Saint Rowan
“Your staffs are like little elves that appear during unconventional times.” I said to Rowan.
I stared at the hiking gear the staff laid out on the bed. Cargo pants. A fitted long-sleeved top. A jacket. Even boots.
“Rowan, did you plan this?”
“I may have mentioned ‘light activity’ in the booking,” he said from the doorway.
“This is not light,” I called out.
He chuckled, already dressed. I hated how well outdoor wear suited him. He looked like a damn magazine ad—rugged, stupidly handsome, hair messily styled like he hadn’t tried but absolutely had.
Once dressed, I stepped out.
Rowan blinked. “Okay. I take it back. You look better in hiking gear than me.”
I pulled on the jacket. “Try not to fall behind, Vaughn.”
“Oh, it’s like that?” he asked, grinning.
“Absolutely.”
We started off on the trail, and it was quiet at first. The kind of quiet where every twig snap sounded like drama. Leaves crunched beneath our feet as I kept my eyes forward, refusing to glance at him even though I could feel his gaze.
“You’re going to slow,” he teased, jogging ahead.
“Because I’m not trying to twist my ankle,” I called out.
Rowan turned, walking backward. “You’re scared.”
“Of what? Trees?”
“Of losing to me.”
“Oh please,” I huffed, picking up my pace. “You couldn’t out-hike me even on your best day.”
“Let’s test that.”
I pushed forward, climbing past him on a narrow path. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I bet you can’t clear that log,” Rowan said, nodding ahead.
I followed his gaze. It wasn’t a big one barely came up to my shin but the smirk on his face said he was trying to get me to do something dumb.
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s your challenge? A twig in the woods?”
“Call it a warm-up,” he shrugged, stepping aside with a grin. “Let’s see those surgeon legs in action.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re stalling.”
I rolled my eyes, took a few steps back, then launched myself forward with way too much commitment.
My foot caught a patch of slick moss on the landing.
“Whoa—!”
His arm shot out just in time to grab mine, steadying me before I could faceplant.
He caught me.
Both hands at my waist, firm and steady.
Our eyes locked.
His breath caught.
Mine did too.
“You alright?” he asked softly.
I nodded, but neither of us moved.
His hands were still on me.
And I could feel every inch of where his fingers pressed through the fabric.
I stepped back first, clearing my throat. “Watch it, Vaughn.”
He smirked. “Trust me, I am.”
We kept going until the sky dimmed suddenly.
A low rumble rolled across the sky.
I paused mid-step and glanced up at the thickening clouds. “That… doesn’t sound good.”
Rowan stopped beside me, tilting his head. “Definitely not birds.”
I narrowed my eyes at the gray blanket crawling in above us. “You said it wouldn’t rain.”
“I said I didn’t think it would,” he corrected. “Which, in my defense, is very different from saying it wouldn’t.”
“Well, that’s comforting,” I muttered.
Another rumble, closer this time.
I groaned. “Ugh. We just got out here.”
Rowan scratched the back of his neck, looking over his shoulder. “We could push on. Might pass.”
I gave him a flat look. “You really want to be caught mid-trail in a storm with zero cell reception and no snacks?”
He winced. “Fair. I was trying to be optimistic.”
“Try realistic next time.”
We stood there for another second, both silently hoping the clouds might magically decide to retreat.
They didn’t.
I exhaled through my nose and turned around. “Great. Hike canceled.”
Rowan fell in step beside me, hands in his pockets. “Hey, maybe the universe just didn’t want us showing off our athleticism today.”
I looked at him, deadpan. “Speak for yourself. I was doing fine.”
“I was being polite.”
I elbowed him lightly, but my lips twitched. “You owe me a do-over.”
“I’ll schedule a hike under ideal weather conditions next time. Pinky promise.”
“You better.”
As we turned, the clouds opened.
And it poured.
We ran—half slipping, half sliding our way back toward the trail's start. The rain was relentless, soaking my clothes in seconds, my hair plastered to my face. When we reached the porch, I stood breathless and shivering.
“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”
Rowan was already pulling towels from a bench chest, handing one to me. I snatched it, trying to wipe water from my arms and neck. He took another and gently brushed hair from my face, toweling the strands at the back.
“Stop,” I muttered. “I’m fine.”
“You’re freezing.”
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped.
He stepped back. “Right.”
I turned away, towel still clenched in my hands. The cold didn’t bother me.
Not as much as everything else.
“I want to go home.”
Silence.
I turned. “Did you hear me?”
Rowan sighed, long and low.
I frowned. “What?”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, brows furrowed.
Finally, he looked up at me and said quietly, “I just realized that no matter what I do for you… it’s not enough.”
My chest tightened.
I opened my mouth—but nothing came out.
I was astounded.
Just… stunned that he could say something like that. Like we hadn’t lived the same life.
Like he hadn’t ripped mine apart with his own two hands.
I laughed—sharp, bitter. “Not enough?”
Rowan flinched at the sound.
“You think you can drag me into the middle of nowhere,” I said, my voice rising, “feed me fancy food, give me some sunshine, throw in a few flirty lines and what—suddenly you’re Saint Rowan?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Do you even remember what you did to me?”
His expression darkened. “Remi—”
“No, don’t you dare,” I snapped, taking a step forward. My fists clenched. My heart was slamming against my chest. “You called me a liar. You humiliated me. You cheated on me on our wedding day. Threesome. I walked on you fucking three women. So how dare you?”
His jaw tensed.
“You had me thrown out like trash.”
“I didn’t know—”
“Don’t say that!” I shouted.
He fell silent.
The storm outside raged harder, like it could feel the chaos inside me.
“You don’t get to stand there and act like the victim,” I said, breathing hard. “You think I’m the one pushing you away? You pushed me away a long time ago, Rowan.”
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