Chapter 19
HARLOW
Consciousness arrived like an unwanted house guest because I felt half dead, and I wasn’t even fully awake yet.
I eased one eye open, immediately regretting it as the morning light sent a spike of pain through my temple. But I forced the other eye to open, and quickly realized I wasn’t home.
A worn leather couch, the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, the hockey memorabilia scattered across every available surface, a framed jersey, and trophies on a shelf.
Owen’s apartment.
The memories trickled back in fragments, each one more embarrassing than the last. The frat party. Dancing. Dancing on a table. Owen’s face, jaw tight with fury, right before he threw me over his shoulder and carried me out of the party.
Shit.
A soft clatter from the kitchen pulled my attention, and I shifted carefully, tilting my head enough to see over the arm of the couch.
Owen stood at the counter with his back to me, shirtless, skin gleaming with a light sweat. He must have just come back from a run or a workout.
I should have announced I was awake, but I didn’t.
The muscles of his back rippled as he reached for something in an upper cabinet. A bead of sweat traced a path down between his shoulder blades.
He turned slightly to grab something from the counter, and I caught a glimpse of his profile: the strong line of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the damp hair pushed back from his forehead.
His torso was all hard planes and defined ridges, a smattering of dark hair trailing down his stomach and disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts.
He glanced over his shoulder, and our eyes met.
A slow smile spread across his face, not the smirk I was used to, but something softer, almost fond. It did things to my already-compromised stomach that had nothing to do with the hangover.
“You’re awake.”
I pushed myself up to sitting and regretted that decision too, as the room tilted sideways and my head throbbed.
“Unfortunately,” I croaked.
Owen grabbed something from the counter and walked toward me, and I had to actively remind myself to look at his face. Face, Harlow. Eyes are up there.
He stopped at the couch and held out a bottle of water, condensation already beading on the plastic. I took it with trembling fingers, fumbling with the cap until he reached over and twisted it off for me like I was a child who couldn’t manage basic motor functions.
Which, to be fair, I currently couldn’t.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, taking a long drink. The cold water hit my stomach and threatened to come back up, but I forced it to stay down.
Owen didn’t sit next to me on the couch.
He lowered himself onto the coffee table directly across from me, forearms braced on his knees, close enough that our legs were almost touching.
The position put us at eye level, and I couldn’t look away even though every survival instinct I possessed was screaming at me to run.
“I think we need to talk.”
The four worst words in the English language, delivered with a serious expression that made my already-churning stomach drop to my feet.
Sighing, I set the water bottle on the cushion beside me. “Is this about the kiss?”
“That too.”
Too. So there was more. Great. Wonderful. This was exactly how I wanted to spend my hangover morning, getting a lecture from a half-naked Owen while my head tried to split itself in two.
“Look.” He clasped his hands together in front of him. “I want to be friends. I really, really do, especially since everyone else is gone, but any time we’re sharing a space...”
He trailed off, and I knew exactly where this was going because Owen would never see me as anything other than his best friend’s off-limits little sister.
“It goes too far,” I finished for him, my voice flat.
“Yeah.” He exhaled heavily. “There’s this undeniable chemistry between us. I would be lying if I said there wasn’t.”
The tiniest bit of hope fluttered through me. “So maybe we should explore it.” The words came out before I could stop them.
His gaze held mine as he shook his head slowly, and the flicker died.
“That can never happen, and not just because Jax would kill me, although he definitely would.”
“Owen…” I practically groaned his name. Sitting here listening to a break-up speech from someone I wasn’t even dating wasn’t on my list of things I wanted to do this morning or ever, actually.
I wanted him to just rip off the bandaid and get this over with so I could leave with what was left of my dignity.
“I learned my lesson with Cam.” The pain in his eyes made me go still. “My relationship with her will never be the same again. We’re trying to be friends, but there’s this…” He made a vague gesture. “...weight now. This awkwardness that wasn’t there before. I ruined something that mattered to me.”
I stared at him, at the genuine regret etched into his features, and my heart cracked a little more.
“Friends should never cross that line,” he continued, softer now. “It changes everything, and I can’t… I won’t… risk losing you and Jax and Kaia, too.”
A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”
He flinched. Good. I wanted him to flinch. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of what I had been feeling for weeks, months, years.
“I know.” His jaw tightened. “Which is why I think it’s best if we keep our distance for a while.”
“You didn’t have to pull me off that table last night.” I hated how small I sounded. “If you wanted distance so badly, you could have let me be.”
Owen’s eyes flashed with something dark, something possessive, and my breath caught in my throat. “Yes, I did.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone had put their hands on you…” He stopped, jaw working like he was physically biting back words. “...I would have killed them, and I really can’t afford a murder charge right now.”
The attempt at humor fell flat.
“So what’s the plan, then?” I asked, crossing my arms. The blanket had fallen to my waist, and I was suddenly very aware that I was still wearing last night’s outfit. I probably looked like a disaster.
“The rink.” He leaned back slightly, creating more distance between us. “You can have it in the mornings. I’ll come later, after you’re done.”
“How generous.”
“Harlow…”
“No, really.” I pushed up from the couch, ignoring the way the room spun and my head screamed in protest. “That’s a great plan.
Very mature. We’ll just avoid each other until the end of time, and I’m sure that won’t be awkward at all when I visit Jax and Kaia or, you know, exist in the same social circle as you. ”
“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“The right thing.” I laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “You keep saying that, but all I’m hearing is that you would rather lose me completely than take a chance on whatever this is.”
His face went carefully blank. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.”
We stared at each other, the air between us was thick with everything we just said and everything we weren’t saying. The pull toward him, even now, angry and hurt, was still so strong.
But I was tired now. Tired of wanting someone who couldn’t want me back. Tired of being the dirty little secret.
“No problem,” I said, all of the fight was gone. “You want distance? You got it.”
I grabbed my shoes near the end of the couch, shoving my feet into them without bothering to fix the crushed backs. Owen stood when I did, and for a second I thought he might reach for me, that he might say something to take it all back.
He didn’t.
“Harlow, wait…”
“I’ll see you around, Owen.” I grabbed my phone from the coffee table, not meeting his eyes. “Or, you know. I won’t. Since we’re keeping our distance.”
I walked to the front door, every step feeling like I was dragging dead weight behind me. My hand closed around the handle.
“Let me at least drive you home.”
“I’ll walk.”
“Har…”
“Goodbye, Owen.”
I pulled the door open and stepped through it, closing it firmly behind me without looking back. The hallway was quiet and empty. I stood there for a moment, trying to remember how to breathe.
I didn’t cry. I refused to.
I’d already wasted too many tears on Owen. On the idea of Owen and me. On the possibility that he kept dangling in front of me before snatching it away every single time.
I pulled out my phone, ordered an Uber, and walked to the elevator on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else.
The doors closed, and I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirrored walls, smudged makeup, and tangled hair.
I looked like a mess, and I felt worse.
But at least now I knew. Now I could stop hoping for something that was never going to happen. I could finally, finally start moving on.
The elevator reached the ground floor, and I stepped out into the lobby. The bright morning sunlight made my head pound and my eyes water. Or maybe that was the tears I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.