Four Years Later
Page 33

“Mom always says men shouldn’t be trusted. That she’s pushed my father out of her life forever. But of course, she’s talking to him again and he wants her to withdraw money out of some secret account he has. It’s probably more money he stole. He embezzled hundreds of thousands of dollars, Owen. He did it for years. And he cheated on my mom, had endless affairs with an endless list of women. I hate him so much.”
She’s crying, getting my shirt wet, and I let her. Let her get it all out as I hold her to me, one hand in her hair, the other smoothing down her back. I can’t believe she’s here, standing with me outside in front of my house while inside, all around us, there’s a party raging on.
“Why does she keep doing that? Why does she trust him when he’s done nothing but lie and cheat and steal? He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t love me. My dad only loves himself.”
I could get that. Mom is the exact same way. She’s the most selfish person I’ve ever known.
“I want you to trust me, Chels,” I tell her, my voice soft as I press my hand to the small of her back, pushing her in closer. I want her to feel safe with me and never doubt me again. “I swear on my life I’ll do whatever it takes to earn back your trust.”
When she slips her arms around me, offering the smallest nod as her answer, I almost want to shout with relief. She belongs with me and I need to prove that I’m worthy of her. That I love her.
Because I do.
“Let’s go inside,” I whisper in her hair, my arms tightening around her.
“Nice party, Owen,” she says, the sarcasm thick, displaying a hint of the old Chelsea. “I bet there’s someone in your room right now.”
“There’s a lock on the door. No one is in my room. And if someone is, I’ll kick them the f**k out.” I thread my fingers through her hair and tilt her head so she has no choice but to look at me. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and I wipe them away with my thumbs. “Come inside with me, Chelsea. We can talk more now or we can talk more tomorrow. Whatever you want. I just … I really need to be with you tonight.”
She stares at me, seeing right through me I’m sure but I don’t even flinch. Everything I am, everything I want to be for her, it’s showing. I can feel it. I’m vulnerable as f**k and I don’t care.
“All right,” she finally says, sounding reluctant, which of course fills me with worry. I don’t want to ruin this or somehow f**k it up beyond repair.
I need to be careful. I need to make this work. For my sake and for Chelsea’s.
We need each other. I don’t know if Chelsea’s aware of it yet, but I know I am. Having her here with me makes everything right again. Makes me feel like I can breathe again. These few weeks apart from her have nearly killed me.
There’s no way I can let her go now.
Chelsea
Everybody at this party is beyond obnoxious. I see the way the girls look at Owen as we walk by them and they make me feel possessive. I want to shout at all of them, Back off, he’s mine!
But I don’t. I have at least some sort of control.
I grab hold of his hand when we enter his house and let him pull me through the crowd. The girls are all dressed to impress, their hair and makeup perfect, the tight or skimpy outfits they’re wearing meant to intrigue and entice.
I’m in leggings that have a hole in the inside seam and the sweatshirt Owen gave me, with a tank top and no bra on underneath. I look plain and boring, as if I just crawled out of bed after a night of no sleep. Tired and sad, with a tear-stained face and red eyes. Not that I think anything’s going to happen between Owen and me tonight, but …
You never know. If he tried something, I wouldn’t stop him.
Everyone looks at me as if I don’t belong with him, but I know the truth. We belong together. He’s mine and I’m his. Somehow we’re going to break down each other’s last, thick walls and be honest with each other. I already told him so much, pretty much all he needs to know. What more can I say about my father?
Nothing. I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to forget.
The house reeks of beer and weed and I wrinkle my nose, raising my brows when we pass by Des. He has a knowing smile on his face and his arms around two girls, and I almost want to laugh. It’s all just so … weird. Owen’s life. Mine. And how they intersected. We are complete opposites.
Yet it feels so right to be with him.
“Well, well, look who showed up.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Wade standing there, a big grin on his handsome face. His hair is a mess and there’s a girl hanging on his arm with a satisfied smile curling her lips, her eyes kinda hazy. Like maybe she was the one who just had her hands in his hair.
