4. Owen
Chapter 4
Owen
The hum of chatter fades as I close the textbook, letting the class know without words that we’re wrapping up. All around me, students shift in their seats, glancing eagerly at the clock above the whiteboard.
I stifle a grin. These kids are like horses at the starting gate. Can’t blame them; it’s the last class on a Friday, and who wants to be stuck learning about mitosis when they could be out enjoying their weekend?
“Okay, guys,” I say, pushing off from the front desk where I’ve been perched for the last few minutes. “Let’s do a quick recap before I let you go. Mitchell”—I gesture at a lanky boy in the second row—“what’s the purpose of mitosis?”
Mitchell blinks at me, caught mid-snap of a rubber band around his wrist. He sits up a little straighter. “Uh… it’s when cells divide to create identical copies?”
“Correct.” I nod, impressed. “And why’s that important?”
There’s a beat of silence as he scrambles for the answer, then his eyes brighten. “Because… it helps organisms grow and repair themselves.”
“Exactly.” I scan the room, catching the gazes of a few other students. “And what happens if the cells don’t divide correctly? Rachel?”
Rachel, a petite girl with glasses and a permanent frown of concentration, bites her lip. “Um… genetic mutations?”
“Bingo.” I smile, feeling a surge of pride. They may be eager to bolt out the door, but they’ve been listening. “And what could those mutations lead to? ”
The answers come quickly now, a chorus of murmured responses. “Cancer… genetic disorders…”
“Right.” I take a step back, letting my gaze sweep over the class. “Which is why understanding how our cells work is so important, right? It’s not about some boring diagram in a textbook.” I tap my finger on the open page. “It’s about understanding what happens inside us every second of every day. Knowing how our bodies function and what can go wrong is the first step to figuring out how to make things go right.”
There’s a murmur of agreement, and then the shrill ring of the bell cuts through the air, snapping everyone to attention. The students jump up, papers and notebooks shoved into backpacks with hurried, haphazard movements.
“All right, don’t forget—” I raise my voice to be heard over the scramble “—chapter six needs to be read by Monday, and there’s a quiz coming up next week.”
A few groans echo around the room, but I smile. “Enjoy your weekend. ”
“See you, Mr. Callahan!” a girl calls as she darts out the door, the others following close behind in a chaotic rush.
I watch them go, the classroom emptying in seconds like a receding tide. Letting out a breath, I run a hand through my hair, glancing at the now-quiet room. Desks are scattered, a few chairs askew. Typical end-of-day mess. But overall, not bad for my first full week teaching biology at Midnight Falls High.
I grab my binder and the stack of ungraded papers from my desk, tucking them under one arm as I head toward the faculty room. The hallways are bustling, students pouring out of classrooms, their voices blending into a low roar of excitement. Locker doors slam, friends call out goodbyes, and snippets of conversation float past me.
“Did you see the game last night?”
“I can’t believe she said that…”
“Dude, are you going to the bonfire tonight?”
I sidestep a group of freshmen who seem determined to walk at a glacial pace, making my way to the faculty room at the end of the hall. As I push open the door, the quiet is a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
A few teachers are already there, scattered around the room, nursing cups of coffee or huddled over their laptops. The low hum of conversation is subdued compared to the student-filled halls. The faculty room is a haven, a place to breathe and regroup before the next onslaught.
“Hey, Owen,” a familiar voice calls, and I turn to see James Townsend, the history teacher, lounging in one of the worn-out armchairs. He has a mug of something steaming in his hand—probably tea if I know him—and his gaze is shrewd behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “How’s the bio department treating you?”
“Not bad,” I reply, dropping my papers onto the long table in the center of the room. “Kids are sharp.”
James snorts softly. “Yeah, well, you’re in for a surprise once midterms roll around. That’s when they show their true colors.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I say dryly .
He chuckles. “Seriously though, you’re doing good work. The kids like you.”
“Already?” I arch an eyebrow. “It’s only been a week.”
“Word travels fast,” he says, sipping his tea. “You’ve got a reputation.”
I stiffen slightly, and my chest tightens. “A reputation?”
“Yeah.” James’ gaze sharpens. “They say you’re tough but fair. And that you care about whether they get the stuff you’re teaching.” He shrugs. “It’s not a bad thing, Owen. Just don’t let it burn you out.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Right. Thanks, James.”
“Anytime,” he says, settling back in his chair.
I grab a coffee and sink into one of the empty chairs, staring at the stack of ungraded quizzes in front of me.
“You seen this thing doing the rounds about Willow from The Bewitched Bakery? ” I hear Mike, the English teacher, asking another colleague .
