EPILOGUE
RILEY
TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER
I help carry boxes into Rowan’s bedroom, and I’m pissed because it feels as if she’s packed them full of textbooks. And possibly rocks. “What the hell do you have in here?” I groan, setting one down with a thud.
“Lots of stuff,” she singsongs. “I accumulated a ton of s**t after four years of college,” Rowan tells me matter-of-factly. She graduated with her bachelor’s degree in finance a few weeks ago and had to have everything out of her place by this weekend. Dad voluntold Diesel and me to help, which meant we didn’t have a choice. So we drove six hours to Houston, loaded up all her boxes, drove six hours back and have been unloading for the past half hour. It’s been a long fuckin’ day considering we left at four a.m.
Honestly, I’d rather hav
