Page 69 of Wounded


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Shoving my hand away, he says, “He wanted me to give you his number.”

“Oh yeah?” I lift a brow.

He pulls out his phone, and five seconds later, mine dings with a new message. Of course, it’s the phone number. It’s a Los Angeles area code… that’s interesting. I don’t bother saving it in my contacts.

The aroma of vanilla and coffee beans hits my nose, reminding me that I started the Keurig before smoking that joint. I jolt up, crossing the room until I reach the counter. Thankfully, it’s still pretty warm.

“Do you want some coffee?” I ask Atticus over my shoulder.

“I’m good. I had some before coming over here.”

“Why are you even up so early? How late did you stay out?”

“I don’t know. Two or three, probably.”

It’s not even ten in the morning yet.

“Don’t you want to know the name of the hottie who gave you his number last night?” Atticus asks, tone dripping with amusement.

Rolling my eyes, I say, “I guess. Don’t know why it matters so much.”

He fuckinggigglesbefore blurting out, “His name’s Rowan.”

My face falls, stomach bottoming out as my heart decides to fucking gallop like it’s a racehorse. I can’t breathe. Everything clicks. The Los Angeles area code, asking for me, the fucking lips. How did I not see this coming?

Why is Rowan in Sydney? Why would he be here? There’s no fucking way he’s here specifically for me. Surely, this is one giant coincidence.

We haven’t spoken a single word to each other since I was kicked out of the program. Sure, I kind of figured I’d hear from him once he got home—he has a chatty motherfucker, who doesn’t know how to take a hint, after all—but it never happened.

Which was for the best,my brain so desperately tries to remind myself. I convinced myself when I left the island, I hated him. That he was nothing to me. And I’ve tried to cling onto that notion, but as more time passes, and as I don’t hear from him, that feeling lessens, and I’m starting to believe it more and more.Do I hate him? What if I got it all wrong?

“I fuckingknewit!” Atticus shouts, startling me.

“Knew what?” I ask, trying to hide the defensiveness from my tone. I fail, miserably.

“Your fucking face said it all, Cas. Youdoknow him, don’t you? He was at Black Diamond?”

I have to remind myself to breathe. My head is light, and I feel dizzy. There’s a reason I haven’t told Atticus anything about Rowan or Black Diamond yet. Like Rowan, Atticus is nosy as fuck, but he also has this uncanny ability to read people. Like scarily well.

Squaring my shoulders, I reply with, “Yes, he was, but so fucking what? Doesn’t mean shit.”

The room feels like it’s closing in on me, and if I don’t get up and move right now, I’ll just continue to spiral. Raising off the couch, I cross the room, unlocking the sliding glass door that takes me to the balcony. It’s a chilly morning, but the air hitting my skin has the same effect as splashing my face with cold water. It clears the fog, even if only marginally. Pulling out my pack of smokes, I light one up, taking a long, simmering drag, trying to steady myself, both physically and mentally.

“If it doesn’t mean shit, then why do you look like you’re about to have a panic attack?” Atticus asks from behind me. I didn’t even realize he followed me out here.

I don’t respond.

Rowan ishere.In Sydney.

Why?

Why is he here?

With a hand planted on my shoulder, Atticus spins me, so we’re face to face. “Is he why you’ve acted strange since coming home?”

“I haven’t been—”

“Cut the crap, Caspian,” he interjects, annoyance creeping into his tone. “Since when do we lie to each other? I don’t know what’s going on with you—how can I, when you won’t talk to me—but I think it’s about goddamn time you tell me.”