Four Years Later

CHAPTER 13

Owen

Something happened. And somehow, I ruined everything.

The weather is shit. It’s like the skies closed up special for the game and the minute it was over, the clouds parted, opened up and dumped enough water to flood the entire stadium. Getting out of the parking lot was less of a nightmare for us than for the regular folks, since we got to park in the special team lot, but still, it took awhile. And I flat-out couldn’t resist when Drew asked us to go out to dinner with them.

Chelsea had agreed readily, but she was quiet the entire meal. I have no idea if I pissed her off and I wasn’t about to ask her in front of Fable and Drew, so I tried my best to include her in the conversation. But she wasn’t having it. Not that she was rude, but she’d sort of withdrawn into herself, remaining quiet as she sat by my side. Fable noticed. She asked Chelsea if she was feeling all right, and Chels confessed she had a headache and that she was tired, but she’d be fine.

That was Fable’s cue to give me a sharp look that told me point blank I needed to take care of her. I promised I would, sending her an equally pointed look back that she should stay out of my business, but I think it went undetected.

Typical.

We’d already finished dinner and Drew looked exhausted, his arm slung along the back of Fable’s chair, his fingers twirling the ends of her hair. I watched them, trying to see them from Chelsea’s perspective, wondering what she might think as she spent time with them. Seeing them with fresh eyes, especially with a girl I’d like to make mine sitting next to me, I’d never been so aware of the easy, affectionate way between them until now.

The love between them is like a living, breathing thing. They look at each other and you feel it. They touch each other and you see it. When I was younger—hell, six months ago—I always thought the two of them were ridiculously sappy together. Like, over-the-top in love. When we’d first all moved in together, I’d been embarrassed to catch them in each other’s arms, kissing. They’d never done anything inappropriate around me, but I guess their open affection for each other just never felt that comfortable for me to see.

Of course, I’d been a teenage boy full of hormones, and not a big believer in love and all that shit. Checking out hot chicks and wanting to get my hands on their bodies in any way possible, yeah—that’s what motivated me at that age.

Now, though, I’m starting to realize I want what Fable and Drew have. I know I’m young, but shit, they were young, too, when they first met and fell in love. And look at them. Years later, they still act like they’re totally gone over each other. They’re married, they have a baby, he’s beyond busy with his career, she’s busy taking care of Autumn, and they still look at each other as if they’ve only just met and they can’t believe they have each other.

Yeah. I want that sort of thing. And I think I want it with Chelsea.

She doesn’t seem to want it with me, though. I don’t know what happened, what turned her mood. Maybe she hadn’t enjoyed herself at the game after all. I know sports aren’t her thing and she’s not a football fan whatsoever, but shit, we were sitting in the skybox, getting the deluxe treatment. Wade will shit himself when he finds out I went and didn’t take him. At least he would have appreciated the game.

Maybe Fable told her something that freaked her out. I know they talked about me when I took off and bought the sweatshirt for her, but what could Fable have said that would have made Chelsea become so damn quiet?

I haven’t a clue, but she’s completely withdrawn from me and I fucking hate it.

We leave the restaurant right after Drew pays the bill, and we’re all standing under the awning waiting for the valet guy to bring both cars around.

When you go out to dinner now with Drew Callahan, you always go out in style. The guy is a fucking celebrity.

Chelsea makes her escape back inside, claiming she needs to go to the bathroom before we start our long drive, and Fable turns to me, her mouth cast in a stern line, her gaze narrowed as she pulls me aside, away from Drew.

“Be careful driving home,” Fable says, motherly concern lacing her voice. “It’s raining pretty bad and I’m sure the roads are terrible.”

“I’ll be careful, I promise,” I reassure her, pulling her into a quick hug. “Don’t worry.”

“And it’s so late.” She withdraws from me, her mouth pulling into a frown. “Maybe you should stay the night with us.”

That’s a long-ass drive back to San Francisco in this kind of weather. No thanks. “I think Chelsea has class in the morning. I know I do.”

Fable sighs. “I just hate thinking of you out driving for hours in this rain.”

“We’ll be fine, don’t worry. Seriously.” I ruffle her hair, something she used to do to me when I was younger but since I tower over her by about a foot, I’ve got the upper hand now. “I’ll text you when we get home, okay?”

“You’d better. I’ll be lying awake until I hear from you,” she says.