“Hey,” I say, just as Owen’s fingers tighten around mine.
“Leave her alone,” Owen warns and I look at him, wondering what his comment is all about.
“Just saying hey.” Wade leans forward, as if he’s about to tell me a giant secret. “He’s been a whiny baby for days. He missed you.”
My heart swells. Owen missed me. Hearing someone else say it somehow makes it feel even more real.
“Shut up,” Owen mutters, solidifying that real feeling.
That this is real between us. What we share, what we have, isn’t all one-sided. We’re definitely in this together.
“Don’t f**k up with her again,” Wade says, pointing his finger in Owen’s direction before flashing me a gentle smile. “She actually tolerates your ass, so don’t let her go.”
I release Owen’s hand and go to Wade, pulling him into a quick one-sided hug since the girl still hasn’t let him go. And he doesn’t seem too upset about it, either. “Thank you,” I murmur as I pull away from him.
“See how sweet she is? You don’t deserve her, man,” Wade says, gesturing at Owen, who looks ready to rip him apart with his bare hands. “She even hugged me.”
“Consider yourself lucky I didn’t chop your hands off for touching my girl.” Owen slings his arm around my shoulder and steers me away from Wade. I can hear Wade laugh, hear the girl ask what all that was about, but the buzz in my head slowly takes over, until all I can focus on is Owen.
Holding me, guiding me through the mess, getting all jealous and calling me his girl.
I love it. Maybe an hour ago I felt like I was at the end of my rope. Everything about this night is exaggerated and crazy and over the top. I feel like I’m on a ride at Disneyland or some crazy amusement park and I’m begging them to let me off. It’s all just too much.
Finally we’re in Owen’s room and he closes the door. Turns the lock. That subtle click rings loud in the quiet confines of his room and he faces me, leans against the door so he can study me.
“My mom is a drug abuser. A drunk.”
His words are flat, his tone impassive. I wait for him to continue.
“She’s never been there for us, not really. I always wanted her approval. When we were alone, she told me I was her favorite. I was her baby boy. And I wanted to be her baby boy. I wanted her to love me. I don’t think she ever did.”
My heart hurts and I can feel tears forming in my eyes, but I blink them away.
“When I was fourteen, she left. Just one night packed up all our shit, left only my clothes and Fable’s and took off. We didn’t hear from her for a year.” He takes a deep breath, as if he needs it for strength. “She called me one day. Out of the blue. Begged me not to tell Fable. Asked me to come live with her. I wanted to. Despite everything she’d done to me I wanted it so bad.
“First she just said she wanted us to live together here in town. Then she started talking about moving away. Out of the state. Across the country. She wanted a fresh start. The idea of leaving Fable like that, and Drew … it scared me. I went to Fable and told her everything. They got in a huge fight and Mom left. Four years later she finds me. I don’t know how, but she showed up awhile ago and I … I’ve been helping her the only way I know how.”
“Owen.” My voice cracks and his gaze meets mine, his green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You can’t blame yourself for any of this. It’s all on her. It’s not your fault your mom is so hateful and selfish.”
“Try telling that to my fourteen-year-old self.” He thumps the back of his head against the door and gazes at the ceiling. “She’s in jail now, you know. Like your dad. Well, county jail. Fable called the cops that night. Turns out she had warrants out for her arrest. I was so pissed at my sister for doing that. She put our mom in jail.”
Their mother put herself in jail, but I decide not to point that out. “Are you and Fable not talking?” I ask. It would hurt me if I knew he wasn’t communicating with his sister. Just break my heart.
“We’ve talked. I texted her, though she made me sweat for a few days. It’s not—perfect, but we’re trying. She’s still mad at me for dealing with Mom on my own. That I gave her drugs. That I gave her money.”
