Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(68)
Author: Monica Murphy

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 naked 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.