Chapter 29
HARLOW
The drive to El Ranchito took exactly fifty-seven minutes.
I knew because I watched the clock on Owen’s dashboard tick through every single one of them, hyperaware of the way his hand rested on my thigh.
Fifty-seven minutes to get to a restaurant that was in the next county.
My favorite restaurant, sure. But also... conveniently far from campus. Far from anyone who might recognize us.
The restaurant was exactly how I remembered it, with warm terracotta walls strung with colorful papel picado, the smell of sizzling fajitas and fresh tortillas hitting us the moment we walked through the door.
A mariachi version of some pop song I couldn’t quite place drifted from speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling.
“This is your favorite place?” He grabbed a chip from the basket already waiting on our table, scooping up an aggressive amount of salsa. “It’s very... colorful.”
“That’s part of the charm.” I reached for my own chip and dunked it. “The food is incredible. Trust me.”
“I trust you.” He said it easily, but something in his eyes made my chest tighten. “That’s why we’re here.”
Right. Because it was my favorite. Not because it was an hour away from anyone who knew us.
Stop it, Harlow. You’re being ridiculous.
The server appeared, a young guy with a bright smile who took our drink orders and rattled off the specials with the enthusiasm of someone who genuinely loved his job. Owen ordered a beer. I ordered a Dr. Pepper, because I was still underage and I knew they carded.
“So.” Owen leaned back in the booth, one arm draped across the back of the seat, looking unfairly relaxed. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
“You know everything about me.”
“I know a lot. Not everything.” His eyes sparkled with challenge. “There’s gotta be something. A secret hobby. A weird fear. That time you committed a minor felony and never told anyone.”
“I have never committed a felony, minor or otherwise.”
“That’s exactly what someone who committed a felony would say.”
I laughed, the tension in my shoulders easing. This was easy. This was the Owen I fell for, charming and ridiculous and capable of making me forget why I was ever anxious in the first place.
“Fine.” I pretended to think, tapping my finger against my chin. “I’m terrified of driving over bridges.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Bridges.”
“It’s not rational. The second my tires hit that first expansion joint, my brain is convinced the whole thing is going to collapse into the water below.
Doesn’t matter if it’s a massive suspension bridge or one of those tiny ones over a creek.
I white-knuckle the steering wheel and hold my breath until I’m back on solid ground. ”
“Tiny creek bridges.” He was fighting a grin and losing badly. “You’re afraid of tiny creek bridges.”
“You asked for a weird fear. I delivered.”
“You definitely delivered.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Okay, my turn. I can’t whistle.”
“What do you mean you can’t whistle?”
“I mean exactly that. I’ve tried. Multiple times. Various techniques. YouTube tutorials. Nothing works.” He demonstrated, pursing his lips and producing a sound that was less whistle and more asthmatic wheeze. “See? Broken.”
“That’s tragic. How do you call your dog?”
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Well, you can never get one now. They’ll never come when you call.”
He laughed.
Our drinks arrived, and I took a long sip of my Dr. Pepper. Across the table, Owen studied me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“What?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing.” He shook his head slowly. “You’re just... You look really beautiful tonight.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “You’re such a smooth talker.”
“I’m being sincere.”
“I know. That’s what makes it worse.”
He laughed and reached across the table to steal a chip from my side. “So what’s the plan? After graduation?”
The question landed differently than I expected. Heavier. More real than our playful banter about bridges and whistling.
“Nursing, right?” he asked, popping the chip in his mouth. “You’re still set on that?”
I shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I’ve always said I wanted to do.” The truth felt uncomfortable sitting on my tongue. “But honestly? I’m not sure anymore. I’m still trying to figure out what I actually want.”
“Yeah?” His expression was curious, not judgmental. “What changed?”
“I don’t know. Maybe nothing changed. Maybe I just never really knew in the first place.” I traced patterns in the condensation on my glass. “What about you? What’s your degree even in?”
“Business with a minor in marketing.”
“And before you ask,” he added with a grin, “I have no idea what I’m going to do with it.”
I laughed. “That’s reassuring.”
“Hey, at least I’m honest about it.” He took a sip of his beer. “The degree is basically my backup plan that I hope I never need.”
“Speaking of which...” I tilted my head, studying him. “How do you afford your fancy lifestyle? Does college hockey actually pay you?”
He laughed, the sound genuine and a little surprised. “No. College hockey pays for my tuition and books, but that’s it. The rest...” He ticked off on his fingers. “Sponsorships, apparel deals, I host a youth clinic a few times a year.”
I smiled, suddenly remembering. “I saw you doing that. At the beginning of the season, after classes. You had all those little kids on the ice.”
His expression softened. “Yeah, they’re great. Exhausting, but great.” He continued, “I also do some social media endorsements, appearances, that kind of thing.” He paused, his fingers tightening slightly around his beer bottle. “And my parents left me a trust fund.”