“Please. You’ll be passed out with Autumn cradled in your arms,” I tell her. She’s admitted to me already that when she’s feeding the baby in the middle of the night, they end up asleep in bed together. She’s up all hours of the night taking care of Autumn, though I guess they’ve found more of a schedule. I don’t know. I start glazing over when Fable starts talking endless baby shit.

But I know I don’t want to be the other one who’s keeping her awake.

“You’re probably not too far from the truth.” Fable smiles, her gaze going to Drew when he calls her name. “Our cars are here. We should go.”

Chelsea exits the restaurant at that very moment, heading toward me. Her gaze is dim, her skin pale, but she offers a real smile to Fable when she pulls Chelsea into her arms and gives her a big hug.

“So great meeting you. Keep Owen in line, okay?” Fable says.

Chelsea laughs as Fable releases her. “Great meeting you, too. And I’ll try.”

Drew envelops Chelsea in his arms and when he lets go, she looks a little starstruck. I guess I can’t blame her, but I’m also a little jealous. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that particular look in her eyes after I touched her.

But I’ve seen other looks. Eyes glazed with lust. Happiness. Affection.

I want to see those looks in her eyes again. I want to kiss her, hold her close. Taste her, touch her, slip my hand inside her jeans, touch her between her legs and show her I know exactly how to make her feel good.

Shit. I’m breaking out in a fucking sweat just thinking about it. Maybe Fable’s right. Maybe we should stay the night, but instead of staying at their house, we should find a hotel. Then I could drag Chelsea into bed and get her naked. Finally do what I’ve been dying to pretty much since I met her.

I know I’ve been all about taking things slow with her, but I’ve never been patient. I’ve never had to be, not when it comes to girls. I’ve always gotten what I wanted. Who I wanted. When I wanted.

So why do I want this girl when she runs so completely hot and cold? Is it more of a case of wanting what I can’t have? Or do I really like her?

Oh, you like her, asshole. More than you ever want to admit.

“Are you mad at me? Did I do something to offend you?” I finally ask once we’re on the freeway headed home. Traffic is heavy, it’s still raining, and I’ve got both hands on the steering wheel, my gaze locked on the windshield, the glow of red lights indicating that everyone’s hitting their brakes constantly. I don’t want to be distracted, but …

Chelsea’s low, distant mood is totally making me lose focus.

“No, I’m not mad at you.” I flick a quick glance in her direction and she offers me a pitiful little smile. “Not really.”

Not really.

What the hell does she mean by that?

“What did I do?” I ask, my voice grim. “I’m not in the mood to play guessing games, Chels. So just give it to me straight.” I hate games. Mom is a total game player. Most females are … at least, the ones I know. Fable is an exception.

I’d hoped Chelsea was the same. But maybe she’s not …

“It’s stupid.” She waves a hand, smiling at me, but her smile is brittle. Doesn’t light up her eyes and I can tell it’s fake. “I have a headache and it’s been such a long day. A long weekend, really.”

“You had fun, though, right? And you liked my sister? And Drew?” I sound like an insecure little kid wanting to make sure she’s happy, desperate to ensure that she’s pleased. God, does she even realize how easy it would be for her to completely wreck me? I never hand that sort of power over to anyone. Okay, I do so with Fable, but she’s my sister and she would never hurt me. We’ve proven our trust in each other again and again. And Mom’s wrecked me over and over, but I can’t help but hand her that power.

As I’ve come to realize time and again, it’s natural. She’s my mom. I want to please her and she shits on me every chance she gets. Yet I keep taking it.

“Yeah. I had fun.” There is absolutely no emotion in her voice and it scares me. “Except when I found out you told your sister we’re just friends.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”

“You told Fable—I don’t know when—that we were just friends. Is that how you really think of us? Am I just a friend, Owen? Do you always stick your tongue in your friends’ mouths? Or am I a special friend?”

Shit. She’s pissed. She’s practically yelling at me. “I never told Fable that …” My voice trails off.

I so did. When we were on the phone and Fable was giving me shit. I didn’t want to hear it from her anymore so I said it to shut her up. I never thought Fable would ever say anything and I hadn’t meant a word of it. Well, I guess.

Hell. I don’t know. Chelsea confuses me so completely, I don’t know how or what to think anymore.

Not that Chelsea would ever believe that.

“I thought I—meant something to you, but I guess not. Just wishful thinking on my part,” she says, her voice soft and full of sadness. “I’m being ridiculous.”

I chance a glance at her and see how she’s staring out the window, her expression devastated.