“You did what you thought you had to do.” I inhale deeply, then let it all out, trying to gather my thoughts. “I hate that you kept it from me, too. But I had my own secrets to hide. I can’t … I can’t be mad at you for that.”
He closes his eyes, presses his lips together. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
“Yes, you do.” My simple answer feels so freeing it lightens my heart.
His eyes crack open and he looks at me. “I don’t deserve you.”
“If you don’t deserve me then I don’t deserve you.”
“Chels …” His voice drifts off and he sounds so sad, so defeated, I can’t take it any longer.
I stand in the middle of his room, wondering if I should just go for it. I missed him so much these last few weeks. My body still aches for his and now it’s even worse. When he held me outside, my knees had grown wobbly and I thought I would collapse, it felt so perfect to finally be back in his arms.
Now he’s suffering and it feels like he’s doing it alone. He’s too far away from me. I want to touch him. I need to touch him.
Deciding to hell with it, I reach for the hem of my sweatshirt and pull it up and over my head, tossing it onto the floor. I’ve done this before; this very moment reminds me of the night in the hotel room, our first night together. When we were na**d and vulnerable and afraid, but still happy that we were in this together. We had each other.
He needs to know he still has me.
Owen’s eyes are wide after I threw off my sweatshirt, but he doesn’t move from where he’s standing. Doesn’t say a word, either.
He just watches. And waits.
Leaning over, I pluck off my boots, tossing them near the bed. Standing straight, I grab hold of the waistband of my yoga pants and shimmy out of them, letting them fall to my feet so I can kick them off.
“Chels.” Owen says my name again, then clears his throat, his expression full of slumberous, hungry desire. He wants me. I can see it. I can practically smell it. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’ve missed you.” I say nothing else, just let those simple words hang in the air as I whip off my tank top and expose my upper body completely. A strangled noise falls from his lips and heady, powerful pleasure swamps me, makes my knees weak.
I’m clad in only my turquoise-blue panties, with a little white bow at the center of the waistband. When I wear them I usually feel like a little girl, but I definitely don’t feel like one now. Not while standing in the middle of Owen Maguire’s bedroom with nothing else on but these panties, my br**sts heavy, my ni**les hard, and between my legs I can feel myself grow slick and hot.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he finally says, his voice rough. “So damn much.”
“I want you.” Glancing behind me, I start to make my way to his bed and suddenly he’s right there before me. His big hands grasp my waist, fingers pressing into my skin as he guides me down onto the bed, before he whispers against my lips.
“I want you, too. You’re my f**king everything.”
His words wash over me and I close my eyes, my breath catching in my throat when he kisses me. His full, delicious lips are finally on mine again and I want to cry.
But I don’t. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close. Spread my legs and feel him settle between them, his jeans rough against my bare skin, his belt buckle biting into the tender flesh just above my panties.
I help him shed his clothes and he takes off my panties, slipping them down my legs with shaky fingers that skim along my skin, his mouth on my breasts, his hand settling between my thighs. I’m so wet for him it’s almost embarrassing, but before I can push him away or say something stupid, he rears up on his knees, leans over me, and pulls a condom from the bedside table drawer.
“I can’t wait. I want to be inside you too much.” He rolls the condom on and then he’s over me, inside me, filling me completely.
This is what I want. What I need. He feels so good inside me, so right. We’re not perfect, but we’re a perfect fit for each other. It’s all or nothing with Owen and me—and nothing is too hard for us to bear.
So I want it all. Everything. With Owen.
He rolls us over so I’m on top and he tugs the band from my hair so it falls past my shoulders in a riotous mess. “Ride me,” he whispers, his eyes glowing, his expression full of an unnamed emotion I don’t want to label.
Not yet. It’s too soon. It all feels like too much.
I do as he asks, sitting up and resting my hands on his hot, hard chest, my hair spilling all around me, the ends tickling my na**d skin. I press my lips together and lick them as I slowly, surely start to move. Hesitant at first, but then Owen’s gripping my hips, showing me how to move, helping me establish a rhythm.