Chapter 22
HARLOW
The steam from my shower clung to the bathroom mirror, fogging my reflection. I stood there for a moment, wrapped in a towel, thinking about Owen.
His texts were still glowing in my mind. Anytime, Har. The way he’d followed me home, pretending he hadn’t, pretending he wasn’t worried.
I was so pathetically, hopelessly…
A sound.
I froze, my hand halfway to the doorknob.
It was so quiet I wasn’t sure I actually heard anything. Maybe the house was settling. Maybe it was the wind, or my exhausted brain was playing tricks on me after eight hours of studying.
I pulled open the bathroom door, steam rolling out around me, and stepped into my bedroom. The hallway beyond was dark, and the house was silent.
I held my breath, straining to hear.
Nothing.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I muttered. “This is what happens when you don’t sleep for a week. You start hearing…”
A soft rustle.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
That wasn’t the house settling, and it definitely wasn’t the wind. That was something moving.
I stepped toward my bedroom door, my legs suddenly forgetting how to function properly.
“Hello?”
No answer.
I moved toward the staircase, my pulse thundering in my ears so loud I could barely hear anything else. The darkness at the bottom of the stairs seemed denser than it should be, full of shadows I didn’t want to think about.
“Hello?” I tried again, louder this time. “Is someone there?”
Silence.
And then…
CRASH.
The sound of something falling, or breaking, something very real, echoing up from the first floor.
I didn’t think. I ran back into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me, fumbling with the lock on the bathroom door as I threw myself inside and pressed my back against the wall.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold my phone, my fingers slipping on the screen as I pulled up Owen’s contact.
Pick up. Pick up. Pick up. Please, pick up.
The phone rang once. Twice.
I thought I heard footsteps. On the stairs. Getting closer.
Or was I imagining it? Fear wrapped so tight around me that I couldn’t tell the difference between reality and the horror movie playing out in my head.
“Har?” Owen’s voice was groggy but alert.
“Owen.” His name came out as a sob. “Someone’s in the house. There’s... I heard something crash, and I think I hear footsteps, and I’m locked in the bathroom and…”
“Stay on the phone.” His tone was sharp, all traces of sleep vanishing. I heard movement on his end, the sound of keys jangling. “I’m on my way. Do not open that door.”
“Hurry,” I whispered, my entire body trembling. “Please hurry.”
“Three minutes.” A car door slammed. An engine roared to life. “Talk to me, Harlow. What did you see? What do you hear?”
“I didn’t see anything. I was in the shower, and I heard something downstairs. I called out, and no one answered, and then something crashed, and I… I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m hearing things now or if it’s real or…”
“You’re okay.” His voice was steady, an anchor in the storm of my panic. “You’re safe in that bathroom. The door is locked. I’m almost there.”
“What if…”
“Don’t. Don’t do that.” I could hear his engine, hear him driving way too fast. “Just keep talking to me. What bathroom are you in?”
“My bathroom. The one connected to my bedroom. I’m really scared.”
“I know. I know you are. But I’m two minutes away, and nothing is going to happen to you. Do you hear me? Nothing.”
I pressed my free hand against my mouth, trying to keep the sob from escaping. The tears were streaming down my face now, mixing with the water still clinging to my skin from the shower. I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering.
“One minute,” Owen said. “I’m pulling onto your street.”
He paused. Silence.
“I’m here.” He was in my ear and somewhere below me at the same time. “I’m inside. I’m coming to get you.”
I didn’t wait.
The rational part of my brain, the part that had been screaming at me to stay put, stay hidden, stay safe, went completely offline. I unlocked the bathroom door, yanked it open, and ran.
Down the hallway and around the corner. Still terrified, still crying, still not entirely sure that whatever I heard wasn’t lurking in some dark corner waiting to…
I slammed directly into a wall of muscle.
I screamed.
“Harlow, it’s me.” Strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him. “It’s me. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Owen.
I collapsed against him, my legs giving out completely, and he caught me. His hand cradled the back of my head, pressing my face into him, and I breathed in the scent of him while my heart tried to slow itself down.
