This One’s For You Page 22

  They glanced down to where our hands were joined and back to me. They shook their heads in disbelief. I sighed, annoyed at all three—Owen included. This single-handedly beats the bra incident, I thought. If Owen never wanted to talk to me after this, I wouldn’t blame him.

  “Come on,” I said, tugging on his hand. I pulled Owen behind me as we left the kitchen.

  Not a second after we were gone, Damon and my mother started arguing again. I kept a tight grip on Owen’s hand as I led him down to my room. Neither of us said a word. We walked in and I finally let go of his hand, then turned and slammed the door behind him. I crossed the room and collapsed on my bed.

  “I cannot believe them,” I said, talking to no one in particular. I stared at my ceiling and felt the bed dip as Owen laid down next to me.

  “Be thankful your brothers care about you,” he said gently.

  I rolled onto my side and looked at him wide-eyed. A soft laugh escaped. “You’re kidding, right? Did you not witness the same thing I did?”

  “I get it,” he admitted. “If some guy came home with my sister, whether he was just a friend or her boyfriend, there’d be no way he’d be crashing in her room—let alone the house.”

  I scoffed and rolled onto my back. I sucked in a deep breath and suddenly became aware of Owen’s scent all around me. Instantly intoxicated, I fought the urge to throw myself on top of him, staying still instead and enjoying the pleasurable hum pulsing throughout my body.

  “I won’t be mad if you leave,” I whispered. “I just didn’t want you to be alone for Christmas.”

  “Actually,” he said. “I want to stay.” My heart leaped. “Everything will calm down—just give it a bit of time. Your brothers will get used to it.”

  “Yeah, just in time for my dad to get home,” I replied.

  Owen whistled slowly. “Maybe then I’ll go home.”

  My body shook with laughter. I rolled onto my side and jumped slightly when he wrapped his arm around me. He pulled me close to him, but I didn’t pull away. We laid there for several minutes, savoring our closeness. He pulled away first.

  “It’s nice seeing how much your family cares about you,” he said, cutting into the silence. “It makes me miss home.”

  “Then why didn’t you go?” I asked quietly.

  Owen sighed and sat up. He nervously ran his fingers through his hair before looking back at me. “It’s a long story—one that touches the third rule.”

  “I’m starting to hate that rule,” I muttered.

  “So . . .” Owen said, clapping his hands against his legs. He stood up and surveyed my room before heading to my dresser. He took his time, checking out every photo sitting on top of it. Moving on, he stopped in front of the collage of photos taped up on my wall. I twiddled my thumbs, hoping he wouldn’t ask about the unfamiliar girl who was present in almost every photo.

  Before too long, there was a knock at my door, and my mother came in with a tray in her hand. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  Owen met her halfway, taking the tray of sandwiches, cookies, and drinks from her. My mother dragged a wooden bench over to the bed and had Owen set the tray on top of it.

  “You weren’t interrupting,” Owen answered. “Just looking at all the pictures. There’s a lot to see.” He glanced over to me.

  “I’d like to apologize for my sons,” my mother said. “They were out of line, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “No need to apologize, Mrs. Daniels. I have a younger sister. I would’ve done the same thing.”

  “Please, call me Teresa,” she said. She turned to me, and smiled. “Your brothers and I are heading out to dinner in a few minutes. Do you guys want to come?”

  I looked between the tray and Owen. He shrugged slightly as if to say it was up to me. I turned back to my mother. “I think we’ll stay in—it was a long trip up here. And then that crap with those idiots you call my brothers didn’t help either.”

  “In their defense—” Owens started to say.

  “Save the crap, Owen,” I said. Instead of getting upset like I thought he would, he chuckled to himself.

  “Well, in that case, I better get ready,” my mother said. “You two get settled and stay out of trouble.”

  I could only imagine the kind of trouble she was insinuating. I rolled my eyes, and she smiled. She exited the room, closing the door behind her. I sighed and pushed myself off my bed.

