Fake dating the captain

Chapter6

~Liv~

He sighed like he aged ten years. “At least let me get you…”

“Noooo!! please.” I marched straight past him toward the front door because clearly I had zero self-preservation skills left.

Except I tripped over his gym bag, hit my chin on the table, and screamed like a dying ferret.

Rowan grabbed my arm before I face-planted. “Okay. That’s it. Stay. Here. I’m getting you pads.”

“No….”

“Yes.”

We had a whole staring contest while I held the towel with one hand and clutched the table with the other, looking like the saddest pirate in history. He finally got his keys and left with a muttered, “Don’t drown in the sink again.”

I wandered toward the entryway to grab my clothes from his truck. Except I saw something on the kitchen counter…a key fob. Same shape as his glovebox key. And in my stupid little brain, that meant maybe there were tissues or something inside the glovebox. You know, something I could MacGyver into a temporary pad.

So I wrapped myself tighter and went downstairs.

The night was cold, the parking lot even colder. His truck sat under the LED lamps, big and clean and intimidating. I opened the passenger door and climbed in, breathing hard like I was breaking into Fort Knox.

I opened the glovebox.

Papers. Insurance. A folded note.

A very old, very gently kept, very carefully folded note.

Curiosity killed the dignity, so I opened it.

And my whole world dropped through the floor.

The handwriting was neat, slanted. The tone was romantic. Soft. A little sad. Talking about “the girl with the blonde hair” and “the eyes so bright they looked unreal” and “the way she laughed behind her hand like she was afraid to be too loud.”

Ava.

Ava had blonde hair.

Ava had stupid bright eyes.

Ava laughed like that.

My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t breathe. The towel felt suffocating. The note blurred. My throat burned.

Of course. Of freaking course. My twin ruins everything. Every time. My boyfriend, my friendships, my peace, my mental health, and now Rowan.

I snapped the glovebox shut, grabbed the letter, slammed the door so hard the truck shook, and marched upstairs dripping and half-dressed like a psychopath.

Rowan walked into the hallway exactly as I stomped in.

“Liv…what happened…”

I shoved the letter into his chest so hard he actually stumbled. “Explain.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“This,” I hissed, shoving it again. “Explain why you have a love letter about a blonde girl with pretty eyes. Explain why you kept it. Explain why it describes my sister. Explain…”

He took the paper from my hand. “Liv…”

“You like her. Don’t lie, you liked her before me. You kept her letter. You kept something she wrote for you. And you’ve been acting like you’re…”

“Liv!!!”

“I knew it. I knew it would be her again. It’s always her. Everyone always loves Ava. Everyone always picks Ava. Everyone always…”

“Liv,” he snapped, louder, “stop.”

“No!” My voice cracked. “You think I’m stupid? You think I wouldn’t recognize my sister in a description? You think I wouldn’t see that she got to you too?”

He didn’t shout back. He didn’t get defensive. He didn’t even blink. He just walked past me, out the door, down the hallway. For a second I froze because I thought he was leaving.

Then I saw him heading back downstairs.

I followed, heart punching my ribs.

He marched straight to his truck, opened the door, grabbed a lighter from the console, and walked to the middle of the parking lot. The cold wind hit both of us, but he didn’t care. He held the letter up like it weighed nothing.

“Rowan, what are you doing…”

He flicked the lighter.

The flame caught instantly.

The paper curled and shriveled, blackening, burning fast. He held it until it was almost at his fingers before dropping it and crushing it under his shoe.

I stood there shaking, towel still wrapped around me, hair dripping onto the asphalt.

“Happy?” he asked, voice low, but not the controlled kind. The hurt kind. “Because they weren’t real.”

I blinked. “What?”

“They weren’t real,” he repeated. “They were never sent. Never meant for anyone. I wrote that s**t in high school, Liv. High school. I didn’t even know you or Ava existed. I wrote it for no one. I wrote it because I was lonely and angry and I thought pretending I liked someone would fix me.”

I swallowed hard. “You… wrote it?”

“Yes. Me.” He kicked the ashes away. “It wasn’t about Ava. It wasn’t about anyone. You assumed the worst. Again.”

I didn’t know what to say. My throat felt tight. My hands shook. Everything in my head kept spinning.

“You should stop,” he said, stepping closer. “You should stop overreacting every time something scares you.”

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are.” His voice cracked. “And it’s killing me. You jump to the worst thing every time. You shouldn't even let me explain and now, I’M NOT YOUR REAL BOYFRIEND SO STAY CLEAR OFF MY PATH!”

“I thought…”

“I know what you thought. But you didn’t ask. You just decided I would hurt you.”

The wind blew between us, cold and mean.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Rowan wiped his hand down his face, exhausted. “Come inside. You’re freezing.”

I didn’t move.

“Liv,” he said quietly, not angry, not soft, just tired in a way that made my chest ache. “Come on.”

And that’s where everything snapped back into place what I saw, what he said, what I assumed, what I feared, all of it mixing into this heavy, awful ache that sat right in the middle of my chest.

I finally stepped toward him.

AND I REALISED HOW RIGHT HE WAS, I WAS ACTUALLY NOT HIS GIRLFRIEND.