A moment later, he came back down, slid the stairs back into place, and handed me a bag full of clothes and shoes to choose from, my handbag, and my leather jacket. After I pulled on a pair of jeans and my jacket, one-handed, in the bathroom, we went back downstairs. I’d have to text Kaye about the chairs later, when my wrist hurt a bit less.
Outside, in the cold, clear night, Owen’s truck, with its cheerful company logo and its bed full of two-by-fours, sat in our driveway. I climbed up into the passenger seat. Leaning my head back, I closed my eyes and listened to Owen get into the driver’s seat beside me. Even when I was this tired and wretched, my skin tingled from being next to him.
Owen didn’t start up the truck. Opening my eyes, I cast him a worried glance. His large, graceful hands were curled around the steering wheel, but his gaze was lost somewhere in the night.
“Miranda,” he said quietly, “are you sure you don’t want me to call Kaye?”
The question filled me with shame. I shouldn’t impose on him. We weren’t dating. We weren’t really anything to one another. And he had already done more than enough to help me tonight. “If you don’t want to go—”
“No,” he said at once. “No. It’s not that. It’s—I don’t want you to feel unsafe. Around me. After what’s just happened.”
“Oh.” I frowned down at my lap. The thing was, he was right. I shouldn’t feel safe with him. I should be afraid of him, like Kaye was. Like everybody was.
I just… wasn’t. I had missed him so much while he was gone. I had longed to see him. And tonight, he’d been there for me in a way no one ever had.
There was something else, too—something about him that I’d learned after the terrible events tonight, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
“To tell you the truth,” I said, “there’s no one else I’d rather be with right now.”
Owen didn’t look away from the windshield. In the darkness, his expression was almost imperceptible—just the slightest crease between his eyebrows, a sadness in the set of his mouth. Without a word, he started up the car.
At the E.R. in Bellisle, they diagnosed me with a wrist sprain, gave me a brace and some painkillers, and told me I’d be better in a few weeks. The doctor looked warily at Owen when I explained to her that my ex had grabbed me by the wrist, so I made a point of telling her that the police had arrested him after my friend—with a gesture at Owen—had called 911.
“All right,” the doctor said, pursing her lips, “well, just make sure you keep icing it.”
She walked off, and I glanced at Owen, remembering how tense he’d been after Rhys had accused him of attacking me. He was slumped forwards in the tiny hospital chair, his forearms resting on his knees.
“Owen?”
He looked up at me, his face pale and drawn. I slid off the bed and stood in front of him, wanting to touch him. He ran a hand through his hair with a tight sigh. “We should get you home.”
We went outside, passed an ambulance idling at the sliding glass doors, and crossed the empty lot to Owen’s truck. As soon as I climbed into the passenger seat, my heart started to pound. I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to the house. After the police had arrested Rhys, I’d been so relieved that I’d felt almost…okay. But now what had happened kept flashing into my head, over and over again, and each time it was somehow worse. I didn’t know if I’d ever feel safe in that living room again—if I could ever sit on that couch without seeing Rhys walking in through the front door.
He took everything away from me, always: my friends, my money, the plane tickets to go see my dad, and now, the sanctity of my home. Thanks to my sprained wrist, I wouldn’t even be able to paint for the next few weeks. He had even taken that.
Owen cleared his throat. “You all right?”
I was shaking so much that it was hard to speak. “I d-don’t want to go b-back there.”
“Stay with me.” Owen spoke so quietly that I could barely hear him. “I would sleep on the couch, obviously. I understand if you don’t want to, but…it would make me feel better if I could keep you in my sight for a little while longer.”
I stared at him. “It would make you feel better?”
“Right.” He cast me a rueful sidelong smile in the darkness. “Do it for me.”
I leaned back against the seat, thinking, again, that there was something I’d learned tonight, something about Owen. But what?
“All right,” I said. “For you.”