My head whips up, instantly alert at the mention of Willow’s name.
Pete, the Math teacher, frowns. “What thing?”
“Okay, so there’s this bet,” Mike says, keeping his voice low. “About Willow. I guess it’s a joke or something.”
“What do you mean, a bet?” Pete asks as Mike shows him something on his phone.
“There’s a bet on one of the local social pages. The first to bed her, to take her, well, virginity ,” he mutters, “wins the pool of money being collected.”
Shock ricochets through me, and my grip tightens around the ceramic mug, my knuckles turning white. Disgust coils in my stomach. The bitter taste in my mouth isn’t from the stale coffee.
Pete grimaces. “That doesn’t sound like a joke.”
His concern seems genuine, but I remind myself to tread carefully. I’m new here and still don’t know my colleagues that well.
Mike laughs. “Small towns, you know? They need their entertainment. ”
Pete shakes his head, his lips pressed into a thin line. “That kind of talk can get out of hand. Willow shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
“Well, if you don’t want her, I’ll take a shot.” Mike smirks. “She may have fake-dated Matthew Crane for years, but she’s as untouched as one of the display cakes in her bakery. I’ve got fifty bucks that say I ice her donut if you know what I mean.”
I barely register the information he’s revealed through the rage consuming me.
“Are you for fucking real?” I cut in before I can stop myself, surging to my feet, barely aware as the other teachers turn to stare. Mike’s smirk fades when he sees the look on my face. “Talking about her like she’s some kind of object? You’re supposed to be an educator and mentor, you fucking asshole.”
“Come on, Owen, it’s only a bit of fun,” Mike tries to defend himself.
“Fun?” I grit, incredulous. “There’s nothing fun about degrading someone. How would you feel if people were placing bets on your sister’s sexual history, Mike? Or your daughter’s personal life, Pete?”
Pete holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t come at me. I agree with you,” he says, his censorious gaze returning to Mike. “It’s disgusting.”
Pete immediately goes up a notch in my estimation, while Mike remains in the gutter where he belongs.
“Who’s behind it?” I demand, wanting to cause that person extreme physical harm.
Mike shrugs. “No idea. It’s one of those anonymous online betting pools.”
My thoughts are a tornado, swirling with anger and the need to shield Willow from this nonsense. She doesn’t deserve to be the subject of such degrading talk, especially not from a bunch of grown assholes who should know better.
“Grow the fuck up,” I say, fixing Mike with a hard stare. “And keep Willow’s name out of your mouth.”
I toss the rest of my coffee down the sink and leave the lounge. There’s only one place I need to be right now, and it’s nowhere near this fucking clown.
Willow’s face flashes in my mind. Her striking green eyes, her easy smile when she’s knee-deep in flour and frosting. That smile was absent when I visited the bakery three days ago. She was guarded. Remote. Not that I can blame her.
But, sweet Lord, she looked amazing. All womanly curves, emerald eyes, and hair like fire. She still has her heart-shaped face with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was always beautiful, but now she’s stunning. The thought of getting my hands on all that softness beneath her sugar-dusted apron is enough to raise my dormant cock from its lifelong slumber. Low is the only woman who’s ever been able to get me hard. It’s like she has some crazy voodoo spell on me. My cock may as well have her name tattooed on it.
My protective instincts roar like a beast in my chest at knowing someone has targeted her in such a malicious and personal way. She needs someone in her corner .
Willow might not want my help, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and let this go on any longer. It’s time to set things right.
The bell above the bakery door chimes, and the scent of sugar and vanilla wraps around me as I step inside.
Willow is behind the counter, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she focuses on the rows of cookies in front of her. She wields a piping bag like a paintbrush, turning plain cookies into edible art. Damn, she’s cute.
“Low,” I say, keeping my voice level.
She looks up in surprise, the tip of the icing bag hovering mid-air. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Sometimes, I get lost in what I’m doing.”
I clear my throat. Damn, she makes me nervous, like the schoolboy I was when I fell in love with her. “Can we talk?”
“About what?” Her skepticism is palpable, wrapping around us .
“Some information has come my way that concerns you.”
Willow slowly puts the icing bag down, her green eyes locked on mine. Wariness swims in those emerald depths, and I hate being responsible for it. “What kind of information?” Her voice is steady, but I hear the tension behind her question.
I cast a look around the shop, seeing two other customers—ironically enough, both male, and both flicking her furtive glances. Fuckers must know about the betting pool. I force myself to calm down when all I want to do is bang their heads together. “Is there somewhere private we can go?”
She studies me for a long moment, searching my face for something, sincerity, maybe, or a sign of the guy she used to know. Finally, she nods toward the back door. “Okay, I could use some air.”
