“So . . .” I drew out slowly. “You’re staying here . . . all alone . . . for Christmas?”
“Sure am,” he answered quickly.
Before I realized what I was doing, I opened my mouth. “Why don’t you come home with me?”
His mouth dropped, and his eyes widened. As soon as I realized what I had said, I clamped my mouth shut. “Excuse me?” he said. “Let me get this straight. You’re inviting me to your parents’ house . . . for Christmas.”
I couldn’t back out of it now. I’d already invited him, and I’d be an ass if I said it was a mistake. “Sure, why not,” I said, shrugging my shoulders and playing it off as if it wasn’t a big deal when, in fact, it was a huge deal. “I mean, you’re not going to be with your family, and I can’t in good conscious go home to be with mine knowing that you’re back here all by yourself.”
I wasn’t even sure why these words were coming out of my mouth. It was like my mouth had a mind of its own, just carrying on without thinking of the consequences. I was inviting Owen, to my parents’ house, for the holidays. All I could do was hope he said no—even though deep down, I wanted him to say yes.
“I’ll be fine,” he said softly.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” I said, letting my mouth take control again, “so go pack a bag. You’re coming to home with me.”
“Brennan,” he said hesitantly. He tilted his head to the side and stared at me with confused look on his face. I straightened my stance, cleared my throat, and started tapping my foot.
“This isn’t up for debate,” I said, crossing my arms. “Now, go pack a bag before you make us late for the bus.”
“But I don’t have a ticket!” he replied, shaking his head in disbelief.
“I’ll take care of that now,” I answered, pulling out my cell phone. Owen looked ready to protest, but I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. “Seriously, Owen, just go do it. Please . . .”
Much to my surprise, he nodded and headed back into his room. Once the door was shut behind him, I leaned up against the wall.
“What were you thinking, Brenn?” I whispered, out loud to myself.
I rubbed my face with my free hand. I couldn’t believe I had invited Owen home with me. The same Owen who I’ve refused to talk to. The same Owen who drove me absolutely nuts with his hot-and-cold tendencies. The same Owen who hooked up with Malibu Barbie a week ago. The same Owen whom I’d swore I was done with in every shape and form. And now, here I was, bringing him home with me.
I’m such an idiot, I thought, clutching a hand over my face.
Looking back to my phone, I brought up the Greyhound website, and entered all the information I needed to and then stared at the screen with disappointment. This can’t be happening, I thought. It must be a sign. The door opened, and Owen appeared.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, surveying the look on my face.
I glanced at the screen on my phone, hoping it was some sort of mistake. “The bus is sold out.”
“Oh,” he said softly, his lips turning downward.
“That’s all right,” I said, trying to be cheerful. “We can take the train.”
“Or I can call Sam,” Owen said, “and ask to borrow his car. They’re in Cali, and he left it at his parents’ house, which isn’t too far from here. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”
“He’s in San Diego and you’re not,” I stated, completely ignoring the possibility of using Sam’s car.
“You know what,” he said. “I don’t think this is such a good idea after all. Why don’t I put my bag back in my room and walk you down to the bus station.”
“No!” I shouted, louder than I’d intended. “No, I’m sorry. Call Sam—it’s a great idea.”
He narrowed his eyes, studying me carefully. A stone-hard silence fell over us, but the air practically buzzed with all the energy shooting between us, and I knew things weren’t over between us yet. But even if the pull kept me from realizing I was about to get in a car with Owen and take him home with me, it didn’t stop me from being afraid of driving. I had a hard enough time driving in the beast with Amelia for fifteen minutes, and now I was about to spend five hours in a car.
Owen pulled out his phone and dialed Sam’s number. “Hey, Sam.” Sam said something on the other end. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.”
I could hear Sam start to say something else, but Owen cut him off. “Hey listen, do you think I could borrow your car for a few days?” He paused to let Sam speak. “Yeah, I’m going to Seattle.” Another pause. “What does it matter?”
