Confess

by Colleen Hoover

  I smile. "I hate her, too," I say with a quick laugh. "I also love her, though. She loves AJ as much as I do, and I know he loves her. I'm thankful for that. But I never would have given up custody to her in the first place if I knew it would end up like this. I thought she wanted to help, but now I realize she's using AJ to replace the son she lost."

  Owen scoots toward me until I'm looking straight up at him and he's staring down at me. "You'll get him back," he says. "There's no reason a court wouldn't want your son with you."

  His compliment makes me smile, even though I know he's wrong. "I've researched all my options. A court wouldn't take a child away from someone they've legally been with since birth unless there's a legit reason. Lydia will never agree to let him live with me full-time. The only option I have, really, is to do whatever I can to appease her, all the while saving every extra penny I can to pay the lawyer I've hired to help me. But even he doesn't seem hopeful."

  He rests his head in one hand and brings his other hand to my face. His fingers trail lightly across my cheekbone, and his touch makes my eyes want to fall shut. I somehow keep them open, despite the soothing feel of his skin against my cheek. "You know what?" he says with a smile. "I'm pretty sure you just made determination my favorite quality in a person."

  I know I barely know him, but I definitely don't want him to move on Monday. I feel like he's the only good thing to happen to me since I arrived in Texas.

  "I don't want you to move, Owen."

  His eyes shift down, and he stops looking at me. His hand moves to my shoulder and he traces an invisible pattern with the tip of his finger, following it with his eyes. He looks apologetic, and it's more than just the fact that he's leaving. He's upset about something deeper, and I can see his confession wanting to fall off the tip of his tongue. He's holding something back.

  "You didn't get a job," I say. "That's not where you're going Monday, is it?"

  He still doesn't look at me. He doesn't even have to respond, because his silence confirms it. He answers anyway, though. "No."

  "Where are you going?"

  I watch as he winces slightly. Wherever he's going, he doesn't want to tell me. He's afraid of what I'll think. And honestly, I'm afraid of what I'm about to hear. I've had enough negativity for one day.

  He finally lifts his eyes to meet mine again, and the regretful look on his face makes me wish I didn't bring it up. He opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head.

  "I don't want to know yet," I say quickly. "Tell me after."

  "After what?"

  "After this weekend. I don't want to think about confessions. I don't want to think about Lydia. Let's just spend the next twenty-four hours avoiding both of our pitiful realities."

  He smiles appreciatively. "I like that idea, actually. A lot."

  Our moment is disrupted by the fierce growl of my stomach. I clench it in my hands, embarrassed. He laughs.

  "I'm hungry, too," he says. He exits the tent and helps me out as well by giving me his hand. "Want to eat here or my place?"

  I shake my head. "I'm not sure I can wait fifteen blocks," I say, heading toward the kitchen. "You like frozen pizza?"

  All we're doing is cooking pizza, but it's the most fun I've had with a guy since Adam. Getting pregnant at the age of fifteen doesn't leave a lot of time for social interaction, so saying I'm a little inexperienced could be an understatement. I used to grow nervous at the thought of getting close to another guy, but Owen has the opposite effect on me. I feel so much calmness when I'm around him.

  My mother says there are people you meet and get to know, and then there are people you meet and already know. I feel like Owen is the latter. Our personalities seem to complement each other, like we've known one another our whole lives. I had no idea until today just how much I need someone like him in my life. Someone to fill the holes that Lydia has created in my self-esteem.

  "If you weren't in such a hurry to graduate, what career would you have chosen other than cosmetology?"

  "Anything," I blurt out. "Everything."

  Owen laughs. He's leaning against the counter next to the stove, and I'm seated on the bar across from him. "I suck at cutting hair. I hate listening to everyone's problems while they sit in the salon chair. I swear, people take so many things for granted, and hearing all their whiny stories puts me in such a bad mood."

  "We're kind of in the same business if you put it that way," Owen says. "I paint confessions and you have to listen to them."