When we pulled into the driveway, Owen’s house was dark, except for a single light shining through the small garage door windows. He must have been in his workshop before he came over. The thought of him in his workshop was strangely soothing. I loved his workshop: the scent of wood dust, the light playing across the violins on the wall. I could imagine him bending over his workbench, carefully measuring out the wood for the sides of his cello.
I followed him up the front stoop and into his kitchen. The last time I’d been here felt like an eternity ago, even though it had only been a week.
My phone jangled inside my handbag. For an awful, heart-stopping moment, I wondered if it was Rhys.
I pulled my phone out of my bag and saw, to my relief, a text from Kaye. What happened? Are you ok?
I texted her back: Long story. Sorry about the barstools, I’ll pay for them. Biting my lip, I debated telling her where I was, but I didn’t think she’d understand. Eventually, I just sent her a second text: I’m okay. Be home tomorrow.
“Was that…?” Owen began, his brow furrowing.
“Just Kaye,” I told him. I glanced at my phone again and realized, to my surprise, that it was already midnight. “You have to get up for work in four hours! I’m sorry—”
He laughed, shaking his head. “No, no, don’t be. I scheduled tomorrow off. And even if I hadn’t, it would be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.” He stepped closer to me in his dark kitchen. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”
“Thanks to you.” I twined my fingers together. “If you hadn’t come over…”
“Don’t.” He took my hands in his, enfolding them completely inside his palms. “Don’t think about what-if’s. You’ll drive yourself crazy with it.”
I gave in to what I’d wanted to do the whole time at the E.R. and hugged him. At first, he tensed, but after a moment, he pulled me in closer to him and stroked my hair. I breathed in his scent and felt almost happy.
Eventually, he pulled away. “You should sleep.”
It was hard to imagine ever sleeping again, though I was unbearably tired. Even on the night I’d driven to Fall Island from Connecticut, I hadn’t felt like this.
I followed Owen across his spotless living room and up the stairs. Inside his bedroom, his guitar leaned against the chair by the window. An open box of guitar picks sat on the nearby table. For Owen, it was almost messy. The thought made me smile.
“Just going to grab some sheets,” Owen was saying, opening the door to his closet.
Self-conscious, I sat down on the edge of his bed.
“Owen,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”
He shut the closet door and ran his hands through his hair. “Miranda…”
“It’s not like we’ve never shared a bed.”
“I can’t, M.”
“Please,” I whispered.
“I—look, I just can’t. Not unless I know what’s going on with us. And it’s not exactly the right time for that conversation.”
“I know.” I stared at the toes of my shiny flats pressed into Owen’s plushy carpet. What could I say? It was so hard to wrap my mind around all of this, especially after the night I’d had.
And yet…here I was. Alone with Owen. No one knew where I was. But I’d never felt safer. I wouldn’t have felt safe with anyone else, but I did with him.
I’d learned something tonight—something that put it all together.
But I was so worn out and rattled I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Owen hugged his arms to his chest, still not quite facing me. “I can’t be around you like this without wanting to touch you. I…I want you, Miranda. I want to be with you. I haven’t felt like this about anyone since—well, since Suze, and even then…” He scrubbed his face with his hands, while I stared at him in silent amazement, wondering if I could possibly have heard him correctly. He wanted me—he wanted to be with me.
“I know it’s crazy, because we just met,” Owen continued, “and I’m sure you don’t believe me, that I didn’t…”
He trailed off, but he didn’t need to say it out loud for me to know what he meant. That I didn’t kill Suze.
Suddenly, all of the pieces clicked into place. I knew what I had learned. I’d had it all wrong—I hadn’t learned something about Owen. I’d already known he was nothing like Rhys, though tonight had made that even clearer.
Instead, I’d learned something about myself—that I’d believed in Owen’s innocence from the beginning. I’d been afraid to trust my own judgment, but I’d believed in him. I’d just needed to believe in me.
