Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
EVEREST
Something’s changed. I don’t know what exactly. But after that day with the Chad kid, the incident in the foyer, and the lust-fueled standoff in the middle of the night… something’s changed.
Owen is still Owen, but a little less Owen than normal? Like, he and Ivy haven’t been arguing as much. He hasn’t been nagging her about picking up her toys or being a drill sergeant about eating healthy meals. I found tubs of ice cream in the freezer the other day. Bubblegum and salted caramel. Like, wtf?
And he hasn’t been back to his apartment at all, I don’t think. I overheard him on the phone one day talking about signing a lease or something. So maybe he found someone to rent the place?
I don’t know how I feel about all this, to be honest. I mean, I’m glad he’s all-in on raising Ivy with me and I’m ecstatic that I’m not coming home to war zones every goddamn day. But he’s also not leaving me with many reasons to keep hating him.
Ugh. Who the hell am I kidding? I don’t hate him very much anymore. Don’t get me wrong, he is still annoying as shit sometimes, but I think I gave up actively hating him a while ago. Now, I’m more like… tolerant with a dash of intrigued. And horny. Definitely horny for Owen.
And he’s horny for me too. I keep catching him staring at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. Especially my hands, which, not to brag or anything, but I’ve got pretty sexy hands. And I might be imagining it, but I’m pretty sure his eyes light up just a tiny bit whenever I walk into the room. He tries to hide it, I’m sure, but I know Owen better than he thinks I do. He definitely has the hots for me. It’s just a matter of time.
I was really close to kissing him that night in the kitchen. I’m still not entirely sure why I didn’t. I was tired, obviously. But like, not just physically tired, I think. After my reaction to the Owen look-alike at the club, it felt weird to come home and make out with the real deal.
He was all messed up too. From the touch of crazy in his eyes to the way he swung from hot to cold and back again, he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. It wouldn’t have been right of me to take advantage of his moment of weakness. And I can’t imagine how much worse it would make things between us.
Neither of us has mentioned what happened since. But whenever we’re in the same room, there’s a noticeable amount of unresolved sexual tension filling the air. We’re just lucky Ivy’s a bit too young to pick up on it. Because whew, it’s thick. The boys at Mars have a bet going for when we’ll finally fuck.
A part of me wants us to just do it already, but there’s another part of me that kinda likes the suspense. It’s like we’re two MMA fighters circling the cage, each waiting for the other to make the first move. The longer we drag this out, the more explosive it’ll be when it happens.
Today is Saturday and I’ve taught a full day of classes. I’m amped and exhausted at the same time. It’s the best feeling, like I’m high on some top shelf drugs.
I jog up the steps of our stoop and let myself in the front door. Owen and Ivy aren’t in the kitchen or the living room. “Hello?”
“Up here!”
I drop my duffel on the floor and take the stairs two at a time. They aren’t on the second floor either, but I hear voices on the third—Eden and Jeremy’s bedroom. What the hell are they doing up there?
“Ives? Owen?”
I climb the last flight a little more slowly as a sense of dread comes over me. There’s only one reason why they would be up here.
When I reach the landing and peek into Eden’s and Jeremy’s bedroom, I freeze. It feels like all the oxygen’s been sucked out of the house. I’m trying to drag in a breath, but I can’t.
There are piles of stuff scattered all over the place. Piles of Eden’s and Jeremy’s stuff. And in the middle of the room are Ivy and Owen, sitting on the floor. She’s hugging one of Jeremy’s dress shirts to her chest. He’s holding a blow-dryer.
“Mommy used to wear Daddy’s shirts a lot. They were too big for her. She looked so funny in them.” Ivy giggles, but the sound is muffled by the rush of blood past my ears.
“I bet she did.” Owen lifts the blow-dryer. “What about this? You want to keep it?”
Ivy studies for a second, head tilted in thought. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“I can teach you. You might not want to use it right now, but in a few years you’ll be able to do fancy hairdos with it.”
A strangled noise escapes my throat and they both turn to look at me, innocently, like this is the most normal thing in the world. It’s not. It’s absolutely fucking not.
“What are you doing?” I ask, the words barely understandable as my throat closes up.