My heart aches. Fuck it, I just did that to her. And I don’t know how to explain myself. Not sure I really want to. I mean, what the hell are we doing, Chelsea and I? I like her, but I can’t take this too seriously.

Fuck. I’m a liar. I hardly know Chelsea but I want to know more. So much more, my heart aches in anticipation of it. Yet she gives me such mixed signals, I never know whether she’s coming or going. Whether she really likes me or not, and that freaking kills me. I was just feeling confident, too. So damn confident, I was letting my guard down. Kissing her in front of Fable, for Christ’s sake, and I don’t do that sort of thing ever.

Never, ever, never.

“Chelsea …” I start, but she shakes her head.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she tells me, cutting me off before I can say anything to explain myself. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

She’s completely pulled away from me again and I hate it. I refuse to let this go. I need to make this better between us, before she pulls away from me even further.

More than anything, I need to apologize for being such a thoughtless asshole.

I drive for almost an hour, still not fully out of the city, what with traffic slowing constantly until the freeway is feeling almost like a parking lot. I look at Chelsea and see she’s curled up in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the side of the door, her eyes closed tight, her forehead wrinkled with worry, pain—God, I don’t know what.

Determination fills me. That’s it. We should definitely stay the night. She’ll probably be mad but I’m doing it. So what if we miss class in the morning? It won’t kill us. It might kill her, but shit. I’m tired and she’s not feeling well. I’m irritated and she’s trying to sleep.

Not bothering with waking her up, I take the next exit, where I see a few hotel signs flashing in the night sky, and pull into a hotel parking lot. She stirs in her seat, lifting her head when I park the car beneath the overhang and in front of the hotel entrance. Frowning, she turns to meet my gaze.

“Where are we? What’s going on?”

“We’re staying overnight here.” I incline my head toward the front doors.

Her mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Definitely, I’m serious. The weather is for shit, Chels. The freeway is barely moving and I’m exhausted.” Reaching out, I touch her cheek and she flinches—literally flinches—away from my fingers. I let my hand drop, frustration raining through me. My heart hurts. Has she ever rejected my touch before? I can only blame it on her headache.

Oh, and me telling Fable she’s just a friend.

Man, I really fucked this up.

“You don’t feel well,” I tell her, trying to forget what I said, how much it hurt her. “You need a good night’s rest.”

“But I’ll miss my morning classes,” she protests. “I have an important paper to turn in, too.”

“Is it already finished?” If this were me, I’d be working on that stupid paper at this very minute. I’m the king of procrastination, especially with homework.

“Well, yeah. Of course it is.” She shrugs, chewing on her lower lip.

Why am I not surprised? “Then turn it in later tomorrow afternoon. I’m sure your professor will understand when you explain what happened. It’s not like you ever turn anything in late. They’ll let you off the hook.” I pause, studying her. “We’ll leave first thing in the morning. We’re out of the city somewhat, so it probably should be about a three-hour drive. And everyone will be traveling in the opposite direction, so we should be good. The minute you get home you can go to school and turn in everything you need to.”

“I don’t know …” Her voice drifts and she glances down at her lap. “I have nothing to change into for tomorrow. Nothing to sleep in. No toothbrush.”

I’m still stuck on her nothing-to-sleep-in statement. Sounds good to me. We could crawl into bed naked. I’m totally game. Not that there’s any chance of that happening. “We can pick up a toothbrush and whatever else we need in the hotel, I bet. And we can take a quick shower, go to bed, throw our clothes back on, and head home in the morning. What do you think?”

Does she even hear the order I put that all in? And do I really think I have a chance with her tonight, with the way she’s been acting? How pissed she is with me?

An idiot can hope, I guess.

“Can we get separate beds?” Her cheeks color and she keeps her gaze averted. “I just—I’ll feel more comfortable that way.”

My hopes are smashed into a million pieces with five simple words. Damn. I want to scream at her, what did I do wrong? But I keep my lips clamped shut, trying to control the overflow of emotions that want to escape. I know what I did wrong. It’s just hard to face. God knows, I never want to face anything. “Whatever you want, Chels, I’ll make it happen if I can. Depends on what the hotel has available.”

“Okay.” She nods. “Thanks for being so understanding, Owen.”

Even her voice sounds different. I hate this. I should apologize. But how?

Hey, sorry I told my sister we were just friends but I wanted to get her off my back after she gave me an endless amount of shit. I didn’t mean it.

But I might have meant it. I mean … if she’s confused and giving me mixed signals, maybe I’m just as bad. I want her. I don’t. I want more than just sex. I’d rather run.

