Off Chance (39 page)

I pray he has the answer because I’m all out of solutions.

“There’s one thing you were right about, Rowan.” His voice is so soft, I strain to hear it. “Once you take that step toward the intimacy we had... once that goes to shit... there is no going back. The friendship can’t survive that type of hurt.”

Oh, God, those words hurt. I don’t know if they are true or if Flynn is reacting in anger. He turns his back on me, walks down the hall, and I hear his bedroom door shut softly.

I stand there for a moment, drowning in sorrow. Capone comes up to me and nudges my hand. Absently rubbing his head, I try to think of a way I can salvage things. I can’t lose my friendship with Flynn. He’s too important. He’s absolutely essential. If we just slow down, take a step back… I can figure this out.

Needing to keep busy, I put our luggage in the kitchen and sort through the clothes. After I start a load, I open the refrigerator and ponder what to make for dinner. Maybe after we eat, we can talk some more. Surely, I can get Flynn to see that maybe we rushed into things. That maybe we need to focus on the friendship.

Even as I think those thoughts, I’m telling myself I’m being ludicrous. There’s no way Flynn is going back. I’m not even sure I can go back, but I’m terrified to move forward.

I hear Flynn’s door open and my heart starts racing. He walks into the kitchen and he has his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” I ask, fearful of what he’ll say.

“I’m going to go stay the night with Tim. I need some space.”

“But you go back to work tomorrow. I won’t see you for three days.” That seems like such a lame thing to say, because I’ve gone plenty of times without seeing Flynn for three days. Now, though... it seems like an eternity.

“Yeah... listen... I’m going to stay with Tim for a while. I just talked to him and he’s cool with me crashing there.”

Panic starts to seize me as I see Flynn fading before my eyes. “No,” I plead. “You don’t have to go. We can talk this through. You’ll see... we can make this work.”

“You mean we can just be friends and make it work, right?”

“Well, yes... if you just give it a chance, I’m sure we can pick back up.”

“Yeah... that’s not going to work for me, Rowan. I’m an all or nothing sort of guy. I can’t just fall in love and then fall back out. Your heart might be hard, but mine’s not.”

Oh shit that hurt, and the pain in his eyes is unbearable. The thought that I’m running him out of his home causes anguish to lance through me. “No, don’t go. I can go. This is your home.”

Flynn sighs. “It’s your home, too, Rowan. Besides... I’m all packed.”

I look at him, not knowing what to say. My friendship with Flynn is going up in flames and I’m powerless to stop it.

He turns away and walks to the front door. Capone stands there and he gives him a rub behind the ears.

“See you, buddy,” he says softly and then he’s gone.

I stare at the door, willing him to come back. Begging him to come back and push me past my own stupid boundaries. I don’t have the strength to do it myself, and I plead to the angels above to make him come back to me.

But the door remains closed.

I walk back to my bedroom and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Capone crawls up beside me and lays his head on my chest, looking at me with soulful eyes. He can feel my pain.

I hate you, Mom and Dad! See what you made me into!

Tears start coursing down my face, and I’m powerless to stop them. Just as I was powerless to stop this train wreck that is my life. I took the one good thing in my life, and I ruined it.

And while I would love to blame Flynn for putting me in this position, it’s my own fear and insecurity that has done it. I’m the only one that has control of that, and apparently, I’m just not strong enough to overcome it.

Turning on my side, I wrap my arms around Capone. I know I need to figure out my next move. I have a few days and a little money saved up. I know I can start over again... somewhere new and fresh. Maybe a different state.

Yes, all of this seems plausible as I’ve started my life over before—why not again?

Except... the thought of leaving... of not having Flynn?

Well, that just fucking destroys me.

“Full-house, baby! Read ‘em and weep.”

I watch, disgusted, as Tim throws down his cards on the table and sweeps his winnings up.

Looking at my pathetic pair of sevens, I throw my cards facedown and say, “I’m done.”

“Come on, man. Don’t be a sore loser,” Tim teases and the rest of the guys start laughing.

Well, I am a sore loser, fuck you very much.

I’m fucking sore as hell that I’ve lost Rowan and it’s put me in a pisser of a mood. I let my anger ride me hard for the first few days back to work, so much so that I wasn’t paying attention during an apartment fire and almost had a burning piece of sheet rock smack me down.

That earned me a good ass chewing from the Chief, which only goes to prove he cares, right?

Motherfucker!

To make matters worse, Rowan kept texting me. I’m not sure exactly what she wants, because she never comes out and says it, but she’s begged me to come home when I get off shift. I’ve been non-committal and just asked that she give me space.

I haven’t heard from her in over twenty-four hours, and for all I know, she’s moved out of the apartment.

My anger has dissipated some but it’s still there. I’m pissed at Rowan for not having the guts to be stronger, but I’m more pissed at her parents for making her this way. If her dad were standing in front of me, I’d throttle him. I’ve been thinking that over and over for the past three days.

Which gave me the most fucked-up idea I’ve ever concocted.

