”

“One of them,” I agreed.

“And the others?”

Damn him.

It was like he knew that if he got me talking about something that I was passionate about, that it would be hard for me to keep the wall up between us.

Why he was doing it was beyond me.

But I was stuck with him now. It wasn’t like I could just rush out the door with some make believe errand or job I had to do. I didn’t want to be a complete bitch and then have to live with that bad energy stinking up my apartment until someone else came to take over for Rowe.

I could answer him without letting myself feel connected to him. At least, in theory, I could. We would just have to see about practice.

“I would like to have my own learning center where I could teach all my different classes or workshops. And maybe hire someone else to help as well,” I told him. “I like helping people and being around like-minded people. But having all the businesses being disconnected can be hard to manage all at once. Trying to keep a schedule is a little more difficult than I like.”

“That’s a good plan for the future. Anything else?”

“I want to be a mother,” I told him. It was no secret that I’d always wanted that. I had the most incredible relationship with my own mother. I wanted that with a child. Hell, I wanted a dozen of those sticky, loud, genuine creatures around me at all times. “I’ve always wanted that. I love kids. I actually considered being a midwife before I decided that would take up all my time, and not allow me to do all the other jobs I get so much out of.”

“Just kids? You didn’t mention a husband.”

“Well, the husband part is lovely but not necessary,” I said, shrugging.

“You’re serious?” he asked, brows drawing together.

“Yes. I mean would I adore finding my twin flame and building a life with them? Of course. But I don’t think that everything else I desire—even children—should be put on hold or never happen if that person doesn’t come into my life. Or doesn’t want me. I should still be allowed to be a mom. Be it biological or adopted. Or both. I would really like both.”

“You’re going to find someone, Billie,” he said, and his tone was strangely thick, like he had a lot of conviction about it.

“Maybe. We will see. But I will be okay either way.”

“No, babe, you will. No one who has ever met you doesn’t like you.”

Except him, of course.

“Who has ended all your previous relationships?” he asked, wanting to make a point.

“I did,” I admitted.

“Exactly. They would have stayed with you if given the chance.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. It’s impossible to know. All I do know was that none of those relationships were right.”

“How do you know if it’s right then?”

“I don’t know exactly firsthand. My mom and aunts describe it as something that doesn’t feel like a choice.”

“Doesn’t feel like a choice?”

“Yeah, like… have you ever been in relationships or are you like all my manwhore cousins? Not that I am knocking whores both metaphorical or literal, mind you.”

“I’ve been in relationships. Not many and not in a long time. But I have been.”

“Well you know how, at some point after all the sex hormones have calmed down after the first few weeks or months, you have those ‘should I stay or go’ thoughts? Like you are acutely aware of the fact that there is a choice involved in you staying in that relationship.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, they claim there doesn’t feel like there is one. There is, of course, it would be toxic to say just because you love someone that you have to stay and put up with their shit. But I think what they mean more is… there would be no getting over it. They could leave, but the love they have for their person would never go away. It would constantly be on their mind and in their heart. I’ve never had that with a previous partner.”

Hell, after the first few days following a breakup, I barely ever thought about them again.

The only person who had stuck with me was, well, Rowe. And I was sure that was mostly because he’d rejected me like he’d done, had shaken my confidence and made me second-guess myself. No one else had managed that before. So, of course, it stuck with me.

“What about you?” I asked, busying myself with combining ingredients into a bowl. “Do you want the traditional happy-ever-after?”

“I do. And I want the wife.”

“What if the right one doesn’t come along?” I asked, looking up and catching his gaze staring down at me. Caught, he looked away.

“I am choosing to remain optimistic.”

“How many kids?” I asked, somehow picturing a whole slew of boys who looked just like him. Future womankind would be very, very lucky.

“I don’t have a number. More than one, though. I’d have liked siblings growing up. It was lonely.”

“If I didn’t have all my cousins who were as close as siblings, I would have probably been lonely too.”

“So, what are you making here?” Rowe asked, gesturing toward my table.