“Um,” Owen said, and I realized that several silent seconds had gone by. “Okay. I’ll go then—”
“Don’t go,” I said, standing. “Owen, I know you didn’t hurt Suze. You…you are the sweetest, kindest, bravest man I’ve ever met. The truth is that I was more upset that you and your mum didn’t tell me about it than anything else. I knew there was no way it was you. You loved her. You still love her. That’s why you haven’t left the island—it would be leaving her, and you just can’t.” I flushed. “The thing is, a lot of people here know that, truly they do. They just don’t want to admit it, because if you didn’t do it, then they don’t know who did. And for them, that’s worse than making your life hell.”
He had grown paler as I was talking. “They think I’m guilty,” he whispered. “I’m sure of it. Even Jenny did. She said the fact that I’d been acquitted was good enough for her, and it was time for everyone to move on. But I knew that in her heart she worried about it.”
I took a few steps towards him. This close, I could see that he was actually shivering, though it wasn’t very cold. My heart aching for him, I traced my fingertips up his arms to his shoulders, then gently touched the sides of his face. He flinched, but he didn’t pull away.
I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him, very lightly, on the lips. “I believe you.”
He unlocked his arms and pulled me into him, still shivering, his movements jerky as he dug his hands into my hair. “Say it again.”
“I believe you.” I kissed his lips again, trailed kisses down his throat. “I believe you.”
His hands twitched in my hair. “I can’t tell you what that’s like. To hear that from you.”
“I mean it,” I said, drawing back so I could look up at him. I brushed his hair back from his forehead with my good hand. “I swear that to you. I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
He took my hand in his and kissed it, the way he had at the beach. His eyes falling closed, he swallowed hard. “I’m so glad you’re all right. When I got that phone call…the stuff he said to you… No wonder you were afraid of me.”
“You are his exact opposite,” I told him. “In every way.”
He hugged me tight, one strong hand holding my back and the other twining back into my hair. I wound my arms around his waist and rested my forehead against his chest, right next to the button he’d missed in his rush to come to my rescue. On impulse, I kissed the missed button. He stirred and kissed my hair, then pressed slow, lingering kisses to my temple and cheekbone.
All of the adrenaline and emotion from tonight coalesced into longing, deep and fervent. My heart beginning to pound, I undid the buttons above and below the missed button and kissed the strong lines of his chest though his undershirt, acutely aware of his rough breathing.
He murmured my name as I worked his shirt buttons open, slowed down by my wrist brace.
“Are you sure…?” he said softly.
“I’m sure.”
The thin fabric of his undershirt was already too much of a barrier. I wanted to feel his skin against mine. I tugged his shirt off, and he helped me pull mine off over the brace. He unzipped my jeans and slid them down past my hips, followed by my underwear. In the thin strobes of moonlight coming through the window, his cheeks darkened.
I watched him unbutton his fly and bit my lip. “Are we…are we exclusive?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “God, yes.”
I didn’t want to admit how relieved I was by his answer. “I’m on the pill,” I said instead. Thank goodness I’d always gotten it in three-packs. “If you want to…”
“Yeah. Yeah.” He shucked off his jeans and boxers and sat down on the edge of his huge bed. Gently, he took my good hand and drew me towards him. I climbed onto his lap, straddling his powerful legs. I would’ve rather had him on top of me, but after Rhys had pinned me like that… I wanted this to be as different as it could be. Because Owen was so different.
We kissed again, slowly at first, but building and building. I reached between us and took him into my hand, admiring how hard he was, the silkiness of his skin. He sucked in a harsh breath. “M.—I want to be inside you.”
Shifting position, I slid him in, gasping with mingled pain and pleasure at the size of him. “Oh, God, Owen—”
He took my hips in his hands to work out the rhythm, while I looped my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and his warmth, his taste, was intoxicating, better than any painkiller. But even that couldn’t compare to the way he felt inside me, completely naked, and, for this moment, completely mine.
