Chapter 20
HARLOW
I was so tired I could feel it in my bones.
My eyes burned like someone had rubbed sandpaper across them. Every time I blinked, my eyelids tried to stage a mutiny and stay closed.
I had been in the library since four o’clock. Eight hours of staring at diagrams of the human muscular system, of memorizing the origins and insertions of muscles I couldn’t pronounce.
At some point, I put my head down on the desk and woke up forty-five minutes later with keyboard imprints on my cheek.
Classy. Very classy.
The security guard gently suggested I call it a night around eleven, but I ignored him because I had three more muscle groups to memorize, an exam tomorrow, and absolutely no life to go home to anyway.
But now it was midnight, the library was closing, and even my stubborn refusal to admit defeat couldn’t keep me vertical anymore.
I shoved my laptop into my bag.
The security guard gave me a sympathetic nod as I shuffled toward the exit, my feet dragging against the carpet.
The parking lot was nearly empty when I pushed through the glass doors. The cool air hit me like a slap, sharp enough to wake me up for approximately three seconds before the exhaustion settled back in, heavier than before.
I fumbled for my keys, finding them in the front pocket of my backpack, and beeped my car unlocked.
I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
Nothing.
Not even a pathetic attempt at turning over. Just silence, like my car had simply given up on life.
“No.” I turned the key again, my exhausted brain struggling to process that it wasn’t going to start. “No, no, no, no, no.”
Nothing.
“Are you kidding me?” I slammed my palm against the steering wheel, which accomplished nothing except hurting my hand. “Seriously? Tonight?”
The car, predictably, did not respond.
I dropped my head back against the headrest and stared at the ceiling, too tired to even cry about it.
Counting to ten seemed like too much effort.
Counting to five was pushing it. I settled for closing my eyes and breathing, and trying not to think about how very badly I wanted to be horizontal in my bed right now.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen was too bright in the darkness as I scrolled to my dad’s contact. It would be, I did the mental calculation, which took three times longer than it should have, around 7 AM in Spain. Early, but not unreasonably so.
He picked up on the third ring, his voice slightly groggy. “Harlow? Everything okay?”
“Hey, Dad.” I tried to inject some lightness and failed miserably. “So, funny story. My car has decided it no longer wants to be a car.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, it won’t start. At all. It’s just... dead. Like, completely dead. I’m sitting in the library parking lot.”
There was rustling on the other end, probably him sitting up in bed. “Okay, does it make any sound when you turn the key?”
“Nothing. Complete silence. It’s giving me the cold shoulder.”
“Could be the battery. Or the starter.” A pause. “Where are you exactly?”
“Campus library. The one by the south parking structure.”
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do.
” He shifted into Dad mode, that calm, authoritative tone that always made me feel like everything would somehow be okay.
“Get a ride home tonight. I’ll call the tow company first thing tomorrow, have them pick it up, and take it to Manny’s shop.
He’ll figure out what’s wrong. You have someone who can come get you? ”
I glanced around the empty parking lot at the dark windows of the library. It was after midnight on a Tuesday. Everyone I knew was either asleep, or across the country, or...
“Yeah,” I lied. “I’ll figure it out.”
“You sure? I can try to call…”
“Dad, I’m twenty years old. I can manage getting a ride home.” The words came out sharp, my exhaustion bleeding through as irritation. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”
“I know, sweetheart.” His voice softened. “I’m sorry we’re not there.”
“I’m fine. Really. Go back to sleep.”
“Text me when you get home, and I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I ended the call and sat there, phone clutched in my hand, staring at the dark screen. My eyelids weighed ten pounds each. My whole body ached with the need to sleep somewhere, even this parking lot was starting to look appealing.
Okay. Think. Who could I call?
Syn had always been my go-to, but now she was gone, and so was everyone else. The only person I had left was… Owen.
My thumb was already moving, opening the Find My iPhone app.
Owen’s little dot blinked on the map, right where I knew it would be, the ice rink, down the road. Since we decided to take a break from each other, I skated early in the morning, and he apparently skated late in the evening.
I groaned, letting my head fall forward until my forehead pressed against the steering wheel.
It had been a week since I walked out of his apartment with my dignity in pieces. I avoided him at the rink, took alternate routes across campus, pretended he didn’t exist.
He told me he wanted distance.
And now I had to text him and ask for help.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a full minute before I finally typed:
Harlow: Hey. Are you still at the rink?
The three dots appeared almost immediately.
Owen: Yeah. Everything ok?
Harlow: My car won’t start. I’m stuck in the library parking lot.
A pause.
Owen: Be there in 5.