  Owen said nothing as I crossed the room to our bags. I opened my purse, pulled out my cell phone, and found two missed calls and a text from Amelia. I read her text about how she was five seconds away from shoving one of her cousins down a laundry chute and giggled to myself. I fired off a text letting her know that I made it home safe and sound and that I’d call her tomorrow.

  “So, we’re about to have this entire house to ourselves—whatever should we do?” Owen teased. I turned around, and saw him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  I laughed loudly. “I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of trouble my mother told us to stay out of—and the same kind of trouble my brothers were tripping about.”

  Owen slunk toward me, taking long, slow strides until he was right next to me. He placed his hands on my waist and pressed his forehead against mine. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. “But it’s so fun being bad,” he whispered.

  I shuddered. His closeness was entirely overwhelming. I took slow, deliberate breaths, letting his warmth and rich cologne surround me. I rubbed my nose against his, moving my lips closer and closer to his . . . but what was happening? We aren’t supposed to be doing this, I thought.

  As if reading my mind, Owen dropped his hands and pulled away from me. Feeling the sense of his touch still lingering, I immediately missed being so close to him. I took a step toward him, but he stepped back.

  “Brennan . . .” he said. “I’m only going to say this once: that’s the closest we’ll ever get, because the next time . . . I won’t be able to stop myself.”

  “But . . . what if I don’t want you to stop?”

  Groaning, he turned his head and looked me in the eyes. “You’re not thinking straight right now. I shouldn’t have done that. I was just trying to play around and lighten up the mood a little.”

  I watched with disappointment as he returned to the bed, sat down, and grabbed a sandwich from the tray. “You need to eat,” he said, setting a sandwich onto a napkin for me.

  I took my sandwich, and we ate in silence. Bite after bite, neither of us said a word, our arms brushing together occasionally. Once the plates and cups were empty, Owen piled them on the tray and stood up.

  After we threw away our scraps in the kitchen, we went into the living room and sat on the couches. The sun had already set, and I stared out through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the moonlight as it played over the lake.

  “What do you wanna do?” Owen asked.

  I looked at him and then turned back to the window, watching the stars twinkle on the water. “I’ve got an idea.”

  I walked out into the hallway, Owen following close behind, and stopped in front of a special section of wall. I reached out and pressed a secret panel and a door swung open, revealing a coat closet filled with jackets. I grabbed a thick navy blue coat, the one that Trent used when he went snowboarding, and handed it to Owen. He raised an eyebrow and stared at me curiously. I snatched my boarding jacket, a white one with splashes of green and gray all over it, and pulled it on.

  Moving back through the house, we went out through the back door. The cool winter air stung my face, and when I inhaled, it felt like a thousand daggers were stabbing my lungs. I listened as Owen released a shaky breath, and I turned to see him pull on the jacket that I’d given him.

  After heading down the deck steps, we crossed the lawn, following a path down to the lake and out to the end of our dock. I sat down on the edge, my feet hovering inches above the freezing water.

  Owen
took a seat next to me, sitting a little farther back so his feet wouldn’t fall into the water. I leaned back on my hands for support and stared up at the bright moon shining high in the night sky. We sat in silence for a long time, the cold air making my nose go numb.

  “This is my favorite place in the world,” I said. I hadn’t come out here in almost a year—not since the accident. I hadn’t even looked at the water until this very moment. I’d forgotten how much comfort this place brought me.

  I looked over at Owen, who was staring up at the sky in wild fascination. “It’s absolutely beautiful out here. How could you ever leave this?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” I said. He looked at me, tilting his head to one side. “Why trade the California sun for the Oregon rain?”

  “Because Southern California doesn’t have views like this,” he whispered, staring straight into my eyes.

  I shivered, unsure if it was because of the wind or the way he was staring at me. My bet was on the latter.

  Owen reached his arm out for me, and I scooted over to him, nestling myself into the crook of his arms. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm, trying to warm me up.

  “Brennan . . .” he said softly.

