Page 26 of The Rowdy Ones

“Of course.”

“Here,” Uncle Atticus says, “hand them here. I’ll put them in water and in your room. Get her home by ten. Not a second later.” He plucks the roses from my hand. “Her phone has a tracker on it, but even without it, we will always find her, which means we’ll always find you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

We can’t get out of the cabin fast enough. It’s not until we’re in Weston’s car that I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “They’re over the top.”

“More like really fucking terrifying. Your uncle is a beast.”

“His wife is scarier if we’re comparing the two.”

He chuckles. “I’m setting an alarm on my phone for nine thirty. There’s no way in hell I’m not getting you home on time. I’d like to keep my balls, thank you.”

I don’t mention the knife in my pocket that was given to me specifically for the purpose of stabbing his balls.

As we drive, Weston entertains me with more silly stories. He’s playful and loves to talk. I enjoy being around him immensely. However, the drive to town is lengthy, and I can’t help but drift back to thinking about my brother.

He avoided me all day.

According to Uncle Atticus, he went hunting with Wild. I’m sure Rowdy is dodging discussing what happened, but we’re eventually going to need to talk about it. I need for him to know I don’t fault him for what happened, and I certainly am not afraid of him.

Are you going to tell him how it made you feel when he nipped at your neck?

“Hey,” Weston murmurs. “I lost you. I’m rambling. Sorry. Just nervous.”

Ugh. I’m the worst. While he’s trying to have a conversation with meon our date, I’m obsessively thinking about how my brother mauled me at night and why I’m not upset about it.

“You’re not rambling,” I assure him. “I’m worried about ice skating. After the grocery store, I had my phone tell me about it. Seems dangerous.”

His hand finds mine and he squeezes it. “I won’t let you fall.”

Thankfully, we arrive at our destination. I’m able to drive away thoughts of my brother and focus on my date. Weston is a gentleman, opening the door for me, and guides me to the rink.

“This place is outdoors,” Weston explains. “So it’ll be cold. But they have amazing concession stand food. We can skate a bit and then break to eat.”

I soak up everything he says. The area smells heavenly—sometimes savory like maybe chili or hotdogs and other times sweet like something baking. My stomach grumbles, but Weston doesn’t hear. He’s too busy yapping about his parents bringing him here every winter since he was old enough to walk.

Once we have ice skates on, which are heavy, we hobble out onto the rink. Weston steps out first and keeps his hand clasped around mine to guide me out onto it. As soon as both skates are on the slick ice, I start to slip.

“Need one of these?” a female asks. “First-timers should use them to be safe.”

“Actually, yeah,” Weston says. Then to me, he instructs, “Put your hands here. It’ll give you something to hold on to while you skate.”

I grab hold of the device and frown. “How will I know which way to go?”

Heat warms me from behind and Weston’s big hands settle on my waist. “I’ll skate behind you and guide you. Is it okay that I touch you here?”

He’s so kind and thoughtful, always making sure he has my consent. After all I’ve been through, it feels nice.

Last night, Rowdy didn’t ask for consent. He had his fingers in your ass crack, for crying out loud.

Shame chases away the chill. Again, I’m on this date, with Weston’s full attention on me, and I’m thinking about the worst possible thing I could be thinking about. My brother’s fingers in my underwear.

“Is your college close by?” I ask in an attempt to focus on something—anything—else.

“It’s a drive but not bad. I go back next week, but I will visit a lot. Don’t worry.”