“A love spell,” I told him, watching the look of horror cross his face. “Oh, my God. Your face,” I said, a laugh bubbling up and bursting out. “It’s going to be bath bombs,” I told him. “With soft, feminine, floral scents and a rose quartz. For self-love,” I explained. “I don’t do spells. I know a lot of Wiccans, but I prefer to just let the Universe do its thing. Can you hand me the bag of rose quartz crystals from my mail table?” I asked.

And once that was done, I had him fetch the coconut oil, the essential oils, the Epsom salt, the baking soda, and the citric acid.

It wasn’t until he was done with all of the fetching that he got suspicious. “Are you trying to make me move around more?” he asked, giving me small eyes.

“It worked, didn’t it?” I asked, shooting him a smirk. “I think we sometimes get hung up in the consistency of our aches and pains and act in anticipation of it rather than react to it when it comes. I mean, I’m not talking about chronic pain. But after a new injury kind of thing. We get used to the limited number of things we could do at the beginning and don’t try to keep testing the limits to see if they’ve moved.”

“I am going to therapy,” he insisted. “Like you demanded.”

“I know. And that’s good. But back injuries are better if you keep as active as possible. Now if you had sat on your ass and watched TV like I’d suggested first, you could have avoided all the activity,” I added, frustrated with myself for not being able to stay cold and distant with him, despite my better angels reminding me how important it was.

Especially if I wanted to avoid having a conversation about what had happen at the tantric sex class.

And I definitely wanted to avoid that.

I mean, what could I say?

Sorry but despite your absolutely devastating rejection of me, and the months and months of insecurity and intrusive thoughts that followed, I still can’t seem to make myself stop thinking about you and wanting you and, apparently, having contactless orgasms with you?

Ugh.

No.

“You should rest for a little while now,” I suggested, waving back toward the couch. “Once I get these made, I will figure out a plan for dinner.”

Either his back was starting to give him an issue, or he picked up on the slight desperation in my voice, because he took himself over to the living room and sat down, leaving me to get lost in my task for a while.

It wasn’t until I had the bombs sitting on a tray to finish drying completely that I realized Rowe was so quiet because he’d manage to nod off, even with that bulky, uncomfortable-looking brace on.

I kicked out of my shoes, walking barefoot across the room to grab one of the blankets off the back of the couch, spreading it carefully up over his legs, stomach, and chest.

It wasn’t until I was about to drop the blanket over his shoulders that I realized his eyes had opened, and he was watching me with a warm, sleepy gaze.

“You looked cold,” I explained, feeling a not unfamiliar tightening sensation across my chest at the softness in those dark eyes.

His hand moved, slipped out from under the blanket, reached for my wrist, his thumb tracing over the pulse point on the underside.

His mouth opened like he was about to say something.

But that was exactly when there was a clatter outside the door.

Rowe’s words—along with my father’s—must have had more impact than I’d realized. Because I didn’t even think about it. I plunged my hand under the blanket and up Rowe’s jeans to grab the small gun out of its holster before Rowe could even sit up.

By the time the door pushed open, I had the gun raised and Rowe had reached for his other one.

“Jesus, what the fuck, Billie?” Vi asked, coming to a startled stop. “Where did all the love and light and ‘guns are evil’ shit go?” she asked, reaching out into the hall to grab the duffle bag she must have dropped while looking for her key. “Oh, Rowe too. Did I miss a call from the parentals? What is going on with the club now?” she asked, kicking the door closed with one of her combat boots, then taking a second to lock it.

“The club? Nothing,” Rowe explained, tucking his gun away, then reaching for the one I was holding in a shaking hand at my side, not liking how frightened I’d been… or how easily I could have shot Violet. “Billie has a stalker,” he explained, giving my wrist a reassuring squeeze before I stepped away, crossing my arms to hide the tremble.

“Another one?” Vi asked, sighing. “Have you been wearing that damn pheromone perfume again or something?” she continued, shaking her head.

“This one has been dropping off boxes full of x-rated ‘artwork’ of Billie as well as rambling stories about the less than consensual shit he wants to do to her.”