  I turned my head to meet his gaze. “Hmm?”

  “What . . . can . . .” He struggled to form the words he was looking for. “I’m sorry about what happened with Felicity.”

  My heart dropped right down into the lake. I wasn’t expecting him to bring up that. I started to move away, but he held me in place. “That’s done, Owen. Why are you bringing it up again?”

  “Because,” he said, “I’m not going to able to do the one thing I want to do most until I know that you’ve forgiven me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” I said. “It was selfish of me to be upset, and I reacted like a child.”

  He sighed, resting his chin on top of my head, and pulled me closer. I closed my eyes, taking in every second that ticked by. It felt so right to sitting there in his arms.

  “What is it that you want to do?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant about it.

  He pressed his lips against the side of my head and whispered, “Hopefully one day soon, I can tell you.”

  He set his chin back on top of my head, and I wrapped my arms around him. We were quiet after that. Nothing needed to be said—just sitting there said it all. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. No guilty conscious, no sadness, no trying to pretend to be someone I’m not, and no pain eating away at me every other second of the day. Right now, I thought, I’m just me, and that’s someone I haven’t been in a long time.

  As the moon rose higher in the sky, I heard footsteps approaching, and I pulled out of Owen’s arms. Not because I was afraid of being caught—at that point, I didn’t care—but because I turned to see who was coming. As I squinted in the dim light, I made out neat, closely cut blond hair, and an unmistakable gait in the person who moved toward us. I squealed and ran to the end of the dock and right into a pair of familiar, protective arms.

  “Hey, baby girl,” my father said, his deep voice like music to my ears.

  “Hi, Daddy!” I said like I was five again. There was no debate—I was a Daddy’s girl through and through. Owen walked cautiously toward us. “Oh, Dad,” I said, reluctantly pulling away from him, “this is Ow—”

  “Owen,” my father interjected. He held his hand out to Owen, and they shook. “Nice to meet you, son.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Daniels,” Owen said.

  My father didn’t offer his first name like my mother had. That was something Owen was going to have to earn.

  “You’ve stirred up quite the trouble in the Daniels household.”

  “I assure you, sir, it was not my intention,” Owen replied, maintaining eye contact with my father.

  “Dad, it wasn’t even his fault!” I exclaimed. “Those beasts of yours are totally overreacting to the sit—”

  “Brennan, honey,” my father said gently, patting me on the shoulders, “relax. I already know. After your mother called me. I got an earful from each one of those ‘beasts’ you’re referring to.”

  I chuckled.

  “Now,” he continued, looking back at Owen. “I don’t understand my wife’s persistence on you sharing a room with my daughter. However, I hope I can trust you not to pull any funny business, right, mister? I’d hate to go to jail for having to finally put my shotgun to use.”

  “You don’t have a shotgun,” I blurted.

  My father laughed and cupped my cheek. His lips turned up into a brilliant smile. “Brenn, I’ve had a shotgun since the day I found out you were a girl.”

  I wanted to laugh at the thought of my father holding a gun—a shotgun at that. My father was not an aggressive man. He was a doctor for a reason; he wanted to heal, not harm. I mean, the man doesn’t even keep the fish he catches. No, he lets them off the hook, and releases them back into the water.

  “There isn’t going to be a problem, is there?” he asked. “Because I have no problem switching you and Damon out, but my wife thinks the two of you will behave in the best manner.” He eyed Owen carefully, waiting, ready to gauge his response.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Daniels,” Owen answered him. “Your daughter is in good hands.”

  “I hope so,” my father said. “What do you guys say about getting out of this frigid air?”

  Owen nodded in agreement. My father turned on his heels and started back toward the house. Then I remembered something. “Wait! Dad!” I called out to him. “I thought you were working tonight?”

  “Someone is covering me,” he said. “I’m on call if they need me to come in. Besides, you really think I’d miss my baby coming home for the first time in months?”