  I nod in agreement, but also feel like I could be coming off as ungrateful. "There are a few really good clients. People I look forward to. I think it's not so much the people that I don't like, but the fact that I had to choose something I didn't want to do."

  He studies me for a moment. "Well, the good news is, you're young. My father used to tell me that no life decision is permanent other than a tattoo."

  "I could argue with that logic," I say with a laugh. "What about you? Have you always wanted to be an artist?"

  The timer goes off on the oven and Owen immediately opens it to check the pizza. He shoves it back inside. I know it's just a frozen pizza, but it's kind of a turn-on to see a man take over in the kitchen.

  He leans against the counter again. "I didn't choose to be an artist. I think it kind of chose me."

  I love that answer. I'm also jealous of it, because I wish I could have been born with a natural talent. Something that would have chosen me, so that I wouldn't have to cut hair all day.

  "Have you ever thought about returning to school?" he asks. "Maybe majoring in something you actually have an interest in?"

  I shrug. "One of these days, maybe. Right now, though, my goal is AJ."

  He smiles appreciatively at my answer. I can't think of any questions I want to toss his way, because the silence is nice. I like the way he looks at me when it's quiet. His smile lingers, and his gaze falls all over me like a blanket.

  I press my hands onto the countertop beneath me and look down at my dangling feet. I suddenly find it hard to continue watching him, because I'm afraid he can see how much I like it.

  Without speaking, he begins to close the distance between us. I bite my bottom lip nervously, because he's coming at me with an intention, and I don't think his intention is to ask more questions. I watch as the palms of his hands meet my knees and then slowly slide upward. His hands graze my thighs all the way up until they come to rest on my hips.

  When I look into his eyes, I get completely lost in them. He's staring at me with a level of need that I didn't know I was capable of producing in someone. He wraps his hand around my lower back and pulls me against him. I place my hands on his forearms and grip tightly, not sure what's about to happen next but completely prepared to allow it.

  The faint smile on his face disappears the closer his lips come to mine. My eyelids flutter and then close completely, just as his mouth feathers mine.

  "I've been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you," he whispers. His mouth connects with mine, and at first his kiss is like the one I gave him in the tent. Soft, sweet, and innocent. But then the innocence is stripped away the second he runs one of his hands through the back of my hair and slides his tongue against my lips.

  I don't know how I can feel so light and so heavy all at once, but his kiss makes me feel weighted to a cloud. I slide my hands up his neck and do my best to kiss him the way he's kissing me, but I'm afraid my mouth doesn't even compare to his. There's no way I could make him feel like he's making me feel right now.

  He pulls my legs until they're wrapped around his waist, and then he lifts me off the bar and directs us toward the living room without stopping our kiss. I try to ignore the smell of pizza being overcooked in the oven, because I don't want him to stop. But I'm also really, really hungry and don't want the pizza to burn.

  "I think the pizza is burning," I whisper just as we hit the couch. He gently lowers me onto my back as he shakes his head.

  "I'll make you anothe
r one." His mouth reconnects with mine, and I suddenly couldn't care less about the pizza.

  He lowers himself onto the couch but not completely on top of me. He keeps his arms locked on either side of my head and doesn't do anything to show that he expects more than just this kiss.

  So that's what I give him. I kiss him and he kisses me and we don't stop until a smoke alarm begins to sound. As soon as we realize the sound is coming from inside my apartment, we both separate and jump up. He rushes to the oven and opens it while I grab the cardboard pizza box and begin fanning the smoke alarm.

  Owen pulls the pizza out of the oven and it's so burnt, it's completely inedible. "Maybe we should just go out to eat on the way back to my place."

  The smoke alarm finally stops, and I toss the pizza box on the counter. "Or we can just eat some of the years' worth of food you bought at Target today."

  He pulls the oven mitt off his hand and drops it onto the stove. He reaches for my hand and pulls me against him, lowering his mouth back to mine.

