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M ILES

Three weeks. It’s been three freaking weeks since I’ve seen Rowan. Between my travel days and games, and the evening physical therapy appointments with her sister, we haven’t been able to make our schedules work.

Or rather, I haven’t been able to make our schedules work. Rowan still hasn’t initiated any texts or asked me to stop by, but she does respond to my messages. Maybe not immediately, but she doesn’t have her phone on her while working, so that’s understandable.

Every night as I lie in bed, I picture her curled up on the couch as exhaustion takes over her body. As tempted as I am to text her all night, I respect her need to sleep. A good orgasm would give her the hours of deep sleep her body needs, but she doesn’t have enough privacy for the things I want to do to her body.

The only time we sexted was when she didn’t know who I was. While she never said it was a fantasy of hers, I can’t help but wonder if it is now. Wrong place. Wrong time. That seems to be the story of our relationship.

I had hoped I’d see her at this year’s Friendsgiving, but she was a no-show. It wasn’t until I was eating my second piece of pie that I casually asked about Rowan. Kendall said she went home for Thanksgiving and wouldn’t be back until Sunday night.

She didn’t seem overly concerned about Rowan, which means she’s still in the dark about the dysfunctional McDaniels family.

All day Sunday, we prep for Monday night football, which pushes another two days without any contact with Rowan. She responded to the text I sent on Thanksgiving with a simple, Happy Thanksgiving to you, too. Don’t eat all the pie.

It isn’t until the Wednesday after Thanksgiving that I’m able to stop by her apartment. Unannounced. Once again. I should tell her I’m coming over, but I worry she’ll tell me not to. Her messages have grown shorter over the past few weeks, and I’d have to be a total idiot to not see she’s pushing me away.

The distance between us makes it easier for her to do so. When we’re together, she can’t resist me. It’s the card I’ve been holding on to while I try to earn her trust back, while also not crowding her. I’m so fucked up in the head over this woman and have no one to turn to.

Well, I do. I have tons of friends, and my aunt is always there for me, but I respect Rowan’s privacy, even though it’s killing me. My ass goes numb sitting on the stoop in front of her apartment building, and when the same elderly lady from last month comes up the steps with her hands full, I do the gentlemanly thing and take them from her.

“Allow me to help.”

“Such a sweetheart. Thank you, dear.”

She digs through her oversized purse for her keys and unlocks the door. As soon as the latch comes free, I hold it open and follow her down the hallway to her apartment.

I stay in the hallway and set the bags down just inside her door.

“Have a good evening, ma’am.”

“Thank you, dear. Are you here visiting a lady friend?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What a lucky young lady. If I was a few years younger...”

“She wouldn’t stand a chance.” I toss her a wink and close her door when she starts to giggle.

We’re both aware of my blatant lie. Not a woman in the world stands a chance against Rowan. I take the stairs to her floor and wait outside her apartment. When an hour goes by and my phone battery drops to the single digits, I send her a text.

ME: Hey there. Thought I’d swing by your place to see how you’re doing. You around?

I don’t tell her I’ve been sitting here for two hours—one outside and one inside—at the risk of freaking her the heck out. They must be on some bullshit errand of her sister’s to be out this late.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates.

ROWAN : Sorry. I’m not home. I’ve been staying at my parents’ place. It’s easier this way.

Easier for who? I want to ask. Unless they’ve moved in the past few months, Rowan’s been commuting from Springfield. How the hell is that easier for anyone? That means she’s been getting back home later, and her sister has had to fend for herself even longer during the day and in the morning.

ME: That’s a long ass commute. You must be exhausted.

ROWAN: My mom is home during the day to keep Natalie company. I’m mostly there for nursing care and to help with PT. All is good. Thanks for checking in with us.

Bullshit. First, I wasn’t checking in with us . I was checking in with her . And second, all is not fucking good. I’m so angry for Rowan right now, and anger isn’t something I’ve felt since I was a kid and testified in court about finding my mom’s dead body and my dad holding the smoking gun.

I read her text over and over again. Thanks for checking in with us . It’s another blow off. I can’t keep doing this. Chasing a dream. Hoping Rowan will eventually forgive me and give me another chance.

It’s crushing my concentration, ruining my game, and making me a depressed piece of shit. I’m not giving up on her, but I need to focus on myself or I’m going to go batshit crazy. More batshit crazy than I already am.

Tucking my phone in my pocket, I push to my feet and hang my head as I leave her apartment, and possibly Rowan, forever.