“Did you say dropping off?” Violet asked, tensing.

“I did.”

“You have no idea who it is?” Vi asked, looking at me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. And I’d racked my brain while waiting for my dad to show up, and then process all the stuff in the boxes. “I cross paths with so many people every single day, though.”

“That’s true,” Vi agreed. “This is where being an anti-social bitch like me comes in handy. Not many people want to stalk someone who looks like they’d enjoy stabbing you in the eye with a teaspoon. So, you have a guard now?” Violet asked, looking at Rowe.

“So it seems. My dad is at the club with everyone trying to work out some sort of babysitting schedule. And then they are setting up a security camera here. Like I want my parents and uncles to know all my personal business.”

“I mean, the way I hear it, you’re getting worse than Hope with the lack of, ah, male visitors around here. So it should be fine.”

Ugh.

I didn’t exactly want everyone—and by ‘everyone’ I meant Rowe—to know about my dry spell. Especially because I’d traced said dry spell back to him. Not that he would know that, of course. But still. Just in case.

“It’s just the point,” I insisted. “What if I was having a party and they got all upset that they weren’t invited?”

“Honey,” Vi said, smirking, “none of these adults want to come to one of your parties. I mean last time, Antonio whipped out his dick to show everyone his brand new double Prince Albert piercing. They are all in their at-home-critiquing-HGTV phase of life. Not their seeing-random-stranger’s-cock-piercing stage. She has interesting friends,” Violet added, looking at Rowe.

“Naked potlucks,” Rowe agreed, nodding.

“You know, if you can get over all the dangling bits, the food is always fucking stellar,” Vi told him.

Violet and Hope were similar in a lot of ways. They were both badasses working in male-dominated fields. They were a little cooler and more detached. They definitely never needed a man a day in their lives. But where Hope had a strong, visceral dislike of random and unexpected nudity, Vi approached it all with a sort of resigned bemusement. I always got the ‘old soul’ vibe from Violet. She sort of had this ‘seen it all’ attitude toward all aspects of life. And maybe since she worked chasing skips all over the country, she had seen just about everything there was to see and long-since developed a sense of humor about it.

“Speaking of food…” Violet said, smiling because when it came to Vi, she was always thinking about food. I was pretty sure it came from working long hours where she was often on stakeouts and only had snacks to eat. When she was off work, she had this ravenous appetite all the time.

“We hadn’t discussed that yet,” I admitted. “I just got finished with an order,” I added.

“More melting come cock candles?” Violet asked, making me look over at Rowe to find his brows raised.

“Do I want to know?” he asked.

“Well, I got an order for—“

“No, you don’t,” Vi interrupted me. “Well, I am feeling pizza. What about you, Rowe? This one will order some monstrosity made of dough, olive oil, pasta sauce, mushrooms, peppers, onions, and fucking broccoli. So you and I have to come to an agreement on something else.”

So we ate.

And Violet mostly dominated the conversation with the story of her latest skip.

Before long, some of the guys had shown up to install my brand-spanking-new security system. And then everyone decided that Violet staying with me was good enough from a security standpoint since the woman slept with knives on her body and a gun under her pillow.

“Hey,” Vi called much later that night as I made my way out of the bathroom after a cool shower. “Did I interrupt something earlier?” she asked, watching me with keen eyes.

“What? Like my work?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“No, not like work,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It looked like I walked in after you tucked Rowe in on the couch.”

“You did,” I confirmed. “I tuck everyone in.”

“You tuck me in like five times a night.”

“Because you flail around in your sleep like you’re fighting demons,” I shot back.

“Come on, Bills. You can talk to me. You know it’s always in the vault.”

That was definitely true with Vi. It was partly because she was just trustworthy, and partly because she was rarely around anyone else for long enough to get to the gossiping stage.

“Nothing has happened with Rowe. Well, not really.”