I stared at the message, waiting for more. A question, maybe. A suggestion that I call someone else. A reminder that we were supposed to be keeping our distance.
Nothing.
Just be there in 5, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he hadn’t told me a week ago that we needed to stay away from each other.
I tucked my phone into my pocket and climbed out of the car, leaning against the driver’s door with my arms crossed over my chest. The cold seeped through my hoodie, but I didn’t care.
The discomfort was almost welcome, something to focus on besides the impending awkwardness.
Something to keep me awake for five more minutes.
True to his word, headlights swept across the parking lot exactly four minutes later. Owen’s car pulled up beside mine.
He climbed out, and fuck, he was still in his practice gear. A compression shirt that clung to every line of muscle, athletic shorts despite the cold, hair damp and pushed back from his forehead. He looked like he had stepped out of a sports ad.
And suddenly, all those hours of studying anatomy felt very relevant.
“Hey.” He stopped a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets. Cautious. Like I was a feral cat, he didn’t want to spook.
“Hey.” I hugged myself tighter, trying to suppress a yawn. “Thanks for coming.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. It just... died. No sound, no clicking, nothing.”
He nodded once, already moving toward my car. “Pop the hood.”
“It won’t... oh.” I realized what he meant and leaned through the open door to pull the release. The mechanism clicked, and Owen lifted the hood, propping it open and peering into the engine compartment like he knew what he was looking at.
“When’s the last time you drove it?”
“This morning. It was fine then.”
He hummed, reaching down to touch something I couldn’t see. His forearms flexed with the movement, and I absolutely did not notice. I was too tired to care about forearms or the muscles that comprised them at this point in my life.
“Did you leave anything on? Headlights? Interior light?”
“No. I don’t think so.” I paused, a horrible realization dawning. “Wait. My phone charger. I left my phone charging while I was in the library.”
Owen’s head emerged from under the hood, one eyebrow raised. “For how long?”
“...Six hours.”
His lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Yeah, that’ll do it. Your battery’s dead.”
“Dead dead? Or mostly dead?”
“Mostly dead.” He was definitely fighting a smile now. “I can jump it. You got cables?”
“I have absolutely no idea what’s in my trunk. It could be cables. It could be a body. I stopped checking months ago.”
That got an actual laugh out of him, and something warm flickered in my chest, but I stomped it down ruthlessly.
He walked to his car and came back with jumper cables, the heavy-duty kind that looked like they could restart a dead spaceship. Within minutes, he had everything hooked up, his car idling, and was gesturing for me to try the ignition.
I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key.
My car roared to life like nothing had ever been wrong.
“Oh, thank God.” I let my head fall back against the headrest, my eyes closing involuntarily. The exhaustion was hitting me harder now, the adrenaline of the situation fading and leaving nothing but bone-deep weariness in its wake. “Thank you.”
Owen appeared at my window, leaning down to look at me. This close, I could see the tired lines around his eyes, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. He looked exhausted, too.
“Go straight home,” he said. “Let it run for at least twenty minutes so the alternator can charge the battery, and maybe don’t leave your phone plugged in for six hours next time.”
“Noted.” I gripped the steering wheel, staring straight ahead because looking at him was dangerous. “Owen, I... thank you. Really. And I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
For last week. For yelling at you. For wanting things I can’t have. For making everything complicated.
“For making you drive over here,” I said. “I know we’re supposed to be... keeping our distance.”
Something shifted in his expression. “Har.”
The nickname made my chest ache.
“You can always call me.” His voice was low, serious. “If you need help. Always. I don’t care how much distance we’re supposed to be keeping. If something’s wrong, you call me. Okay?”
I finally looked at him and found his blue eyes steady on mine. No smirk. No deflection. Just raw sincerity.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He nodded once, stepped back, and the moment broke. “Get home safe.”
“You too.” I put the car in reverse, hesitated. “And Owen?”
He paused halfway to his car, turning to look at me over his shoulder.
“Don’t stay at the rink all night. You look like you need sleep.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Since when do you worry about my sleep schedule?”
“Since never. I don’t want you crashing into a tree on the way home and making me feel guilty about it.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“It’s purely selfish.”
“Clearly.”
We stared at each other across the dark parking lot. So much left unsaid. So much we both knew we couldn’t say.
I broke first, backing out of my parking spot with a wave I hoped looked casual. In my rearview mirror, he climbed into his car, and his headlights flicked on. He waited until I pulled out of the lot before following.
Making sure I got home safe.
Making sure I was okay.
Even after everything.
The drive home was quiet except for the hum of my newly resurrected engine. I kept my eyes on the road and tried very hard not to think about the way he said always.
I failed, obviously.
But at least I made it home.