  I'm pretty sure his kisses are the best form of dieting there is, because every time his lips touch mine, I forget all about the fact that I'm starving.

  As soon as our tongues meet, there's a sudden, loud knock on the front door. Our mouths separate and we both turn and look at the door as soon as it swings open. When I see Trey standing in the doorway, I immediately back away from Owen. I hate that my first instinct is to separate myself from him, because the last thing I want Owen to think is that I'm involved with Trey in any way. The truth is, I would have backed away from him no matter who was at the door.

  I just really wish it wasn't Trey.

  "Shit," Owen mutters. I glance at him and his face has fallen, along with his shoulders. I can tell immediately that he must have the wrong idea about Trey's bursting through the front door.

  I glance back at Trey, who, for some reason, is making his way toward the kitchen with a death stare directed at Owen. "What are you doing here?"

  I look at Owen, and he isn't paying attention to Trey. He's looking directly at me. "Auburn," he says. "We need to talk."

  Trey's laugh makes me wince. "What do you need to talk to her about, Owen? Have you not already told her?"

  Owen's eyes close for several seconds, and then he opens them and fixes his stare on Trey. "When will it be enough for you, Trey? Fuck."

  My heart is hammering away in my chest and I have a feeling I'm about to find out why they feel this way toward each other, but at the moment I'm not sure I want to know. It can't be good.

  Trey takes two steps toward Owen, until he's inches from his face. "Get out of her apartment. Get out of her life. If you can do those two things, then I'll probably be satisfied."

  "Auburn," Owen says firmly.

  Trey takes several steps toward me, standing between Owen and me so that I can't see him anymore. I look into Trey's eyes now and see nothing but anger.

  He points behind him. "This guy you brought back to your apartment? The guy you allowed near your son? He was arrested for possession, Auburn."

  I shake my head with a disbelieving laugh. I don't know why Trey is saying these things. He steps aside and I can see Owen again.

  My heart grows too heavy to hold, because the look on Owen's face says it all. I see the apology and the regret. This is what he was going to tell me earlier. This is the confession I told him could wait until Monday.

  "Owen?" I say his name in almost a whisper.

  "I wanted to tell you," he says. "It's not as bad as he's making it sound, Auburn. I swear."

  Owen begins to take a step toward me, but Trey immediately turns and pushes him against the wall. His arm connects with Owen's neck. "You have five seconds to get the fuck out."

  Owen's eyes are still locked with mine, despite the arm that's pressed against his throat. He nods. "Let me get my things out of her room, and I'll go."

  Trey eyes him carefully for several seconds and then he releases him. I watch as Owen walks into my room to retrieve his "things."

  I know for a fact Owen didn't show up here with anything.

  Trey is eyeing me now. "Your child's uncle is a fucking cop and you don't think to get a background check on the people you allow into your life?"

  I have no response to that. He's right.

  Trey shakes his head in disappointment, just as Owen exits my bedroom. Before Trey turns to face him, Owen briefly glances toward the tent. His eyes are telling me something he's not willing to say out loud. He brushes past Trey and walks out the front door without looking back.

  Trey walks to the door and slams it shut. He stands with his hands on his hips, facing me, waiting for an explanation. If I didn't think he would go back to Lydia and tell her everything that just happened, I'd tell him to fuck off. Instead, I do what I always do. I say anything that will please them.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

  He walks toward me and gently squeezes my forearms while he looks me in the eyes.

  "I worry about you, Auburn. Please don't trust anyone until you run them by me first. I could have warned you about him."

  He hugs me, and it takes everything I have to hug him back, but I do.

  "You don't need his reputation coming between you and your son. It wouldn't be good for you."

  I nod against his chest, but I want to push him away from me for the disguised threat. He's just like his mother. Always using my situation with AJ to manipulate me. It burns me and strips me of any confidence I momentarily gained from being in Owen's arms.

