Chapter 34
OWEN
The kitchen smelled like coffee.
I cracked another egg into the bowl, watching the yolk break against the whisk as Harlow moved around me. She reached past me for the pepper, her hip brushing against mine, and I caught myself smiling.
This was what I wanted. Every morning. Forever.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up from the cutting board where she was massacring a bell pepper.
“I’m supervising. There’s a difference.”
“Supervising implies you know what you’re doing.” She gestured at the bowl in my hands. “You’ve been whisking those eggs for three minutes. They’re scrambled, not traumatized.”
“I like them fluffy.”
I set the bowl down and reached for the bacon, laying strips across the pan. The sizzle was loud, filling the kitchen with the delicious aroma of bacon.
We were moving around the kitchen like we didn’t have anywhere else in the world to be. Except we did. Class. Practice. Real life.
But right now, real life could wait.
“So,” Harlow said, popping a piece of bell pepper into her mouth, “about that fight last night.”
“What about it?”
“You broke his nose.”
“Allegedly.”
“I saw the blood.”
“Could’ve been a preexisting condition.” I adjusted the heat on the burner, watching the bacon curl at the edges. “Maybe he has a very fragile face. Not my fault.”
She snorted, moving past me to grab mugs from the cabinet, making my oversized t-shirt ride up, revealing a sliver of bare thigh, and my hands trembled to touch her. She was only wearing a T-shirt and panties. In my kitchen. Making breakfast with me like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I was the luckiest man alive.
“He deserved it,” I added, more seriously now. “What he said to you…”
“Was gross and inappropriate, yes.” She set the mugs down, finally looking at me. “But you didn’t have to go full caveman about it.”
“I absolutely did.”
“Owen.”
“Harlow.” I mimicked her tone exactly. “He talked to my girlfriend like she was a piece of meat. The only appropriate response was violence.”
She threw a piece of bell pepper at my head. I caught it mid-air and ate it, never breaking eye contact.
“Show off,” she muttered.
The bacon was starting to crisp, the smell intensifying, and I should have been flipping the strips and monitoring the heat, but my eyes followed Harlow.
She moved to the other side of the kitchen, reaching up to grab plates from the top shelf.
The stretch made the t-shirt ride up again, exposing the curve of her waist, the edge of her underwear. Her hair was still messy from sleep.
I abandoned the bacon.
Two steps and I was behind her, my hands finding her waist, pulling her back against my chest. She made a surprised sound that turned into a laugh as I buried my face in the curve of her neck.
“Owen…”
“Shh.” I pressed a kiss to the spot just below her ear, and she shivered. “I’m appreciating.”
I moved down the column of her throat, slow and deliberate, my hands sliding up her sides beneath the hem of the shirt. Her skin was warm from sleep, soft against my palms. She tilted her head back against my shoulder, giving me better access.
“You’re going to burn the bacon,” she murmured, but she wasn’t pulling away.
“Worth it.”
“That’s very irresponsible.”
“I’m a very irresponsible person.” Another kiss, this one at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “Have you met me?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Ouch.” I bit gently at her earlobe. “Mean.”
“You love it.”
I did. I really, really did.
“You look beautiful this morning,” I breathed against her skin. “You look beautiful every morning, but especially this one. In my shirt. In my kitchen. Making breakfast with me like…” I cut myself off before I could say something embarrassing like the rest of our lives.
But she must have heard it anyway, because she turned in my arms, her hands coming up to rest on my chest. Her eyes were soft, searching my face.
“Like what?”
“Like this is where you belong.”
A smile spread across her face, and my chest tightened.
She was so beautiful.
I cupped her face in my hands, tilting her chin up, and kissed her.
She melted into me, her fingers curling into the waistband of my boxer briefs, pulling me closer. I walked her backward until her hips hit the counter and lifted her onto the granite. She gasped against my mouth, her legs wrapping around my waist.
“The bacon,” she breathed.
“Fuck the bacon.”
I kissed her harder, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her thigh.
The smell of cooking bacon filled the room, probably burning at this point, but I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything except the way she was pressed against me, the way her nails were scratching lightly down my back, the way…
She pulled away from me.
I blinked, disoriented, watching as all the color drained from her face. Her expression shifted from flushed and wanting to something else, pale, almost green, her eyes going wide.
“Har? What’s…”
She didn’t answer. She just shoved at my chest, hard enough to make me stumble back, and scrambled off the counter. Then she was running, bare feet slapping against the floor as she bolted toward the bathroom.
I stood there for half a second, my brain trying to catch up with what just happened.
Then I heard her retching, and I was moving.
I found her on the bathroom floor, hunched over the toilet, her body shaking with the force of being sick. Without thinking, I dropped to my knees beside her and gathered her hair in my hands, pulling it back from her face.
“I’m okay,” she managed between heaves. “You don’t have to…”
“I’m staying. It’s not up for discussion.” I rubbed circles on her back with my free hand, trying to remember if I had any ginger ale in the fridge. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t argue again. Just let me hold her hair while her body rebelled against her, her fingers white-knuckled on the toilet seat. It felt like forever, but it was probably only a few minutes before the heaving stopped and she slumped sideways, her back hitting the wall.
I wet a washcloth with cool water and crouched down beside her, pressing it gently to her forehead. “Better?”
She nodded weakly, her eyes still closed. “Sorry. That was gross.”
“You’ve seen me after three-a-day practices. We’re way past gross.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips.
I settled onto the floor next to her, my back against the wall, close enough that our shoulders touched. The bathroom was small, barely big enough for both of us, but I wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’re skipping school today,” I said.
Her eyes flew open. “What? No. You have practice…”
“Don’t care.”
“Coach will kill you.”
“Coach can get in line.” I tucked the washcloth securely against her forehead, watching her face.
She was still too pale. Still looked like she might be sick again at any moment.
“You’re not going anywhere except the couch.
I’m going to set you up with blankets and terrible movies and that disgusting chamomile tea you like, and you’re going to rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“You just threw up.”
“People throw up sometimes. It’s a normal human function.”
“Harlow.”
“Owen.” She was trying to be defiant, but her voice came out weak. “I’m serious. I already feel better. It was probably just…” She paused, her brow furrowing. “The smell.”
“What smell?”
“The bacon.” She wrinkled her nose, looking vaguely nauseated again just thinking about it. “When you were kissing me, the smell hit me and I just...” She mimed an explosion with her hand.
I stared at her.
Something cold crept up my spine, settling into my bones. A memory surfacing, Kaia, a few months ago, at the beach house. The way she ran from the kitchen when Jax started cooking breakfast.
My mind started racing, cataloging information I didn’t want to catalog.
“Har.” My voice came out strange. “When was your last period?”
The color that had been slowly returning to her face vanished again.
“What?”
“Your period. When…”
“I heard you.” She was staring at me now, her eyes huge in her pale face. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Because you just got sick from the smell of bacon, and Kaia...” I couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t say the words out loud.
Harlow’s hand flew to her stomach. “I don’t…” She was shaking her head, thinking, her forehead creased with concentration. “I’ve never really tracked it. I’m not regular, I never have been, so I just kind of... don’t pay attention.”
“Ballpark it for me.”
“I don’t know. A month ago? Maybe longer? I really don’t… I can’t remember…”
She looked at me, and I looked at her, and the bathroom suddenly felt a hundred times smaller.
Fuck.