“Yeah, that’s the part I don’t get,” Violet admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been mooning over that man since the first second you laid eyes on him. Literally the first second. If I believed in cheesy bullshit like it, I would say I swear it was love at first sight. But I don’t, so I won’t. But you have been into him for years. And that man looks at you like you’re a goddess or something. So why hasn’t anything happened? We will circle back to that ‘not really’ once we cover the basics,” she added, brow raised.

Suddenly, Malc’s words from the woods came racing back to me.

Someone’s gotta have you, Billie. You can’t take on all their shit, and have no one to turn to yourself.

Maybe the reason I hadn’t been able to move on, to let it go, was because I’d hoarded it all. Because I’d been embarrassed. Because I’d been much more hurt than I should have been seeing as we hadn’t ever been an item.

Maybe sharing it with Violet would help me let it go finally.

It would be nice to start feeling good again, feel like myself again.

“He didn’t want me, Vi,” I said, hearing the rawness in my voice. Hell, I felt ripped open just saying it.

“What?” Vi asked, swinging her legs off the couch to face me fully.

“He didn’t,” I said, rapidly blinking away the tears I felt stinging my eyes.

“Oh, come on. When have you ever been insecure about all—“

“He told me he didn’t want me, Vi,” I told her.

“Maybe you misinterpreted him?” she suggested.

“His exact words were ‘I want to make something very clear. You and me, we are never going to be a thing. So you need to stop trying. It’s getting sad.’”

“That motherfucker,” she snapped, jaw getting tight. “Oh, he’s lucky he got his ass out of here before I heard that. I would have cracked another couple of his vertebrae.”

“He’s allowed to not like me.”

“The fuck he is,” Violet growled, so serious that I managed to feel a smile break through the sadness that had been building in me. “And even if he was allowed to not like—which he’s not because you’re fucking amazing—letting you down like that? That’s not cool. I can’t believe Malc hasn’t beaten his ass over… you didn’t tell Malc, did you?” she asked, reading it on my face.

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“Anyone?” she asked. “Not even your mom?”

“Not even. No one.”

“That’s just… that is really not like you,” she said, lips pursing a bit.

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I… I don’t know. It was embarrassing, I guess.”

“You? Embarrassed?”

“I know,” I said, sighing out my breath.

“Come. Sit,” she said, patting the seat beside her. “Now,” she continued when I joined her on the couch, “I think we can both agree that the feelings crap, that is your wheelhouse, not mine. But you need someone. I’m here. Brain dump on me. You’re, you know, mentally and emotionally… constipated,” she decided, getting a snort out of me.

“You’re not wrong,” I admitted, raking a hand through my wet hair. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I told her. And as soon as I started talking, I could feel the dam inside breaking. Everything was bursting out. “I was really… I don’t know… crushed by what he said.”

“He should have been the one crushed. Under a steel-toed boot. Preferably mine,” Vi grumbled. And I loved her borderline homicidal ass.

“It’s not like me to be so stuck on something like this. It’s not like it was the first time I’ve been rejected in my life. I’ve never cared before. I don’t understand why things were so different with him.”

“Maybe because you liked him more than the other people who have rejected you?” Vi suggested. “I mean, you never get hung up on someone. What did you grieve for like ten minutes after you broke up with your high school boyfriend? And he popped your cherry.”

“I hate that phrase. Virginity is a social construct.”

“Yeah yeah yeah hippie-sex-goddess-lecture later. Right now, we need to talk about this Rowe thing.”

“I don’t know, Vi. I was definitely always into him. And I think I was certain that it was only a matter of time before something happened with us. So, it was like having the rug pulled out from under me, I guess.”

“Maybe you loved him,” Vi suggested, shrugging. “And not in a ‘You love everyone because you think we’re all connected’ way. In a big way.”

“I couldn’t love him.”

“Why not? You can’t say you didn’t know him. You knew him for years. Feel free to tell me I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. Because I don’t. I probably know more about neuroscience than I do about being in love. But it just… it seems like the kind of shit we watch our cousins go through when they love someone, don’t you think?”

“Maybe. But…”

“What happened when you were forced to see him again?” Violet asked.

“It hurt,” I admitted.