I’m contradicting myself in my own brain. I’m a mess.

“I’m gonna go inside and get a room,” I tell her. “You want to come with me?”

She slowly shakes her head, keeping her gaze locked on the passenger-side window, staring at the front of the hotel. “If you don’t mind, I’ll sit out here and wait for you.”

I exit the car and head toward the hotel’s entrance, swearing I can feel her gaze on me as I walk. If she’s watching me, I know we still have a chance. This is just a blip in the road or whatever.

But if she’s not looking at me, then forget it. I can almost guarantee it won’t work out.

Fuck. I’m afraid to turn around and look, but finally, after taking a deep breath and counting to five, I slowly glance over my shoulder, my gaze falling on the passenger-side door’s window.

Chelsea’s watching me, her fingers resting on the glass, her expression full of sadness. I smile at her, give her a little wave, and she waves back.

Glad to know there’s some hope between us after all.

Chelsea

The hotel room is nice and clean, but there’s one king-sized bed. It was the only type of room available, Owen had said apologetically when he’d come back to the car so he could park it. I’d sat there, quietly stewing, wondering if he was lying to me. I was going to confront him about it once we got to the hotel room but changed my mind when we stood in front of the door, where I watched Owen slide the card into the lock and open it.

I don’t need to start any fights. He already knows how I feel and I should be mad that he hasn’t apologized, but what do I expect? Owen begging for my forgiveness?

He’s been very quiet, almost somber, I’m sure in reaction to my mood. It’s hard for me to pretend everything’s okay when deep inside, I’m sad. Disappointed. And I know Fable hadn’t meant to make me sad or ruin the mood. Truly, I should be ecstatic by what she said because clearly, Owen and I don’t give off a just-friends vibe.

I just hate that he said it in the first place.

He’d glanced around the hotel room, asking if I thought everything looked okay, and when I said yes, he said he was going to go pick up a few things for us, toothbrushes and toothpaste and whatever else we might need. He asked if I wanted to go with him, but I told him I was going to hop in the shower instead. His eyes had gone all dark in that sexy way of his and he hardened his jaw, gave me a quick “all right, I’ll be back,” and then he took off, closing the door with a firm slam behind him.

I go into the bathroom and flick on the lights, impressed with what I find. The room is huge, the fixtures new, and everything’s so clean. I wish I had something different to change into after I take a shower, but I do find a hotel robe hanging on the back of the door and decide that will have to do. And when I push back the shower curtain and turn on the faucet, I notice the water pressure is amazing.

The shower at my apartment is lackluster at best, so I’m going to soak under this for as long as I can.

A sigh of relief escapes me when I step beneath the spray and I tilt my head back, letting the water wash over my hair and face, consciously trying to relax my forehead since it’s still super tense. I wasn’t lying about the headache. It came on just before we left the stadium, and I can only assume it formed because of a combination of things.

Travel can set me off. That time of the month does, too, though I’m not due for my period for a few more days at least. The tension between Owen and me has added to it, too, of course.

I wish I had asked him to pick up some ibuprofen for me. I should text him, but by the time I get out of the shower, he could be on his way back to the room …

I decide not to bother.

The water seems to help ease the tension keeping me rigid. My bones and muscles melt under the heat and pressure of the water, and the soothing scent of the shampoo and body wash that I found on the bathroom counter relaxes me. Steam fills the bathroom, making everything feel hazy, almost dreamlike, and when I finally shut the water off, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

My mind is deliciously blank and my eyelids are heavy, my head drowsy. I towel myself off, my skin pink from the hot water, and I don’t bother putting back on my panties or bra, deciding to save them for tomorrow. The thought of wearing them two days in a row is kind of gross, but what can I do? I don’t have a choice.

I finger-comb my hair as best I can, wiping the steam from the mirror so I can see my reflection. My cheeks are rosy, my eyes sleepy, my lids heavy. The look is almost … sexy, and I never think of myself that way. If Owen sees me looking like this, I can almost imagine him trying to jump me. Even if we are in the just-friends zone, he’d at least notice me because I’m naked, right?

I mean, what nineteen-year-old guy can resist a naked girl with a decent body? I’m no sexy bombshell porn star, but I’m not bad. I don’t have huge boobs or anything, but I’m sufficiently curvy, and Kari’s always ragging on me to show it off a bit. Wear a top that reveals a little cleavage or a short skirt, but that’s so not my style. I’d never feel comfortable wearing something like that.