I leaned in closer to Owen, trying to make out what his cousin was saying, but it was a jumbled mess. “If you have to know,” Owen said, irritated, “I’m going with Brennan to her parents’ house.”
I heard a shout come from the other end of the phone. I looked to Owen—his face had taken on a soft pinkish hue. I giggled.
“Can I borrow the car or not?” he asked, pausing for what seemed like more of Sam’s shouting. “Thank you,” he said finally. “Keys in the same place?”
Owen looked to me and nodded his head. Well, I thought, now the question of transportation’s been solved. The only issue yet was not freaking out in the car while he was driving.
“Hey,” Owen said into the phone, “tell my mom I love her and that I’m sorry.” His eyes flicked to mine, full of sadness. “And thanks again, man.”
Owen hung up, his face full of mixed emotions. His smile made him look happy, but his eyes told another story—a story I wanted to know more about.
“I figure you got all of that,” he said.
I nodded. “Yup. I’ll text my brother and let him know he doesn’t need to pick me up from the bus station.”
I watched Owen’s Adam apple slide down his throat as he gulped. “Your brother?” he asked, seeming almost frightened.
I laughed softly and patted his shoulder. “Oh yeah, all three of them,” I teased. “And my dad.”
Owen’s forehead creased with lines, and I could almost see sweat starting to form on his brow. I almost laughed at how uncomfortable he was with the idea, but inside, I felt the same way. I had no idea how my family was going to react with me bringing someone home, let alone a guy.
I should probably give them a heads-up, I thought, but for some reason I didn’t. I fired off a quick text to Damon, letting him know that I was riding up with someone else and that he didn’t need to pick me up. He wrote back and asked who I was riding with. “A friend who’s heading in the same direction,” I wrote.
I wasn’t ready for the third degree I’d get from everyone once I arrived. All of them would get the wrong impression about us. They might even figure it out while we were driving up, but I wanted a few more hours without them hounding me about it, so I switched my phone to airplane mode.
I grabbed my suitcase and looked to Owen. “All right, Bieber-boy,” I joked. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
“I seriously need to get a haircut!” he said, laughing heartily, and we left.
FIFTEEN
“SAM’S NOT VERY BRIGHT, is he?” I asked, climbing into the passenger seat of the beat-up, rusted Honda Civic.
We were sitting in a driveway nestled in the South Hills of Eugene, where each house seemed to be bigger and more expensive than the last. The worn-down car stuck out like a sore thumb among the BMWs and Mercedes littering the driveways.
“Ah,” Owen said, plopping down into the driver’s seat, “I think he’s hoping someone even considers this car worth stealing.” I raised an eyebrow. “My aunt and uncle made him get a job at sixteen and come up with half the money to buy a car—something about learning responsibility. Anyways, as soon as this car craps out, they’ll help him get into something nicer. I don’t think he expected it to last as long as it has,” he elaborated
Owen laughed, and I joined him. The cracks in the leather made the seat uncomfortable, and the car smelled like musk mixed with sweat. Not ev
en the dozen pine air fresheners dangling from the rearview mirror could help mask the car’s stink.
I reached for the seat belt and, struggling to pull it downward, unexpectedly started a battle of tug-of-war. After a few seconds, I gave up and sank against the seat. I looked over at Owen, silently begging for help. He smiled, then reached across me and gave the belt a hard tug. His arm brushed across my breasts, and my breath caught as a jolt of pleasure shot through my body. He secured the seatbelt and started the car.
The engine turned over for a moment before dying in the driveway. I laughed softly under my breath as Owen cranked the ignition again. Nothing happened.
“Is this car even safe to drive?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
Owen patted the dashboard as if encouraging the car to start. “Betsy will get us where we need to go.”
“Betsy?” I asked.
“Don’t ask me where he came up with that,” Owen joked. He took a deep breath, turned the ignition, and this time the engine roared to life. “See? All we need was a little patience.”
