I’m not even paying attention to what’s happening. How can I? I’m too consumed with Owen as he watches the game with rapt attention, his expression tense, his gaze locked on the field for every play, especially when the 49ers have the ball, specifically his brother-in-law. Every once in a while he says something to either Fable or me, or he leans over to give my hand a quick squeeze. He even drops the occasional kiss on my lips.
All the while his sister sits there, watching us in obvious shock though she’s trying her best to fake it.
She’s nice, his sister. When he introduced us, she actually hugged me, her pleasure at meeting me genuine. I was a little overwhelmed at first because Owen had warned me on the drive here that she could be pretty standoffish when she first meets someone. Says she has a hard time trusting people.
I could relate. Maybe she saw that, too; I don’t know.
Fable’s definitely beautiful, petite yet busty, with long, sunny blond hair and those same flashing green eyes as Owen’s. The affection between the two of them is palpable, and it makes me happy to see such obvious sibling love.
It almost makes me a little jealous, which is so stupid and pointless. Would I ever matter as much to Owen as his sister does? Totally not fair of me to think that way, but I can’t help it.
The drive to the stadium in Santa Clara had been long but fun. He’d come and picked me up in a sullen, agitated mood, but then he’d seemed to brighten a little when he saw me. And when he kissed me, his lips had lingered, and he’d held me extra close. Told me he missed me, his gaze roving over my face as if he couldn’t get enough of me, and for whatever reason, he seemed to calm down.
Had something happened before he came to pick me up? The thought nagged at the back of my mind the entire drive. I tried not to distract him too much since it rained on us most of the way and the roads were slick, so I kept my worry to myself.
And I am a total worrier. I inherited that trait from Mom and I hate it. Though she always claimed all the worry made me that much better of a student, since I feared missing an assignment or getting a bad grade. Worrying kept me on track, she told me more than once.
Whatever.
“So how is Owen doing in school?” Fable asks, her expression curious.
It’s halftime and Owen has taken off. Probably going to the bathroom, leaving me and Fable alone together.
“He’s doing a lot better,” I say, my voice a little shaky. I wish I weren’t so intimidated but oh my God, this is Owen’s sister. The one person he seems to love more than anyone else. She pretty much raised him and he respects her so much. I just want her to like me. “When I first started seeing him, he wasn’t applying himself, you know? And he also wasn’t going to class, which is obviously a problem.”
Fable sighs. “He can be so irritating. And stubborn. If I keep telling him to do something, I swear sometimes he’ll flat-out not do it just because I want him to. You know what I mean?”
I shrug. Not really, because that’s not how I am whatsoever. And somehow I convinced Owen to do his schoolwork. Of course, he had so much on the line at that point I don’t think he was willing to risk it.
“It’s always been hard to keep him focused,” Fable continues. “He’d much rather be doing something else. I think he gets bored easily in class. He’s very smart. He just tends to get … distracted.”
“Well, he’s back on the team, he’s working, and he’s going to school but somehow maintaining his heavy schedule pretty smoothly. I’m trying to help keep him on track. He’s still playing catch-up with his portfolio for the Creative Writing class but I think he’s almost there,” I explain.
“So it sounds like he doesn’t really need to see you anymore, does he?” Fable asks, her voice gentle.
I shrug, unease slipping down my spine. “I guess not.”
She smiles. “He likes you.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I like him, too.”
“Owen has never introduced me to a girl before.”
Now I’m shocked. “Really?”
Fable slowly shakes her head. “He’s always been very … independent. We both have. We’ve had to be.”
I have no idea what she’s alluding to and I wish I did. But it’s not my place to grill Owen’s sister. He should just tell me about his life on his own. Of course, I hold my own secrets close to my chest and I’m still not ready to admit anything to him.
Such as how guilty I feel for being here, in Santa Clara, when really Mom’s place isn’t that far away. I should have gone by to see her. She misses me terribly. I just talked to her on the phone yesterday and she’d sounded so sad, so desolate. She has no one, she likes to constantly tell me. No one but me. She can’t wait for me to come home and go to graduate school. She truly thinks I’m just going to move in and it’ll be the two of us against the world again.