Owen’s expression grows wary and concerned. When he speaks, his voice is level, like he senses danger and is trying to keep everyone calm. “We’re sorting through their things.”
Yeah, I fucking got that part. But why ? He’s tearing apart their bedroom, rifling through all their things. They don’t belong to him. He has no right. He shouldn’t even be up here. All the thoughts race through my head, but all that comes out is another strangled sound.
Owen slowly rises to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on me as he speaks to Ivy. “Hey Ivy, why don’t we take a break? How about you go watch something on the iPad?”
Ivy glances from him to me and back to him, her curious six-year-old mind picking up on the tension rippling through the air between us. Does she get it? Does she understand? Owen is erasing her parents right now. He is literally tossing them out and scrubbing them from their own house, their home.
Ivy stands, leaving Jeremy’s dress shirt on the floor. For a moment, it looks like she might insist on staying, but then she steps over all the shit scattered everywhere, heading for the door. When she gets to me, she gives my legs a quick hug, then she disappears down the stairs.
I grip the doorframe, practically trembling with rage. “How dare you?”
“Everest.” Owen’s tone is gentle with a hint of resignation.
“How fucking dare you?” I launch myself forward, snatching the blow-dryer he’s still holding and tossing it onto the bed.
I grab the front of his shirt and his hands come up to latch onto my wrists. My momentum sends us careening across the room.
“We have to do this sooner or later.” His voice cracks with emotion. “They’re not coming back, Everest. We can’t keep this place as a mausoleum.”
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.” I try to push him toward the door, but Owen’s a slippery motherfucker and stronger than he looks. He pushes right back.
“Stop it. Everest. Stop,” he implores.
I don’t. I push and shove, trying to use my bigger body to my advantage. We stumble over the stuff on the floor—clothes, shoes, toiletries, books. Owen’s got one hand wrapped around my wrist when my foot lands on the corner of something hard. I lose my balance and Owen tries to keep me upright. He hauls me to him, throwing his arm around me, but it’s not enough.
We go down, landing in a pile of tangled limbs. My face is pressed to Owen’s chest and he’s holding me tight. I struggle against him for a moment, but he doesn’t budge.
“It’s okay, Ev. Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he murmurs in the same tone he uses when he’s trying to comfort Ivy.
A sob rips through the room and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me. My cheeks are wet and my throat is raw. My lungs burn and it feels like I’m being physically torn apart.
I don’t know when I started crying, but now that I’m in the midst of it, it all comes pouring out. Again. I’ve already cried so much in the weeks since the accident. I’ve sobbed while lying in bed, hugging a pillow. Stray tears have slipped down my cheeks while I’m working out my shit on the punching bag at the gym. I’ve stood in the shower, letting the water wash the grief away.
Why am I still crying? How do I still have tears left to shed? When does it stop?
I cling to Owen as my emotions sweep me up and carry me away. He doesn’t let me go. He doesn’t try to distance himself. If anything, his arms squeeze me tighter, his body curls protectively around me.
I take the comfort he offers, ignoring all the messy history between us, ignoring how out of character this is for him. I soak in the warmth of his body, the solid muscles under my palms, the grounding weight of him.
He smells so good. I want to breathe in that rich leather scent and hold it in my lungs. It makes me feel safe and protected and small.
His lips touch the shell of my ear and his breath tickles whenever he exhales. His stubble catches on my hair. He hasn’t shaved in a while and it’s really messing with the clean-cut look I’m used to.
Gradually, these little things filter in through the debilitating grief that’s consumed me. My tears dry up, my pulse settles, and my breathing slows. Still, Owen doesn’t let me go.
We lie there. Holding each other. On the floor. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves. It’s like we’re in a little bubble where time stands still. Nothing from our past can make it into the bubble and neither can anything from our future. Our beef with each other is irrelevant. All that matters is the comfort of being with someone who understands.
At some point, Owen’s hand starts rubbing up and down my back. Nothing huge, just a slide back and forth. It feels almost absent-minded and I don’t even know if he knows he’s doing it. It’s nice, though. Soothing. I don’t stop him.