We navigate through the kitchen, where a middle-aged woman with dark hair is removing a tray of cookies from the oven. I don’t recognize her, so I’m guessing she moved to Midnight Falls after I left .
“Carol, can you cover the shop for a bit?” Willow asks the other woman.
Carol casts me a curious look as she wipes her hands on her apron. “Sure. Take your time.”
Out back, the breeze is a welcome relief from the stuffy kitchen. Willow takes a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
“You always loved being outside,” I murmur more to myself than to her as memories of our teenage years bubble up.
Days spent by the river, laughing until our sides hurt. Low in the stands, watching me play football. God, I was such a cocky asshole back then. I thought I was invincible. I was the typical jock unless I was with Low. She was the only one who saw the real me. It seems like a lifetime ago.
“Yeah,” she says simply, hugging herself against the chill. She lifts her eyes to mine. “So, what’s this about?”
“There's a bet going around. About you,” I say bluntly because dancing around the issue isn’t my style .
Her eyes widen. “A bet? What are you talking about?”
I step closer, trying to soften the blow. “It’s... people are betting on who can bed you. Take your virginity. It's disgusting, Low. I overheard it in the teacher’s lounge. Mike brought it up like it was some kind of joke.”
Willow's face drains of color. “I knew something was up. I’ve been uneasy for days. Men keep coming in and staring at me like I’m one of my cookies for sale. I thought I was going crazy, imagining things.”
“I’m sorry, Low. I came straight over as soon as I knew about it. You deserve to know what’s being said behind your back.” I want so badly to find the fucker who’s responsible for this and make them regret splashing her name across social media like she’s some prize to be won instead of the incredible woman she is.
Her hands fly to her face and she presses her palms to her now-flushed cheeks. “Who would do such a thing? It’s… God, how hu miliating.”
“I won’t let them get away with it,” I say firmly. “I’ll find out who’s behind this and make sure it ends. They’re cowards hiding behind anonymous posts. But I’ll figure it out.”
She looks at me, her expression hard to read. “And what then, Owen? What are you going to do? Beat them up? Scare them off?”
“If that’s what it takes,” I answer without hesitation. “No one gets to talk about you like that.”
Her laugh is bitter. “No one except you?”
Her words are like a knife to my heart. I clench my jaw so hard that I’m surprised I don’t crack a molar. She’s right. I’m the worst kind of fucking hypocrite, considering what I said about her all those years ago.
I nod abruptly. “I deserved that. But I’m not the arrogant, immature bastard I was back then.”
“You forgot asshole and dickhead,” she snaps, her eyes holding a world of hurt. She shakes her head, a sad smile playing on her lips. “You think standing up for me now will fix what happened between us? You think whoever it is will stop because you tell them to? This isn’t your fight, Owen.”
I step closer, refusing to back down. “Maybe it isn’t, but I’m making it mine. You don’t have to deal with this alone, Low.”
She shakes her head. “Why do you even care? You left Midnight Falls, left me , without a backward glance. You’ve been back all of five minutes, and you want to play knight in shining armor?”
“You’re right. I left. I screwed up everything with you, and not a day goes by when I don’t regret it. God, you don’t know how much—” I grind to a halt, raking my hand through my hair.
Willow’s eyes flicker before the sadness in them deepens. “You think you can come back and say you regret it, and all will be forgiven?” she demands, her wary expression morphing into something harder. “I told you I loved you, O, and you almost destroyed me.”
Hearing her call me O nearly breaks my damn heart. She’s the only one who ever called me that. We always laughed about it. Low and O. We fit together like day and night, the sun and the moon—different but perfectly intertwined.
Guilt hits me like a punch to the gut as I recall that day back in high school when my friends teased me for hanging out with her. How I said things I didn’t mean—things that cut her to the bone, all because I was too much of a coward to admit how I felt.
I’ve always loved Willow. I loved her when she was eight and wore her hair in pigtails, when she was twelve and suddenly grew breasts I couldn’t keep my eyes off, and when she was nineteen and I broke her heart with my careless words.
The late afternoon sun casts a warm glow on her face, highlighting the freckles across her nose and the stubborn set of her jaw. She looks vulnerable, like a deer caught in the headlights, and I hate that it’s because of me.
“Low, I was a dick,” I say, my voice thick with regret. “I let the guys get to me. I didn’t know you’d overheard me until later. And then you ghosted me. Wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. It was like I didn’t exist. And when you started dating Matthew, I thought I’d lost you forever, that you were better off without me.” I pause, pinning her with my gaze. “If I could take back what I said that day, I would. Every damn despicable word.”