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest. I was such a freaking jerk for asking.
“Owen…”
“So anyway,” he said quickly, his tone deliberately lighter, “back to you not knowing what you want to do. I think that’s probably more normal than having it all figured out, you know?”
I let him change the subject, grateful and guilty.
“I’m thinking about transferring next year,” I admitted.
“There’s a pretty good nursing program at the university near Jax and Kaia.
Closer to Syn, too, since she’s opening the shop out there.
” I traced the rim of my glass. “I miss them. I’m so used to being part of a big family, and now it’s just me.
It’s been harder than I thought, being so far away from everyone. ”
“You got me.” Owen’s expression had shifted, something more serious settling behind his eyes.
I smiled. “Until you leave too.” My voice was soft. “You graduate this year, what’s your plan for after?”
His whole face changed, lit up from the inside, that competitive fire I saw on the ice bleeding into his features. “Going pro,” he said simply. “That’s the goal. Always has been.”
“You’re good enough.”
“I know.” No false modesty. Just confidence, earned through years of early mornings and late practices and sacrifices I couldn’t even imagine. “There are some scouts coming to games this season. My coach thinks I have a real shot at getting drafted.”
“Owen, that’s amazing.”
“It’s not a sure thing. Nothing ever is. But yeah.” He took a sip of his beer, his smile turning almost shy. “But, for the first time, it actually feels possible.”
He talked about his dreams, the teams he would love to play for, the cities he’d considered, the way his whole body seemed to vibrate with energy when he described what it would feel like to step onto NHL ice for the first time.
His passion was infectious, pulling me in, making me believe in it right alongside him.
But somewhere beneath the excitement, a colder realization was settling into my bones.
“It sounds like we’re on two different paths,” I said quietly.
Owen’s expression flickered. “What do you mean?”
“You’re going pro. I’m transferring.” I shrugged, trying to make it sound casual when it felt anything but. “Those paths probably don’t... intersect.”
He was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing the condensation on his beer bottle. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before. “Who knows what the future holds?”
It wasn’t an answer. Not really. But the way he looked at me when he said it, like he was asking me to trust him, to believe in us, made my throat tight.
“I’ve been thinking about how to tell Jax,” he said.
My stomach clenched. “Oh.”
“I think I should do it face-to-face. Not over the phone or through text.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I was thinking we could wait until winter break. When we go up there to visit. I can sit down with him, man to man, and…”
“Wait. You want to wait until winter break?”
“I mean, it’s only a few weeks away, and it feels like the kind of conversation that should happen in person, you know?”
A few more weeks of sneaking around. A few more weeks of pretending in public that we were just friends.
“Harlow?” Owen’s voice had gone careful, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not a nothing face. That’s a something face. A very specific something face that you’re trying to hide and failing at.”
I huffed out a laugh. “I’m not failing.”
“You are. I can practically see the thought bubbles over your head.” He reached across the table, his fingers finding mine. “Talk to me. We don’t have to wait if you don’t want to. I just thought…”
“No, it’s not that.” I stared at our intertwined fingers, at the way his hand completely engulfed mine, and tried to figure out how to say what I was actually feeling. “I just... what happens if Jax says no?”
Owen blinked. “Says no?”
“To us. To this.” I gestured vaguely at the space between us. “What if…” I paused, taking a deep breath. “What if he makes you choose between him and me. I would never want you to have to choose between…”
I couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the fears that had been gnawing at me for weeks, that Owen’s loyalty to Jax ran deeper than anything. That if forced to choose, I wasn’t sure which way he would land.
When I finally looked up, he was smirking.
“What?” I demanded.
“I’m not going to ask Jax’s permission, Har.”
“You’re not?”
“No.” He shook his head, something fierce and certain settling into his expression. “I’m going to tell him. Let him know what’s happening between us, and I’m going to promise him that I’m not going to hurt you.”
My heart stuttered. “You’re going to promise him that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure about that?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, sharper than intended, carrying the weight of every doubt I’d been harboring.
Owen’s expression softened. He lifted our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that was so gentle it made my chest ache.
“I’m sure,” he said quietly. “I know my track record isn’t great. I know I’ve fucked things up before. But this is different, Harlow. You’re different.”
“Different how?”
“Different because…” He paused, his eyes holding mine, blue and steady and unflinching. “You’re not just some girl. You’re... you’re everything. You’re my everything.” He leaned forward over the table. “I’ve never wanted anything as bad as I want you.”
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sudden burning behind my eyes. “That was very smooth.”
His free hand came up to cup my cheek, thumb brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized had escaped.
“Jax isn’t going to make me choose,” he said. “And even if he tried, it wouldn’t matter. I’d fight for you. I’d fight for us. Do you understand that?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Now, can we please order some of this incredible food you’ve been hyping up? I’m starving.”
I laughed, the sound watery but real, and flagged down our server.