“I’ve got you,” he kept saying, his lips moving against my hair. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“Someone was in the house,” I managed, muffled against his shoulder.
Owen’s chest rumbled with something that might have been a laugh. “Yeah, about that.”
I pulled back enough to look up at him, confused. “What?”
“I don’t think it was a someone.” His expression was somewhere between relieved and amused, which seemed wildly inappropriate given that I just had a near-death experience. “More like a something.”
“What are you…”
“You left the garage door and the back door open.” He reached up to brush a tear from my cheek, his thumb gentle against my skin. “A cat got in. Probably knocked something over looking for food. It bolted out the back when I came through the front.”
I stared at him.
“A cat.”
He nodded.
“I locked myself in my bathroom and called you crying because of a cat?”
“In your defense, it was a very suspicious cat.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “Very menacing energy. Definitely had criminal intentions.”
“Oh my God.” I dropped my forehead against his chest, mortification replacing the terror. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I made you drive all the way over here in the middle of the night because I got spooked by a cat.”
“Harlow.” His hand was still on my back, his fingers tracing absent patterns against my spine. “Look at me.”
I lifted my head reluctantly, expecting to see exasperation. Maybe annoyance. The kind of look you give someone who’s just wasted your time on a false alarm.
His expression was serious. Intense. His blue eyes were dark in the dim hallway, and there was something in them that made my breath catch.
“I’m not mad,” he said quietly. “Not even close.”
“But…”
“I was terrified.” The word came out rough.
“When you called me, when I heard your voice.” He paused, taking a breath.
“I’ve never driven that fast in my entire life.
I was terrified I was going to show up, and you were going to be hurt.
Or worse.” His jaw tightened. “So no, I’m not mad that it turned out to be a cat.
I’m relieved. I’m so fucking relieved I can barely breathe. ”
“I’m sorry,” I said again, because I didn’t know what else to say.
“Stop apologizing.” He exhaled slowly, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “Go pack a bag.”
“What?”
“For tonight. You’re staying with me.”
I blinked up at him, sure I misheard. “Owen, that’s… You said you wanted space. You said we needed to keep our…”
“Harlow.” He closed the remaining distance between us, and suddenly there was no space at all, just his body pressed against mine, his hands on my waist, his face inches from mine. “I don’t give a fuck about space.”
My heart stopped. Started again. Stopped.
“What?”
“You heard me,” he said. “You’re not staying here alone. You’re moving in with me until your dad gets back.”
“Owen…”
“This isn’t a discussion.”
“But…”
“Pack a bag.” He stepped back, and the loss of his warmth was almost physically painful. “I’ll wait downstairs. Make sure no more criminal cats have infiltrated the premises.”
He turned to leave, his gaze dropped, and he froze.
For a full three seconds, Owen went completely still. His eyes traveled over me slowly, from my wet hair clinging to my shoulders, down the curve of my neck, to where my fingers clutched the towel against my chest, to my bare legs, and back up again.
The look on his face made my skin flush hot.
“Owen?”
“You’re, uh.” He swallowed visibly. “Still in a towel.”
“I’m aware.”
“Right.” He dragged his gaze back up to my face with what appeared to be considerable effort. “Right. You should probably... put on clothes. Before you pack.”
“That was the plan.”
“Good. Good plan.” He took another step back. “I’ll just... be downstairs. Not thinking about…” He stopped himself. “Downstairs.”
“Is this a good idea?” The question came out before I could stop it. “Me moving in with you? Given everything?”
Owen’s met mine, and whatever internal battle he was fighting seemed to resolve itself in that moment.
“I don’t care anymore,” he said simply. “You’re coming home with me. We’ll figure out everything else tomorrow.”
He disappeared down the stairs before I could argue.
I stood there, my heart pounding for an entirely different reason now, the towel clutched against my chest like a lifeline.
Tomorrow.
We’d figure everything else out tomorrow.
I had a feeling tomorrow was going to be very, very interesting.