“Suspicious, don’t you think? After not seeing him for so long.”

“Maybe.”

“And before we wrap this up and you hear my full opinions about it, let’s circle back. To nothing happened? But maybe did?”

“Well, ah, Dezi abandoned Rowe at my place to do something with the club, I had a class.”

“Oh, boy. Which class? Not the whole ‘let’s all look at our vaginas with mirrors then paint their likeness on canvas’ class, right?”

“I did that class one time!” I squeaked. “You guys will never let me live it down, will you?”

“Bills, you have a life-size replica of your vag in your living room. We expected nothing different from you. We rib you about it out of love.”

“Well, anyway, no. It was actually a couples tantric sex workshop.”

“Oh. Ohhh,” she said, pressing her lips together to prevent the smile from spreading.

“I have this one… difficult guy in class. And he had an issue with Rowe being there ‘watching’.”

“Rowe doesn’t strike me as a creep.”

“He’s not. And he wasn’t watching. But the student was just being a pain. He decided that I needed to instruct the exercises with Rowe.”

“Oh, boy. This is getting spicy,” she said, eyebrows wiggling.

“Vi, if you think this is spicy, you need to get laid,” I said, getting a laugh out of her.

“You’re not wrong. Anyway, you were breathing into your vagina with Rowe.”

“That sounds… awful,” I declared, laughing. Only Vi could make me laugh when I was discussing this whole Rowe situation. “But yeah. I had to straddle him,” I admitted, watching as Vi mimed fanning herself. “No contact,” I added, ignoring the Boo! from Vi. “Then we had to start doing this rocking thing. And he was allowed to play with my hair.”

“Oh, that is the best foreplay.”

“I know,” I agreed. “And, well, you know how tantric breathing can get really intense…”

“You didn’t. You did not have an orgasm with him during that class.”

“I did,” I admitted, squeezing my eyes shut.

“What did he say?”

“I, ah, I got right off of him and pretended to focus on the class. Then asked Malc to come pick him up. I ran off. And conned the girls into taking care of him for a few days.”

“And then he showed up today?” Vi guessed.

“It was supposed to just be Cary, but yeah. And then there was the box fiasco. And that’s it.”

“Then I interrupted what was likely going to be a confrontation about the whole situation.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So, you’re welcome. But also, I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head.

“It’s okay. I don’t think I was ready to have that conversation. Or will ever be ready to have that conversation.”

“See, that’s what I don’t like about the whole situation. You’re always the ‘You have to confront your feelings and talk it out even if it is uncomfortable’ person. Avoidance is my thing. It’s Hope’s thing. It isn’t your thing.”

“I know. I need to figure it out. I don’t like feeling as off as I have been since all this happened.”

“If anyone can work through their convoluted feelings, it’s you,” Vi said, tapping a hand on my knee. Which was about as touchy-feely as you could expect from her.

“Anyway, enough about me. How are your parents? How is your brother? Shouldn’t he be back in town soon if he is going to prospect?”

“He’s been pretty incommunicado since he took off. I know he texts Mom so she doesn’t worry. And he must have been in contact with Dad since he said he was heading back to prospect finally. But I don’t hear from him much. We both end up playing phone tag until one of us gives up.”

“He doesn’t say anything about what he’s been up to?”

“Other than all the continental states. I don’t know if he has read too much Kerouac or what. Or even how he is managing to fund the trip. My Mom says they’ve tried to send him money, but he won’t take it.”

“Maybe he inherited your Dad’s wanderlust gene,” I said, knowing my uncle Adler had been all over not only the country, but the world, before he decided to settle down and call Navesink Bank his home. “And, really, you kind of do too, if you think about it. You have no real home base. You’re always off on a job.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. It’s a good thing my Mom isn’t the helicopter sort. She wouldn’t be able to sleep at night, never knowing where the two of us were.”

“Well, she will know where Valen is soon enough.”

As it would turn out, much sooner than anticipated.

Only I wouldn’t be there to greet him.

What with the whole being kidnapped thing and all.