I hate to break it to her, but that’s the last thing I want to do. And who knows what my life will be like two years from now? Things could change. Dramatically.
“He admires you a lot,” I say, wanting Fable to know just how much she means to Owen. I assume she realizes it but it must feel good to hear it, too. “You and your husband. He says the two of you pretty much raised him.”
“We did—well, mostly during his teen years, but those are the worst, right?” Fable smiles. “Owen and Drew became super close despite Owen’s initial distrust of him. But Owen hardly trusts anyone, so that’s normal. Now they’re so close; it’s sweet. Drew’s like the big brother Owen never had.”
“Don’t tell me you’re talking about me.”
At the sound of his deep voice, I turn to find Owen standing above us, a smile on his face and a shopping bag clutched in his hand. I return his smile, my heart flipping over itself when he settles into the empty seat beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine.
“You know it,” Fable says, a wicked grin on her face. “I’m telling Chelsea all about your bad habits.”
“Gimme a break.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m perfect.” Grinning, he sets the bag in my lap. “I got you a present.”
“What?” I’m shocked yet pleased. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” he says simply, nodding toward the bag. “Open it.”
I peek inside and then pull out a thick, white hooded pullover sweatshirt with the 49ers emblem on the front. It’s soft and warm, a little oversized, and I clutch it close, my gaze snagging on the price tag, eyes widening when I see the price.
Holy crap, it was expensive.
“I love it,” I tell him, touched that he would think of me and want to buy me a gift. “Thank you.”
“Put it on. Show your 49er spirit.” He takes the sweatshirt from me and tears off the price tag with a firm tug.
I shrug off the pale gray cardigan I’m wearing and take the new sweatshirt from Owen, then slip it on. It’s bulky and thick, cozy and soft, and I slip my hands into the front pocket, practically hugging myself. “How does it look?”
“Good. Real good.” The heat in Owen’s gaze momentarily steals my breath and I give him a stern look, tipping my head to the side toward his sister.
The last thing I need is him wanting to attack me in front of Fable. How embarrassing.
“You two are so cute.” Fable sighs and shakes her head. “Just friends, my ass.”
Owen says nothing and neither do I. Where did she hear we were just friends? Is that what Owen told her? We’ve not declared ourselves in any sort of relationship, but I did figure we were headed that way.
I definitely wouldn’t describe us as “just friends.”
The words bother me the rest of the game. Through the entire second half, though I put on a brave and happy face when the 49ers win. I chat with Fable but I can feel myself withdrawing, folding into myself. She knows a lot of people in the skybox—it’s filled with other players’ wives and girlfriends, and they all want to talk to the star quarterback’s wife. She matters; she’s important.
I d
on’t matter. I’m not important. I’m just Owen’s friend.
Trying my best to muster up being in a good mood, I meet Drew after the game and he’s just … dazzling. Gorgeous and friendly and so incredibly sweet to his wife; clearly he loves her madly. I can see his respect and affection for Owen; the three of them are close.
But not me. I’m not close to Owen. I’m just his friend.
So stupid, how I can’t let this go, but … it devastates me. What did I expect, though? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I’ve never been a believer in insta-love, though Kari certainly has been. She’s still chasing after that stupid Brad, yet he acts like he doesn’t want to give her the time of day.
Owen always acts like he wants to give me the time of day, yet we’re just friends.
Argh. If I could smack myself in the face and knock some sense into my head, I so would. I’m like a broken record. The iTunes playlist put on repeat. Again and again the words rattle around in my brain, pulse through my blood.
Just friends. Just. Friends.
Maybe I need to embrace those words. Remember them. Maybe that’s all we really are. At least, according to Owen. I need to prepare myself. He’ll leave me eventually. Move on, because that’s what he does. He’s never had a steady girlfriend; he’s admitted that to me more than once. So what am I doing, setting myself up to fail with Owen?
I need to harden my heart. Not let him in.
But I’m afraid it’s too late. He’s already so in, there’s no way I can get him out anytime soon.
And I don’t want to, either.
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.
Four Years Later Page 15