My stomach jumped into my throat as Owen backed the car out of the driveway. As he shifted gears, the motor sputtered but eventually smoothed out as we drove down the street. I rubbed the locket around my neck and closed my eyes. This is going to be a long ride, I thought.
“I’ve noticed that you do that a lot,” Owen said, grabbing my attention. I opened my eyes and turned to him. “Rub the locket, I mean.”
“Uh, yeah,” I replied. I released it and fiddled with my thumbs in my lap. “It’s a habit I guess.”
“Can I ask what’s inside?” he asked, easing us onto the freeway.
I cracked my knuckles and rubbed my hands together. The truth about the locket was on the tip of my tongue, and I wanted nothing more than to tell him—to tell someone outside of my family—but I couldn’t. “Number three,” I whispered instead.
Owen frowned, before turning his attention back to the road. We drove up I-5, both of us quiet. I stared out the window, trying to focus on anything but the speed at which we were traveling. Owen wasn’t speeding, but anything over forty-five miles per hour sent me into panic mode.
I wiped at the bead of sweat forming along my hairline, hoping he didn’t notice. I chewed on the inside of my cheek as I fought with my bouncing legs. And somewhere along the road, I found myself rubbing the necklace again.
I pressed my forehead against the cool window and closed my eyes. If I didn’t calm myself down, I was going to have a panic attack—something I didn’t want to happen in front of Owen, and certainly not something I wanted to explain.
“I’d turn on the radio, but I’m pretty sure it’s still broken.”
Keeping my eyes closed, I held onto my necklace and responded, “It’s okay.”
The car fell silent again and remained that way for most of the trip. Occasionally, I would feel Owen’s eyes on me, but I didn’t move from my spot. The air was stifling, and I couldn’t wait until we made it to Lake Forest Park.
“Want to stop for a bite to eat?” Owen asked.
We were almost to Tacoma—our drive was nearly over.
I opened my eyes and looked to him. “Nah, I just want to get there. I’m sure my mom will have something fixed up to eat.”
“Did you tell your parents that you dragged me along for the trip?” he said.
I sat up in my seat. “I did not drag you along!” I retorted.
He chuckled loudly, chasing the quiet away. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but if I remember correctly, your exact words were that you weren’t taking no for an answer.”
Our eyes locked onto one another, unwavering. I felt the car start to drift to the side, and broke my gaze just in time to see we were starting to merge into the other lane. “Owen!” I screamed.
He turned back to the road and corrected the car with ease. My heart nearly jumped out of my throat. My pulse was racing like a horse at the Kentucky Derby, my knees were bouncing quickly, and my hands shook in my lap. He reached over and started caressing one of my hands.
“Two hands, please,” I pleaded, my voice shaky.
Owen pulled his hand back and put it on the steering wheel again. “Sorry,” he said softly.
I didn’t say anything. Afraid that if I did, I might let the anxiety consume me. Several minutes passed before I finally felt myself calm. I glanced at Owen, who was focused intently on the road. He gripped the wheel so tightly, his knuckles were turning white.
“To answer your question,” I said, finding my voice, “no, I didn’t tell them I was forcing the guy across the hall to come home with me.”
The corners of his lips turned up in a smile, and I watched as he relaxed. “Why not?”
“Well, to be honest, they’re going to ask a lot questions,” I said. “Questions about us. And I really didn’t want my phone blowing up the entire trip home, so—”
“I see. Well, the good thing is that there isn’t anything to tell, right? So don’t worry about it. I’m sure they’ll realize that after a few minutes.”
His words stung, but they were true. I sighed, pressing my head against the window again. I heard a clatter come from the front of the car, and I jumped. The next thing I knew, steam was billowing out from under the hood. I looked to Owen and back to the hood, but he said nothing as he pulled off into the emergency lane.
“Well, this is lovely,” I said.
