Deviant

Chapter 16

Rowen

Now that my life has a ticking clock on it, my father’s cold shoulder hurts even worse. With the Harvest Festival only three days away, it leaves very little time for us to get back what we lost, what we once were to each other.

Not that I haven’t tried to make amends in the past.

I’ve done everything in my power to get back in his good graces but to no avail.

I would do just about anything for his forgiveness.

To have him look at me just one more time… and see me again as the daughter he once loved.

That’s why I’m here, at the sheriff’s station, still holding on to the hope that, somehow, we can be father and daughter again.

“There she is! Blackwater Falls’ favorite daughter,” Bobby exclaims cheerfully when he sees me walk in.

“I doubt that’s true. That title should belong to Mackenzie, not me.” I smile shyly, feeling uncomfortable with all the attention I receive from the rest of the bullpen, thanks to Bobby’s loud praise.

“Since Mackenzie is my niece, I can honestly say she isn’t anyone’s favorite. Let me tell you, that girl has the temper of a viper.” He chuckles.

“Oh, that’s right. Sometimes, I forget that you and the Davenports are related.”

“By marriage only, thank God. That family is all sorts of high maintenance, starting with its patriarch.”

“I wouldn’t recommend badmouthing your brother-in-law in front of others, deputy. You know as well as I do that Warren doesn’t take insults lightly,” my father warns, alerting us to his presence.

He keeps his attention solely on Bobby, refusing to even look at me once.

“If you can’t forgive your family for a little insult or two, who can you forgive?” Bobby winks at me, completely unaware that my father also doesn’t take insults lightly.

“Some things are harder to forgive than others, I guess,” I reply, the weight of my guilt crushing me.

“Well put.” My father agrees, in that emotionless, even tone of his that I’ve come to detest. “What are you doing here, Rowen? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Rosie gave me the rest of the week off since the Harvest Festival is right around the corner,” I reply, failing to disclose that I haven’t been to work in days, pretending to be sick. “So, I thought I’d surprise you and bring you lunch. Maybe we could go outside and have a picnic, just like old times.”

“I’m busy,” is his curt reply.

“Oh, come on, sheriff. No one’s too busy to eat. Besides, Rowen came all this way to spend quality time with her dad. The least you could do is oblige her,” Bobby defends, thinking he’s helping me out.

He’s not.

All he’s doing is pushing my father into a corner.

Who knows how he’ll react?

Maybe he’ll tell the whole world right here and now what I’ve done.

I’m not the only one who has been living with this infernal guilt.

I can see it in his eyes how it’s been eating him alive, too.

You could hear a pin drop as my father goes eerily quiet while considering his options.

“The Harvest Festival is just a few days away, Hank. Who knows if you’ll get a chance to eat with your daughter again,” I hear Bobby whisper in his ear.

“Fine,” my father reluctantly concedes. “But I can only spare half an hour. I’ve got too much work to do to mess about.”

“Half an hour works,” I reply joyfully as naive hope starts to spread its wings inside me.

Although I can feel my father’s resentment coming off of him in waves as we walk out of the station, I try not to let it get to me.

“I thought maybe we could have the picnic at the gazebo behind city hall like we used to. What do you think?”

When he grunts in reply, I take it as a confirmation that he isn’t totally opposed to the idea.

After Mom died, there was a time when he would take me out of school just so he could keep an eye on me while he worked. It never bothered me since I preferred spending time with him rather than attending a school where everyone knew my mother better than I did.

What I remember most about that time was how he always packed us a picnic basket. On his lunch break, we would go to the small park just behind the town hall and step into the little gazebo that stands at the very heart of the park. We used to pretend we were eating a feast made for kings and queens instead of the simple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches he prepared earlier that morning.

He made even the most mundane things cause for celebration. And I miss that. Hopefully, he does, too.

We walk in complete silence through the small park and step into the little gazebo that stands at the very heart of it.

In the summer, this park is usually bustling with teenagers sunbathing, reading, or throwing frisbees while laughter and music echo through the air. But they aren’t the only ones who enjoy this park. Parents set colorful blankets under the shade of sprawling trees while their children chase after butterflies, creating a vibrant tapestry of life and joy, bringing this cozy, green space alive under the sun’s warm embrace. But as soon as autumn hits, this park becomes deserted, too cold and depressing for any type of whimsical activity.

I place the picnic basket on the stone table and start to unpack all my father’s favorite foods and treats. I take out all the items Dr. Mitchell advised him to remove from his diet due to his cholesterol—ribs, hot wings, potato salad, mac and cheese, and for dessert, lemon meringue pie.

“What is this?” he asks after I’ve set the table.

“What do you mean? It’s lunch.”

“Whatever this is,” he points an accusing finger to the table, “is not just lunch.”

I sit on the bench opposite him and let out a sigh.

“You’re right. It’s not just lunch. It’s the only excuse I could come up with for us to have some alone time and talk.”