“Supe que eras el amor de mi vida,” I breathed, my tension building so fast I barely knew what I was saying, only that I needed to say it. “No importa lo que ocurra, mi corazón te seguirá perteneciendo.”
My body tightened painfully, and I came so hard I had to choke back a cry, clinging to him and shuddering. His hands tightened around my hips, and he drove harder into me, sending aftershocks of pleasure through me.
“Irresistible girl,” he growled into my ear, his words a delicious contrast to his tone. He nipped my ear, making me shiver one last time. “Magical girl.”
His breath hitching, his body tensed. He thrust even deeper inside me, once, twice, and shared himself with me. A gift, to be treasured, just like I treasured him.
Holding me close, he pressed his face into my hair. “Was that Spanish?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
I smiled, wishing I were brave enough to tell him the truth: that he was the love of my life, that my heart was his, always. “I said you had a hot ass.”
“Makes sense.” He grinned.
Chapter 21
The next morning, I woke up with a start from a nightmare about Rhys. My eyes flew open as I gasped for breath—until I realized I was in Owen’s bed. The nightmare faded. I was safe.
I reached for him, but he wasn’t there. A neatly folded note lay on his pillow.
Oh, no, I thought, sitting up and snatching the note. Not again.
Downstairs, with coffee.
A huge smile spread across my face.
I hopped out of bed and pulled on another one of the shirts Owen had grabbed for me last night. It was one of my gaudier tops—a froth of lace and silk. He’d even grabbed a necklace off my wall of jewelry: a big cameo on a black ribbon. The necklace and the shirt actually matched perfectly, though the effect was a bit gothic. The one thing he hadn’t brought for me was makeup, which meant I had no way to cover up the ugly bruise on my jaw. I supposed I should view the bruise as a badge of honor, a symbol of my escape, but it was hard for me to see it that way. If it weren’t for Owen, I doubted I would have escaped.
I followed the smell of coffee into the kitchen, where Claire was sitting at the table.
&nbs
p; “Claire,” I said in surprise, remembering our argument with a pang of regret.
Claire leapt up and swept me into a tight hug. “Oh, sweetie! Owen told me what happened. I’m so sorry. I had wondered—but I didn’t realize how bad it was—”
“It’s okay,” I assured her, disentangling myself from her arms with a smile. “I’m okay now. Owen took good care of me.”
He was standing by the sink, drying a coffee mug with a dishtowel. When our eyes met, he blushed, and my own cheeks warmed in response.
Claire glanced from me to Owen with a fond smile. “I should get back to the shop. I’m just so glad you’re all right. Or mostly all right.” Her smile flickered as she took in my wrist brace, half-hidden under one silky sleeve. “I hope that man rots in jail.”
I shivered. “He’ll find a way out of trouble. He always does.”
“Maybe I’ll give Sherri Lipkowicz a call,” Claire said acidly. “She’ll show him a thing or two.”
“Sherri Lipkowicz?”
“She’s the district attorney for our county,” Claire explained. “But before she became a prosecutor, she was Owen’s defense attorney.”
Suddenly, I remembered where I’d heard her name before. The boring lawyer from Kaye and Andy’s beach party had told me that he worked with Sherri Lipkowicz. He’d even mentioned something about her switching to prosecution from defense—something about a certain case. “She switched sides after Owen’s case?”
“She was so upset by how that awful prosecutor treated him. I’ll never forget it. She believed in Owen every second of that case.”
Boredom had made it sound like she’d regretted helping Owen. People here would find any reason to think of him as guilty.
“I’ll call her if you want, M.,” Owen rumbled. He poured a huge mug of coffee, added cream and sugar, and brought it to me where I was standing by the counter.
Taking the mug in my good hand, I tried to smile. “Okay,” I said half-heartedly. “If you think it’s a good idea.” It was hard to imagine a prosecutor having a word with Rhys, or filing charges against him. And if she did, that could tarnish Rhys’ legal career before it had truly begun. His whole life could change because of me.
Set Me Free Page 16