  In the glow of the moonlight, I saw him wink, and then he continued toward the house. Owen waited for me to follow. I reached out for his hand, which felt like an icicle, and gave it a slight squeeze before releasing it. I jogged to catch up with my father, linking my arm with his, and we walked up the stairs to the house side by side.

  I hung our coats back up in the closet and went to the kitchen. Owen was sitting at the breakfast bar, across from my father, who was whipping up his infamous hot chocolate. I slid into the stool beside Owen. He glanced at me and I smiled. I heard my dad chuckle and felt the heat rushing to my face.

  “Do you know the secret to making the best hot chocolate, Owen?” my father asked. Owen shook his head. “I’ll let you in on a little Daniels family secret—it’s cinnamon.”

  “Cinnamon?” Owen asked. He looked at me, and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

  “Yes, just a pinch is all you need,” my father said. “And no more.”

  “Trust him on this, Owen,” I said, nudging him. “When it comes to hot chocolate, my father knows what he’s talking about.”

  Moments later, my father set mugs of hot chocolate in front of us. Owen eyed the cup curiously, while I didn’t waste a second before picking it up and taking my first sip.

  The warm liquid slid down my throat like drinkable velvet. The milk chocolate was just the right thickness, and the pinch of cinnamon added a magic touch to the flavor. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted, I thought. Well, after Owen’s lips, that is.

  I felt my cheeks warming at the thought, and I glanced over to find Owen watching me. I watched as he brought the cup to his lips, hesitating only for a second before tilting the cup into his mouth. A soft moan of contentment escaped from his lips, causing my arm hairs to stand on end. He set the mug back on the counter, then quickly decided to take another drink.

  “I have to admit, Mr. Daniels,” he said, setting the cup back down, “you know your hot chocolate.”

  “It’s about the only thing he knows how to make,” my mother said from behind me. Owen and I turned around as she walked across the kitchen, her heels clicking against the tile as she went. She placed a kiss on my father’s cheek. “I missed you,” she s
aid.

  I looked at Owen and pretended that I was gagging. He chuckled. My father, seeing this, pulled my mother in for a kiss. I groaned and roll my eyes. “All right, already!” I said. “I get it, okay.”

  They looked at one another and laughed. My mother picked up my father’s cup and took a drink. “The boy is right—you do make a pretty good cup of hot chocolate.”

  “Where are those devil children?” I asked, noticing none of my brothers followed my mother into the kitchen.

  “They went out for drinks after dinner.”

  Feeling my irritation rise, I rolled my eyes at the thought of my idiot brothers getting trashed. “Well,” I said, climbing off my stool, “it’s a good thing we’re heading to bed now.”

  I grabbed my cup, took Owen’s without asking if he was done, and poured them out in the sink. I kissed both my parents’ cheeks and hugged them tightly. Rounding the bar, I grabbed Owen’s hand and pulled him from his seat. “Good night, Mom and Dad!” I called out as we left the kitchen.

  “Good night, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels,” Owen said, taking quick steps to catch up with me.

  After changing into my pajamas in the bathroom, I grabbed extra blankets from my closet. Owen went to the bathroom to change as I made the bed. After that, I reached under my bed to pull out the rollaway bed, but my hand only found carpet. I got on my knees and looked under the bed—nothing was there. I let out a sigh of frustration.

  “What’s wrong?” Owen asked, exiting the bathroom.

  “Houston,” I said loudly, refusing to look at him, “we have a problem.”

  Owen came over to me and held my chin, turning my face toward him. “What do you mean we have a problem?”

  “Well, after the acc—” I clamped my mouth shut as soon as I realized what I was about to say. I glanced away and took a deep breath. “I forgot I had asked my dad to get rid of the bed over the summer.”

  I remembered it like it was yesterday. It was one of my bad days—one of many over the summer. I had pulled out the bed and was overwhelmed by the fact that it still smelled like Reagan’s sweet perfume she wore. I broke down, screamed at my dad to get it out of my room, and that I never wanted to see it again. I didn’t think he actually had, I thought. And why didn’t he say anything?