Owen climbed out of the car, and I twisted in my seat to see what he was doing. He popped open the trunk, pulled something from the back, and then closed it. As he walked by my window, I saw him carrying a milk jug. He opened the hood, and a cloud of steam shot out.
I groaned and sat back in my seat. After what seemed like only a few seconds, the hood slammed shut, and Owen headed back to the driver’s side. He opened the door, tossed the empty jug into the backseat, and sat down. He looked at me and winked.
“Nothing a little water can’t fix,” he said, cool and casual.
“What now?” I asked. “Should I call a tow truck?”
“No, the car just overheated. We’ll let it sit for a few before we finish the last stretch.”
I felt like I could’ve lived through three lifetimes before we got back on the road again. Once we passed through Seattle, I told Owen which exits to take, and before long we were navigating the streets of my neighborhood. He let out a whistle as we pulled through the gate leading up to my house.
“I’m sure this is nothing compared to your place,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, parking the car.
I felt like slamming my head against the wall for saying something so ridiculous. “Well, I just figured since you grew up in San Diego, your parents had a nice house. I shouldn’t have assumed that.”
“They do,” he answered plainly, “but nothing like this.”
Just beyond the circular driveway, a row of tress flanked the walkway as it led up to the house, giving the entrance a majestic, yet intimate look. From here, only the first level of the house was visible, but there was no mistaking its vast size. If this is Owen’s reaction to just the driveway, I thought, I’d hate to see what his reaction will be as soon as we get inside.
We sat in the car, neither of us making a move to get out of the car. Finally, I opened my door. “Well, Mr. Bieber,” I teased, “we’d better head inside before someone starts bombarding us.”
Owen stuck his tongue out then stepped into the driveway, turning to look at me over the top of the rusty blue roof. “I’m getting a haircut while we’re here,” he said, half joking.
I laughed, joining him at the back of the car. He opened the trunk and pulled our bags out. I tried to take my suitcase from him, but he just shook his head and motioned for me to lead the way. As I hesitated at the front door, I heard Owen suck in a breath behind me, and I slowly counted to three in my head before pushing open the door.
Owen let out a soft whistle as I guided him to the living room. We entered the living room, i
ts large windows overlooking Lake Washington, and found one of my brothers, Trent, laid out on the couch. As soon as he saw me enter the room, he jumped up.
“MOM!” he shouted, pushing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. It was strange seeing his hair this long, the ends brushing against his ears—never in a million years had I thought he’d grow his hair out. “The traitor’s home and she’s got some guy with her!”
I groaned inwardly.
I heard my mother’s voice float down from the hall. “What guy? She brought a guy home!” she exclaimed.
I wanted to crawl into my room and hide in my closet. Trent looked at me before shifting his focus to Owen, who shifted his weight uncomfortably under the stare of my brother’s eyes.
“I don’t know, but he’s a traitor too!” my brother shouted back. “He’s got an Oregon sweater on.”
Owen glanced down at his gray hoodie and flicked his eyes at me. His face was pale, and he was clearly uncomfortable standing here under the scrutiny of my brother.
“All right, Trent,” I finally said. “Enough with the ‘traitor’ crap.”
“Not gonna happen,” he said, shaking his head. He looked at Owen. “Sorry, dude, but this house is Huskies only.”
I wanted to tackle him to the floor and beat him senseless. “Do I need to remind you about that picture in the family room? You wouldn’t want that accidently leaked all over social media, now would you?”
The picture in question was one my mother proudly set out for everyone to see. Trent was around seven or eight in the photo, and dressed as a princess. My father had forced him to indulge my need to play dress up, so he got stuck wearing a pink frilly dress with bows in his hair, pearls around his neck, high heels on his feet, and our mother had dusted his cheeks with blush. He looked absolutely adorable and ridiculous all at the same time.
“You wouldn’t . . .” he hissed.
I smirked. “Oh, I would.”
“Mom—” Trent started to say just as our mother entered the room.
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