As if the stars were aligning, my phone rings and I see it’s Buzz.

I connect and don’t bother with pleasantries. “Did you find what I need?”

“Hello to you too, buddy. But yeah, I got the information.”

“Let me have it.”

“Okay, seems like the esteemed Judge Cleeden is medically retired. He apparently had a pretty bad stroke and is in a rest home. Word is he was a tough old goat... really hard on crime, but then I think most judges in Texas want to hang you for mugging little old ladies.” He laughs over his joke but I don’t have time for it.

“What else?”

“Well, it appears he and his wife, Susan Cleeden, divorced two years ago. She’s actually remarried now to Peter Grantham, and he owns a construction company in Dallas.”

“Addresses?” I say.

“Geez... you’re in a mood.”

“Yeah, I am, and you don’t want to see it turn darker. Just give me the addresses.”

After I take down the information from Buzz, I disconnect and head to the Chief’s office. I have four days off starting tomorrow but I might need another day or two. It seems I’m making a trip to Texas.

Well, the trip to visit John Cleedin was a bust. I got admittance to visit him easy enough but I left wholly unsatisfied. My dreams of punching him in the face evaporated after I saw the shriveled old man lying in the hospital bed. The nurses assured me his mind was still good, but he just couldn’t communicate well. Once I realized I wouldn’t be getting physical satisfaction, I did get a measure of joy by sitting in a chair by his bed and telling him about his daughter, knowing he couldn’t stop me.

I told him all the ways that she proved him wrong, and how strong and wonderful she turned out, despite his best efforts to fuck her up. There was no way I’d ever let him know that he left her with unimaginable insecurity, because I’m still banking on the fact that she’ll overcome that one day.

Before I left, I asked if there was anything else he wanted to know. He did nothing but glare at me, his body shaking, and he said “Fuck you” as a pool of saliva spilled out of his mouth.

I reached over, took the towel draped across his chest, and carefully wiped his face. I knew he’d hate being cared for that way, a reminder of how weak and powerless he was now, and I smiled at him the entire time.

I turned without a word and left.

Now I walk up to Susan and Peter Grantham’s home. It’s a modest ranch house outside of Dallas. There are two vehicles in the driveway, one a truck that has Grantham Construction on the side.

I ring the doorbell and hear a booming bark near the door. It opens and a man of about fifty is standing there. He’s tall, well built, and tanned from hours out in the sun. He looks at me pleasantly while he holds a dog back by its collar that is straining to see who has come to visit.

I look at the dog and I’m almost knocked backward to see it’s a Bernese Mountain Dog. I’m so stunned in fact, I can’t think of anything to say.

“Can I help you?” the man asks.

I raise my eyes to his. “Yes... I’m looking for Susan Grantham. Is she here?”

The look on his face remains pleasant but he’s not about to let me in his home. “She is. Can I ask what this is about?”

“My name is Flynn Caldwell. I’m from New York. I came to talk to her about her daughter.”

Alarm fills the man’s face and he pushes the dog back, stepping out onto the porch. He shuts the door behind him and turns to me.

“Is she dead?” he asks, his voice filled with fear.

“God, no. She’s alive and well, and well... I wanted to talk to your wife about her.”

He stares at me for a moment, his eyes grave. He nods his head and says, “Come on in.”

I follow him into the kitchen, with the Berner trotting on my heels. I can’t believe they have the same type of dog that Rowan has. Unbelievable.

I get my first look at Rowan’s mom. She’s an older version of Rowan, except she wears her dark hair short in a pixie cut. She’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and she’s pulling some muffins out of the oven.

“Honey,” Peter Grantham says hesitantly. “We have a visitor.”

Susan Grantham turns to me with a smile on her face. She sets the muffins on the counter and takes the oven mitts off, extending a hand to me. I shake it and say, “Mrs. Grantham... I’m Flynn Caldwell.”

She gives me a warm smile. “Please... call me Susan.” She spares a glance at her husband as if asking,
Who is this strange man?

I don’t hold back. “I’ve come to talk to you about your daughter.”

Susan’s face goes white and she reaches a hand out to brace herself against the counter. “Anne Marie? She’s alive?”

I nod. “She goes by Rowan now... Rowan Page.”

I’m not sure what reaction I expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Tears start pouring down her face and she sags to the floor crying. Peter rushes over to her and kneels down at her side, holding her in his arms.

She looks up at me, disbelief in her eyes. “I thought she was dead. I searched for her for so long, but we couldn’t find anything.”

“You looked for her?” I ask, disbelieving her words. This is the lady that stood by while Rowan was practically kicked out of her home and told never to return.

“Yes,” says Peter as he helps his wife from the floor. “Up until about a year ago... when the fifth private investigator we hired couldn’t find anything.”

Following my meeting with Satan’s Spawn—aka John Cleeden—I really had some poor expectations for this meeting. I expected to find a socialite living in the lap of luxury with her new husband and new life, completely having forgotten about the daughter she had forsaken.