Chapter 4

~Liv~

I shoved the bathroom door open with my hip because my hands were busy trying to stop the tears that had zero chill tonight. (The tears were actually from my pussy ) The Ice Hawks had just won 5-2, Rowan had two goals and an assist, and somehow that made me the villain. Whatever. I just needed five seconds alone before I had to go back out there and pretend I belonged in his jersey.

I didn’t get five seconds.

Three girls were already waiting by the sinks, all fake tans and fake laughs and real venom. I recognized them instantly regulars on Rowan’s I*******m comments, the ones who called him “daddy” unironically. And no I'm not some stalker, I just happened to notice one night, you know while digging up about him.

“Wow, look who it is,” the blonde in the middle said, tilting her head like she was talking to a lost puppy. “Captain’s little charity case.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I probably pulled something. “Original. Did you practice that in the mirror or did it just come to you while you were contouring your personality?”

The redhead on the left snorted. “Someone’s mouthy for a girl who’s only famous because her boyfriend dumped her for her sister.”

My stomach flipped, but I laughed, short and ugly. “Oh honey, keep up. That was last week's drama. Tonight I’m famous because your daddy on the ice just scored twice looking right at me.”

Blondie stepped closer, vodka cranberry sloshing in her cup. “You don’t even belong here.”

“Funny,” I said, stepping right back until we were basically sharing lip gloss, “because Rowan literally begged me to wear his number. Like, on his knees. You want details or should I save them for the group chat?”

That did it.

She smiled, sweet as poison, and dumped the entire drink over my head.

Cold vodka soaked my hair, ran down my neck, and dripped off my eyelashes. The smell hit me like a slap. I just stood there, dripping, while the three of them cracked up like this was the funniest thing that had ever happened in the history of bathrooms.

“Oops,” Blondie said, fake gasp and everything. “My hand slipped.”

I wiped my face with the sleeve of Rowan’s jersey his name now sticky and ruined and felt something inside me snap like a wishbone.

“Okay,” I said, voice shaking but loud, “you know what? That was actually impressive. Most people just talk shit online, but you went full sorority exorcism. Respect.”

I took one step forward and the redhead flinched. Good. But good, crackkkk I received a slap from her and when I tried to fight back…( by the way, the first rule when you start dating a famous boy, do not be the weak twin who can't fight and don't talk back to the bullies or piss them).

They turned the sink open and shoved my head deep inside. I couldn't breathe and my good makeup Zo did had been all smeared up and destroyed. OMG I was more pissed at how I'll look and they were yanking my head and pulling my already scarce filled hair out..

“Arghhh y'all so petty.” I tried screaming and only got water from the sink into my mouth.

Then the door exploded open so hard it slammed against the wall.

Rowan filled the doorway, still in his game-day suit, tie loose, hair messy from helmet, eyes straight-up murderous.

The laughter died like someone hit mute.

He took one look at me…drenched, mascara running, vodka dripping off my chin and his jaw locked so tight I heard it click.

“Which one?” he asked, voice low, scary-calm in the way that meant he was two seconds from committing felonies.

I opened my mouth, but Blondie beat me to it. “Rowan, baby, it was just…”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, stepping inside so the door swung shut behind him. “Don’t talk. Don’t breathe near her. Don’t even look at her.”

He walked straight to me, grabbed the hem of his soaked jersey, and used it to wipe my face like I was a kid who fell off her bike. His thumb brushed my cheek, rough and gentle at the same time.

“You okay?” he asked me, only me.

I tried to laugh and it came out wet. “I smell like a frat house. So, no.”

His eyes flicked to the three girls now trying to disappear into the tile. “Names,” he said.

They started babbling excuses over each other.

“It was an accident…”

“She started it….”

“I didn’t mean…”

Rowan ignored them. He slid his phone out of his pocket, hit record, and pointed it at them.

“Say it again,” he told Blondie. “Tell the camera how funny it is to dump drinks on my girlfriend.”

Her face went white under the bronzer.

“Rowan, come on, we were just…”

He turned the camera to me. “Liv, you wanna press charges for assault?”

I blinked vodka out of my eyes. “Can we? Because I’m feeling litigious.”

The redhead actually whimpered.

Rowan stopped recording, pocketed the phone, and then, without any warning, bent down and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing.

“Rowan!” I yelped, dangling upside down, wet hair hanging in my face. “Put me down, you psycho!”

“Nope.” He kicked the bathroom door open again and marched out into the hallway full of people. Phones were already out. Great.

“Everybody listening?” he shouted, voice echoing off the walls. “This is my girlfriend. Anyone touches her, talks to her, breathes too loud near her, and you’re banned for life. Season tickets, club access, merch, all of it. Gone.”

I smacked his back. “You’re embarrassing me!”

“You’re dripping on my suit,” he shot back, not even winded. “We’re even.”

Zoe appeared out of nowhere, phone up, filming. “This is the best day of my life.”

“Zoe, I swear to God…”

Rowan kept walking, straight through the crowd, people parting like he was Moses and they were the drunk Red Sea. I gave up fighting and just let my arms hang.

“You can put me down now,” I muttered into his back.

“Not until we’re home.”

“Home?” I lifted my head, hair sticking to my face. “You mean my home or your home?”

He didn’t answer. Just tightened his grip on my thighs and kept going.

By the time he dumped me in the passenger seat of his truck, the video was already online. I knew because my phone started exploding in my purse.

Rowan slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and turned to me.

“You’re shaking,” he said, softer now.

“I’m freezing, asshole. I’m literally wearing vodka shampoo.”

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders. It smelled like him, ice and cologne. 

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what? Carrying me out like a sack of potatoes in front of half the city?”

“For not getting there faster.”

I looked at him then really looked. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, jaw still clenched, eyes dark and furious and… scared?

“They’re just jealous,” I said.

“They made you cry.”

“I cry at commercials, Rowan. It’s not a big deal.”

He started the truck but didn’t move. “It is to me.”

I swallowed. The cab felt too small, too quiet after all the yelling.

“You posted the video,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“With the caption and everything.”

“Yeah.”

I pulled my phone out. The video already had 1.2 million views. The caption was exactly what he’d yelled in the hallway, word for word, plus one extra line:

Touch her again and you’re banned for life.  

I stared at those last three words until they blurred.

She's not temporary.

“Rowan.”

“Yeah?”

“That last part.”

He finally looked at me. “Meant it.”

I opened my mouth, closed it, opened it again. “We have rules. No feelings.”

“Yeah I know the rules, L

iv. What were you thinking?”

I laughed, wet and broken. “You can’t just say that. You scared me.”

“Am I that scary, haha.”

I don't know Rowan, it still hurts.