“And it never occurred to you to wait until I got home instead of ambushing me at the station?” he says, visibly aggravated with me, placing a slice of lemon meringue pie on his plate and butchering it with a knife. “You just thought it would be a good idea to manipulate me instead with this farce of a meal?”

“First, this is not a farce, Dad. I put a lot of time and dedication into preparing this lunch. And secondly, we don’t talk at home. Ever. We haven’t really spoken since—”

“Don’t you dare bring that day up,” he interjects, pointing the tip of the knife toward me. “Not a word, Rowen.” I bite down on my lip, sealing my mouth shut, until he puts down the knife. “I don’t want to hear about that day ever again. If I could, I would bleach the memory out of my mind once and for all.”

“It’s not that simple, Dad, and you know it.”

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he scoffs and drops the cutlery, slamming his hands on the table with a loud thud. “I know exactly how difficult it is to erase such a memory because I’ve done nothing but try not to think about it. But I can’t. Every time I look at you… every time I so much get a glimpse of your face… all I see is—”

“What I did to Nora,” I finish for him, coaxing his nostrils to flare in contempt.

“I don’t want to ever hear you say her name again,” he demands through gritted teeth, lowering his voice in fear of being overheard, even though no one is around. “That poor girl… that poor innocent girl… all she did wrong was befriend you.”

I swallow dryly, feeling as if he slapped me across the face.

“I was her friend. I was her family.”

“Were you? Were you really, Rowen?” he scoffs in disgust. “Because all I see before me is a reckless girl who thought it would be funny to spike her friend’s food with fentanyl, no less.”

“I told you I didn’t know it was fentanyl. The evidence bag was labeled with an E, so I naturally assumed it was ecstasy.”

“Do you think that excuses you for what you’ve done? That it wasn’t your fault because you didn’t know those pills were laced with fentanyl? Are those the lies you tell yourself so you can sleep better at night? Not only did you steal my keys, but you used them to sneak into my sheriff’s department to steal illegal drugs, too. That makes you a criminal in my eyes. A thief and a liar. But worse was what you did with them. That made you a cold-hearted murderer.”

Every insult he just launched at me hits me square in the heart.

“Dad—”

“Don’t,” he croaks, emotion starting to get the better of him. “I don’t know where I went wrong. Maybe it was because you never had a mother in your life. Maybe I should have remarried so you could have had a female role model in the house. Maybe this is my doing.” He shakes his head. “I just couldn’t bring myself to let your mother’s memory go. I loved her too much to ever be able to replace her in my heart. But if I knew for a second that the girl I was raising would turn into… this, perhaps I would have reconsidered and made the sacrifice.”

“Dad, please,” I stammer, my eyes starting to well up with unshed tears. “It wasn’t your fault. None of what I did was your fault.”

“You’re right. It’s yours,” he says, standing up. “If this meal was your way of apologizing, then let there be no misunderstanding between us—the daughter I loved died the same day Nora did. And I’ve been mourning you both ever since. This girl in front of me now… is a stranger to me. I don’t know who you are anymore, but you’re not my sweet Rowen. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone her best friend. For future reference, don’t come to the station unless I grant you permission. And when that lazy-ass boyfriend of yours finally gets his act together to propose to you, your answer better be yes. I don’t want you in my house longer than absolutely necessary. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” I reply, bowing down my head to hide the tears streaming down my cheeks.

Not that he cares anymore.

“Good. I’m glad that we’re on the same page.” And with that, he leaves me to wallow in my misery, which lately he’s been doing so proficiently.

It’s official—regardless of my actions, I’ll never regain my father’s love.

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. But how can I blame him for not forgiving me when I can’t even forgive myself?

Three days. That’s all I have to wait. Just three days, and I’ll be done with this pain. And so will my father.

That is the only solace I have in all of this. Me being chosen for the Harvest Dozen will finally give him some peace. With me gone, he’ll be able to rebuild his life again. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll be left with the memory of the daughter I once was and not the one I’ve become.

The thought is comforting, at least.

After a good cry, I start packing the lunch back into the basket. I’m halfway done when my phone vibrates in the pocket of my hoodie.

When I see a text from Aidan, I have half a mind not to read it. But the recollection of my father’s words concerning my so-called boyfriend has me pulling up his message.

Today is as good a day as any to break up with him.

As I open his message and read it, my knees buckle, causing me to sit back on the bench in utter shock.

Aidan: My mom died last night. Can you come over? I need you.

And this time, when my tears fall, they don’t fall for me. Nor for my dad. They fall for Emily—and for the daughter I stole from her.

Funerals are supposed to be a depressing and somber affair, but this one… let’s just say that Emily would have hated it.

Not only was it a rush job, since everyone’s mind is already on the Harvest Festival tomorrow, but her husband brought his pregnant girlfriend to it, no less.

Ugh.

Elias Larsen Senior is nothing like his son.