  I pull away from him and attempt a smile. "I don't want anything to do with him," I say. The words are hard for me to say, because there might be actual truth in them. I can't even think about how angry I am at Owen right now when Trey is still standing in front of me. "Thank you for telling me," I say as I head to the door. I open it so that he'll take the hint. "I want to be alone for a while, though. It's been a long day."

  Trey walks toward the door and backs out. "I'll see you Sunday night at dinner?"

  I nod and force another fake smile to appease him. As soon as I close the door, I lock it and rush to my bedroom. I crawl inside the tent and find a piece of paper on my pillow. I pick it up and read it.

  Please come by my studio tonight. We need to talk.

  I read Owen's note so many times, I could likely rewrite it with perfectly matched handwriting. I lie down on the pillow and sigh heavily, because I have no idea what to do. There's nothing that could excuse the fact that he's going to jail, or the fact that he lied to me. But despite everything that just happened, every part of me is aching for him. I barely know the guy, yet somehow I can feel that familiar clench of a fist gripping at my heart. I have to see him one more time, even if it's just to say good-bye.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Owen

  I should have told her. The second I was released from custody, I should have gone straight to her apartment and told her everything.

  I've been pacing the studio floor for over an hour now. I only pace when I'm pissed, and right now I'm not sure I've ever been this angry. I'm going to burn a hole into this floor if I don't stop.

  But I know she's read my message by now. It's been over two hours since I left it on her pillow and I'm starting to think she's already given up on me. I don't blame her. As much as I want to try to convince her that Trey's not good for her and I'm not as bad as she now thinks I am, I have a feeling I won't even get that opportunity. There's no telling what she's been told about me by now.

  Just as I begin to head toward the stairs, I hear a knock on the glass door. I don't rush to the door. I sprint.

  When I open the door, her eyes meet mine briefly before she glances nervously over her shoulder. She grabs the door and quickly slips inside, shutting it behind her.

  I hate that. I hate that she's scared to be here and scared who might have seen her walk in the door.

  She doesn't trust me.

  She turns and faces me, and I hate the disappointment flooding her eyes
right now.

  We need to talk and I don't want to do it right here, so I reach around her and lock the door. "Thank you for coming."

  She doesn't respond. She waits for me to say something else.

  "Will you come upstairs with me?"

  She glances at the hallway over my shoulder and nods. She follows me across the studio and up to my apartment. It's crazy how different things are between us now. Two hours ago, everything was perfect. And now . . .

  It's amazing how much distance one truth can create between two people.

  I walk to the kitchen and offer her something to drink. Maybe if I pour her a drink, the conversation might last longer. There's so much I want and need to explain to her, if she will just give me that opportunity.

  She doesn't want a drink.

  She's standing in the middle of the room and it appears as if she's afraid to approach me. Her eyes roam around the room as if she's never been here before. I can see the look on her face. She sees me differently now that she knows.

  I quietly watch her assess the room for a while. Eventually her eyes meet mine again, and there's a long pause before she works up the courage to ask me what she came here to find out.

  "Are you an addict, Owen?"

  She doesn't skirt around the subject at all. Her straightforwardness makes me cringe, because nothing is a simple yes-or-no answer. And she doesn't appear to want to wait around for the explanation with the way she's eyeing the stairwell.

  "If I said no, would it even make a difference for us?"

  She regards me silently for several seconds, and then she shakes her head. "No."

  I had a feeling that would be her answer. And just like that, I no longer feel like explaining my side of the situation. What would be the point when my answer doesn't matter? Telling her the truth could just further complicate things.

  "Are you going to jail?" she asks. "Is that why you said you're moving?"

  I tilt the bottle and pour myself a glass of wine. I take a long, slow sip from it before answering with a nod. "Probably. It's my first offense, so I doubt I'm away for long."

  She exhales and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she's looking down at her feet. Her hands move to her hips and she continues to avoid eye contact with me. "I want custody of my son, Owen. They would use you against me."