Chapter 37
Camryn
I t was too late to go back now. I reminded myself as I pulled my sweatpants over my tights, trying to focus on the familiar motions instead of Trystan's face on the beach - the way his expression had crumpled when I'd looked back. The memory hit like a physical ache, one I thought would fade. Should have faded.
My phone rang, the sound sharp in the empty locker room. I didn't need to look at the screen. One week, forty voicemails, and countless texts later, it was still Trystan. Always Trystan. Each ignored call felt like another crack in my resolve, but I hit reject again, watching his name fade to black.
My phone chirped, alerting me that he left another message. I had forty unheard messages and even more unread text messages.
My phone chirped again, and I rolled my eyes. Another text message.
I had to put an end to this.
I flipped open his messages.
Trystan: I miss you.
That was the last message he'd sent.
Camryn: I'm with Owen now.
I hit send and closed out of his messages, praying that one message would end this, but I had a feeling it wouldn't. He'd eventually give up over time, though.
Another notification lit up my screen, drawing an exasperated "Seriously?" from my lips.
But the irritation melted into a grin when I saw Owen's name instead of the one I'd been dreading.
Owen: What are you doing?
Camryn: About to leave practice.
Owen: Perfect timing. I'm out front.
I snatched my dance bag off the bench and bolted through the locker room, down the hall, and out the front doors of the school to see Owen leaning up against his white car wearing his usual black joggers, a team shirt and a black ball cap on backward.
I couldn't help but smile.
Owen pushed off his car, his movements carrying that easy confidence that drew everyone to him. "Hey."
"Hey." I adjusted my dance bag strap, suddenly aware of how sweaty I must look after practice.
He took a step closer, close enough that I caught the faint scent of his cologne. "You got any plans?"
Now that Kaia was pregnant and planning a wedding, I had a lot more free time. "I was going to head home and watch a movie."
He lifted the paper bag, the familiar logo making my empty stomach clench. "You hungry?"
My eyes fixed on the grease spot spreading at the bottom of the bag. "Yeah."
"Hop in." He reached for the door handle with his free hand, keys jingling. A warm breeze caught the edges of the bag as he gestured toward the river with his chin. "We can ride down to the river."
Riverside Park was about five minutes from the school, and it honestly sounded like a perfect date, watching the sunset and eating subs with Owen.
I slid into the passenger side, and Owen backed out of the parking spot before pulling out into traffic.
Owen's fingers drummed a steady pattern against the steering wheel. "How was practice?"
I watched his hands, so steady and sure, nothing like Trystan's restless energy. "It was okay." My muscles ached from pushing too hard, trying to dance away thoughts I couldn't shake. "How about yours?"
The corner of his mouth lifted in that reliable way of his, as predictable as sunrise. "Same."
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching streetlights blur past. "I'm kind of exhausted."
The admission felt heavier in the quiet car than I'd intended.
Owen's grip shifted on the steering wheel. From the corner of my eye, I caught him stealing glances at the dark circles I knew lined my eyes. "You stretch yourself pretty thin." He hesitated, then reached over to turn down the radio. "Why do you do so many different activities?"
The question hung in the air between us as I watched a car pass us.
The truth rose up like bile in my throat—so simple to understand, so painful to voice.
"Because I hate being alone." The words came out barely above a whisper, each one feeling like a confession I wasn't ready to make.
As he eased the car into a parking space, his gaze shifted, meeting mine. "I get it." His gaze shifted forward. "Come on, let's go eat."
We strolled through the park, stopping at a picnic table near the river.
"So, what are your plans for tonight?" I slid onto the bench across from Owen.
Owen slid the sandwich across the wooden table, his fingers lingering on the wrapper. "Depends." The evening light flickered in his eyes as he watched me. "If my girlfriend wants company or not."
Heat crept up my neck at the word 'girlfriend.' I ducked my head, unwrapping the sandwich with suddenly clumsy fingers, letting my hair fall forward as a slow smile spread across my face.
A buzz against my hip interrupted the moment. "Sorry," I said, fishing my phone from my sweats. "Probably Kaia about the bachelorette party."