Elias is cool and collected, whereas his father is loud and obnoxious.

Every time he yawned and rolled his eyes during the church service, I had to sit over my hands just to keep me from getting up from my pew to slap him for being so disrespectful.

Aidan didn’t look one bit put off by it, but from the look in Elias’s dark eyes, I knew he was seconds away from grabbing his father by the lapel and throwing him out of the church. I’m not sure where he found such restraint.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Yep. That’s how we all end up. But Emily deserved a better sendoff than the one she got.

After Emily’s coffin is lowered to the earth and everyone has paid their last respects by throwing flowers on top of it, I stay back at the cemetery for a little while longer, not eager to have to deal with the wake back at the Larsen home.

I’m sure Senior will also be there, considering his demeanor while leaving the funeral. He had his arm draped over Aidan’s shoulder and talked in hushed tones as they returned to the car.

In all honesty, I could do with a break from him too.

It didn’t sit well with me how aloof he acted throughout his mom’s funeral.

I mean, Emily has been sick for a long time, so we knew this day would eventually arrive. However, Aidan’s lack of emotion rubbed me the wrong way.

But then again, I guess everyone grieves differently.

With that thought in mind, I place a white rose on Emily’s tomb, her body finally lying peacefully beneath. I say a little prayer, thankful for her to be released from the pain she endured for so long.

“I guess your days alone are over, Nora. I’m sorry that it had to be your mother to keep you company. I was kind of hoping that I’d beat her to the punch.”

I take a deep breath and say my parting goodbyes to a woman who deserved so much more from this life than what she got.

“It’s not fair,” I mumble, disheartened.

“You say that shit a lot.” I hear a low-timbre voice beside me.

My whole body goes ramrod straight, watching Elias lean down to grab a handful of dirt, letting the granules slowly slip from his fingers back onto the soil.

“I thought you had left with the others,” is my lame response.

“Aidan can handle the vultures for a while. I needed a minute.”

I nod, perfectly in tune with his reasoning.

It’s only when he stands back up that I feel brave enough to speak. “I’m sorry if I haven’t said this before, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

“Are you, now?” he says, his face a blank canvas, completely void of emotion. Except for his eyes—those dark depths scream misery and pain.

“Yes. I adored your mom. She was always kind to me.”

“She was kind to everyone. Look what good it did to her.”

“Illness doesn’t discriminate. It can happen to the good and bad,” I try to console. “I know it’s hard to hear, but she’s in a better place now.”

“The fuck would you know about it?” Elias turns to face me head-on, his melancholy giving way to annoyance.

“I know that she was suffering. I know that every day was a struggle for her. It should bring you some kind of comfort that she no longer has to suffer like that.”

“God, you are so fucking full of opinions, aren’t you?” he grumbles, irritated, while running his fingers through his lush, raven hair.

“No, not entirely. Though I’m starting to think that no matter what I say, I’ll end up annoying you.”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! We’ve got ourselves a winner. Tell her what she’s won, Johnny.” Elias says sarcastically as if this is some kind of game show to him, his tone thick with malice.

“You don’t have to be an asshole about it. I was just trying to be nice.”

“Argh! God!” he exclaims in exasperation, throwing his arms in the air. “Don’t you get tired of it? Always having to pretend to be the nice one? The sweet one?”

“I’m not pretending,” I quip back, offended.

“The fuck you aren’t. See, you can fool all of Blackwater Falls, but I know you, Rowen. The real Rowen. And she is anything but nice.”

I swallow dryly as he takes a step toward me, and I retort, “I am nice. So nice that I forgot what an asshole you were and tried to comfort you on the worst day of your life.”

“The worst day? This coming from the girl who actually had a hand in giving me one of the worst days of my life.”

My eyes widen at his insinuation.

He knows.

I always assumed his hate stemmed from believing I somehow had something to do with Nora’s death, but Elias has never once been so explicit about his suspicions of me.

Taking another step in my direction while I take two back, he says, “You look nervous, Roe. Why the sudden change?”

“I’m not nervous. And don’t call me that.” He smirks as he takes another step forward, while I take another back.

“Aww, don’t you want to console me anymore? Wasn’t that what you were trying to do?”

“Some people don’t deserve commiseration, so why try?”

He steps forward, and I step back.

“You’re right. All some of us deserve is pain.”

As the words slip from his lips, I stumble on a rock and fall to the ground. I quickly try to pull myself up, going on my hands and knees, but Elias halts my movements by grabbing my chin. He grips me with strength, forcing me to look into his eyes to proclaim, “Hmm. Now, this is a view I could live with. You look good on your knees, Roe.” My heart starts pounding in my chest like a freight train as he eats the small distance between us, positioning my face mere inches away from his crotch. “Too bad you haven’t earned the right to see my dick yet, much less suck it.” He then chucks my face away from his grip, leaving me in the middle of the cemetery, confused, terrified, and to my shame—oddly aroused.