I drift, floating in that place between awake and asleep, between dreams and reality. I want to stay here and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I want to forget about all the responsibilities weighing me down and all the work that’s waiting for me. I want to be in this bubble forever.
Owen shifts suddenly and I think he’s trying to pull away. But he’s just adjusting his hips so he’s not pressed quite so tightly against me. Under my ear, his heart rate seems to increase and his breathing grows more rapid.
Gently, so I don’t headbutt his chin, I lift my face from where it’s been cradled against his chest. I only go far enough to be able to look him in the eye. The amber irises are swirling with emotion. Sadness and grief. Exhaustion. Fear and longing. I feel all those same things.
“Owen?”
He swallows and his Adam’s apple works in his throat. His tongue sneaks out to wet his lips and my gaze drops to watch. It would only take a tilt of my chin to bring my mouth to his. Then I could taste his tongue again. I could suck on it again. My dick roars to life at the thought.
“We shouldn’t do this,” Owen whispers, though he doesn’t sound very confident.
I huff in disagreement. “Why not?”
“Ivy needs to come first,” he says.
“She still does.”
A few beats pass in silence.
“It’s complicated enough.”
“So a little more complication won’t hurt.”
“We don’t even like each other.”
My lips curl into a smirk. “That’s what makes it even better.”
He growls and I’m ready for him when he fits his lips against mine. It’s hungry. Our teeth bang together, tongues fighting for dominance. He bites on my lower lip and I can’t help the whimper that escapes me. The pain shoots straight to my dick and my hips thrust forward, looking for friction.
I roll Owen onto his back and wedge my thigh between his. His hands go to my ass, gripping hard as we grind our cocks together. Fuck, that’s good. Like, unreasonably good. It’s just humping, and yet my entire body tingles, my nipples ache, and my balls are drawn up tight.
Owen hikes up a knee and uses his foot to push off the floor, rolling us over again so he’s on top. My fingers thread through his thick hair. The strands are shorter on the sides and back, but the top is just long enough for me to get a good grip. He moans when I tug and shoves his tongue deeper into my mouth.
I welcome it, suck on it, pet it with my own. When he pulls back, I chase his tongue into his mouth and we do it all over again. The kiss is messy, desperate, driven by all the shit we’ve said and done to each other in the past, fueled by the emotional rollercoaster of the last month.
I want to strip back every layer of protection he’s wrapped around himself. I want to lay him bare and see the real man underneath the shield he’s hiding behind.
I want to bury my cock deep into his body and fuck him until we’re both coming apart at the seams.
His hands slip under the hem of my shirt and his palms are hot irons on my waist. I suck in a gasp and arch up into him. My head falls back and he trails his lips across my jaw, down my neck. His stubble scrapes against my skin, making me shiver and squirm under him.
He drags his hands up my stomach to my chest. His fingers find my nipples, and when he pinches them, I swear I almost come in my pants.
“Fuck, Owen,” I breathe, and he reacts by sinking his teeth into the tendons of my neck. Jesus Christ, that’s hot. I have to fight back my orgasm with every ounce of self-control I have left. Which, honest to god, isn’t much. I’m this close to ripping our clothes off and reacquainting my dick with his.
“Uncle Oooweeen! I’m huungrryy!”
We fly apart faster than a speeding bullet, both spinning toward the doorway. But Ivy isn’t there. She hasn’t seen us—thank fucking god. She was only yelling up the stairs.
I glance at Owen who looks like he’s about to die of mortification.
“Coming, Ivy-poo! Give us a minute!” I shout back at her.
Owen shifts, moving farther away from me. He won’t meet my gaze. “O?—”
“Don’t.” He cuts me off.
“But—”
“I said, don’t.” His hands curl into fists like he might swing out and punch me—or like he’s stopping himself from reaching for me. He’s still panting like he can’t catch his breath. His lips are red and swollen. His hair looks like someone’s been pulling on it. His clothes are wrinkled and out of place.
I’ve never seen him this disheveled before and something shifts inside me. He looks so vulnerable, so fragile—so human.
I push to my feet. “I’ll go find something in the kitchen.” I pause at the door and glance back at him.
He’s watching me with an expression I’m not used to seeing from him. He’s watching me with fear.