Taking a step back, I assess my figure, something I definitely don’t do on a regular basis. I never have time to stand around and check myself out in the mirror and besides, I never really thought of myself as a sexual being, until I met Owen. Was never really aware of myself, or the power of my body.

But now I look at my breasts and wonder if he likes them. He’s never tried to touch them, not really. He’ll skim his hands along my sides, make me crazy with wanting him to boldly touch me, but he hasn’t done it yet. I cup one breast, feel its weight in my palm, and my nipple prickles with awareness, hardening just like that. I flick my thumb across it, gasping a little when the sensation seems to travel through my body and lands between my legs, a gentle throb that makes me momentarily breathless.

Just like I feel when Owen kisses me. Holding me close, his mouth fused with mine, his tongue doing all of these wickedly delicious things …

I drop my hand away from my breast and cover my cheeks with my hands, exhaling loudly. This back and forth, push and pull I’m feeling for Owen is slowly starting to drive me crazy. I need to not get so hung up on statements and words, especially when I don’t know what was really said. It’s dumb. And I pride myself on being logical and thorough, exploring all the factors, all the benefits and all the negatives.

But there’s nothing logical about relationships. I’ve learned that quickly, seen it my entire life. Actions speak way louder than words, right? I definitely learned that by watching my father, especially these last few years, before he ended up in jail.

He made so many promises. Ridiculous, unbelievable promises that I always, always wanted to believe. He told Mom again and again how much he loved her, needed her, wanted her, always with a smile and a reassuring hug, a gentle kiss. She believed every word he said, ever the faithful, devoted wife while he was off running around stealing money, having affairs, being the awful, immoral liar he truly was.

He said one thing and did another. All the flowery words in the world can’t hide a black, emotionless heart.

Whereas Mom loves to pretend she’s the one with the black, emotionless heart that feels nothing. That she hates men. It’s all a lie. She’s in denial. She always believes every single word Dad tells her.

It’s pathetic. She’s pathetic. He is, too.

So I need to watch Owen’s actions, not his words. We say things as a way of pretending we feel something else. Maybe that’s what he meant when he told Fable we were just friends.

Maybe he wants us to be something more.

Either that or I’m completely reaching.

Grabbing the sample of body lotion on the counter, I slather it on, using practically the entire bottle. The subtle, lemony scent is delicious, and a little smile curves my lips. When I finally wrap the hotel robe around my body, I’m cozy and warm. More than ready to slide beneath the sheets and go to bed.

With Owen.

Hmm. The idea of doing that has me suddenly wondering. It’s not going to be so easy to go to bed and fall asleep, with him lying beside me all night long. What was I thinking? I may be all sleepy and content at this very moment, but the second he comes back into the hotel room, my heart rate will pick right back up and I’ll be extremely aware of the fact that I have nothing on under this robe.

Alone. In a hotel room with Owen. He could grab hold of the robe belt, slowly untie it, and peel the fabric away from my body. Find me naked and warm, my skin soft and lemony, my body languid and ready for him to take me …

Oh God, what am I thinking? No way can I give up my body to him yet. It’s too soon. I want to, though. Despite my worry, I definitely, definitely want to explore more with Owen.

Exhaling slowly for courage, I open the bathroom door, the steam billowing out into the room. I peek my head around the corner of the door frame but I’m greeted with complete and utter silence, the only sound the low murmuring of the room’s heater.

I’m hot enough. I don’t need that thing running to make me hotter.

I walk into the room and flick off the heater, then grab my purse from the tiny desk. Pulling my cell phone out, I send Kari a quick text, letting her know I’m safe and we’re staying the night in the city and that I would be home in the morning. She immediately replies:

Gonna get some with the sex bomb huh? Don’t forget to use protection!!!

I roll my eyes and reply. Of course she’d think Owen and I got a hotel room for a night of illicit, out-of-control sex.

My body aches at the thought.

I don’t think so. I’m exhausted and don’t feel very good. Have a terrible headache.

I bet he could cure whatever ails you. With his big ol …

Don’t say it! I type back.

A giggle escapes me. God, Kari can be so crude sometimes. I know she does it to freak me out. She texts back a few minutes later, when I’m curled up on top of the giant bed, leaning against the fluffy pillows and anxiously awaiting Owen’s return.

Have fun. Get naked. Live a little.

I smile. Maybe I should take Kari’s advice.

Though I doubt I will. I’m too chicken.

And deep down inside? I’m still too hurt.