The number on the screen hit me like a punch to the gut.I'd had it memorized after the first dozen calls.
Not Kaia.
Trystan.
The phone buzzed again in my palm, then again.
"Oh yeah." He smiled. "That's this weekend."
"What do the girls have planned?"
I hit the side button to black out the screen and turned off the ringer. "Kaia just wants to do a movie night at the house."
"Really?"
I nodded. "What about you guys?"
"Jax left it up to me and Trystan to plan."
"You and Trystan?"
"Yep."
"How's that going?"
He shrugged as he unwrapped his sandwich. "I tried calling Trystan twice, and he sent me to voicemail twice." He shook his head. "So I don't know if he's planning it or I am."
I twisted the wrapper of my sandwich, the paper crinkling between my fingers. "If I had to guess, I would say you are." My throat tightened at saying his name aloud. "Trystan's never been a planner. He's a fly-by-the-seat of his pants type of guy."
Owen methodically wiped his hands with a napkin, each movement precise. "Yeah, that's kind of what I figured." He folded the napkin into neat quarters. "So I set up something with the bar. We're just going to have a party."
"Strippers?" The word jumped out before I could stop it.
A startled laugh escaped him, and he wadded up the napkin. "No." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "I mentioned a strip club, but Jax said no."
I laughed. "His soon-to-be wife is pregnant and moody. She'd kill him."
"What about you?" He looked up through his lashes. "Would you be upset if I went to a strip club?"
My brows pulled together as I considered the question. My immediate response was, ‘Why would I be mad?’ but that 'me' forgot Owen was my boyfriend. I really didn't know how to answer that because I really didn't care, and I wasn't sure what response he wanted. I was still struggling to see him as more than a friend.
I picked at the edge of the picnic table, where the paint was peeling away. "Do you want to go to a strip club?"
Owen's shoulders lifted in a half-shrug, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere over my shoulder. "I don't." His fingers drummed once, twice on the table before going still. "Sometimes the guys like to go, but it's usually only the single guys that go."
I stopped picking at the paint, something in his careful tone making me look up. "I feel like you're skating around something, Owen."
My phone vibrated again and again.
It was Trystan.
"Do you trust me?" My gaze lifted, meeting his. "You know I'm not him, right?"
I slowly nodded, the truth settling like stones in my stomach. Owen wasn't Trystan—that had been the whole point, hadn't it? Owen was steady where Trystan was chaos, reliable where Trystan was wind. A blessing. A shelter from the storm.
So why did shelter feel so much like settling?
The more we sat here, the more the gaps became obvious. Where there should have been butterflies, there was only comfortable silence. Where there should have been fire, there was only warmth. My body didn't hum with awareness when he leaned closer. My skin didn't ache for his touch. The cosmic pull that had always yanked me toward Trystan like gravity was conspicuously absent.
Owen's hand rested on the table between us, steady and open. Everything Trystan's weren't. I should want to reach for it. Should feel something more than this hollow ache in my chest.
The thought crept in like poison: maybe Trystan had been right that night on the beach. Maybe he had ruined me for anyone else. Or maybe—I watched Owen's fingers drum once, twice against the wooden surface—I was just letting old ghosts haunt new memories.
My phone vibrated again. I flipped it open.
Trystan: He'll never be enough for you.
I stared blankly at the text for a long moment, realizing I was never going to be able to move on with him constantly in my head and on my phone.
"Cam..."
The sound of my nickname pulled me back like a rubber band snapping. Owen was leaning forward, his brow furrowed in that way that always made him look younger. "Did you hear me?"
My thumb jabbed the side button harder than necessary, the screen going dark on Trystan's words. "Uh yeah." I forced my hand to unclench from around the phone. "Of course, I trust you."
My phone vibrated again.
"Wow, Kaia is definitely a fast texter." He laughed.
I forced a soft smile, a hint of guilt wrapping around me. "Hey," I sighed. "Do you think you could take me back to my car?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm just exhausted." That was the truth. I was physically and mentally exhausted, and I needed sleep to clear my head.