Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(115)

“And I hope you didn’t want that dress,” she says finally, mid-tape.

“Why?” I ask, holding the paper flat for her to fasten.

“Because I threw that damn thing, and her letter, in the fire,” she says, her teeth tearing at the ribbon in her mouth, her eyes intent on the project at hand. I smile, and I let it beam, because she’s not looking.

“Did you get the rest of your mail?” she asks, clearly done on the subject of my father.

“Oh, no. I’ll grab it before I head upstairs. I need to call Owen. He might not be moving after all,” I say, my mom smiling softly and glancing my direction, but her thoughts still clearly rooted in her own drama. I look forward to the day this chapter is done, because it would be nice to have my mom guide me through some of this.

I sweep the rest of the pile of mail into my arms and race up the stairs, positioning myself in front of the window. Owen’s waiting on the other side; I can see the top of his hat, his back resting against the window’s wall. I drop the mail in my lap in front of me and reach for my phone to text him, but before I dial I catch a glimpse of one letter—the address on it familiar, the seal exactly as it always appeared in my dreams.

The envelope is thin, and I’m not sure how to take that, so I slide my finger along the edge, tearing one end carefully, pulling the typed letter from the University of Chicago out and unfolding it slowly.

The first sentence stops my breath.

We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected...

I drop it instantly, exchanging it for my phone, dialing Owen, who picks up in the middle of my first ring.

“Hey,” he says, turning to face me, the sight of his eyes on mine like coming home.

“Hey, you’re never going to guess what I just opened,” I say, waiting for him to actually guess. He starts to laugh after a few long seconds.

“I really have no idea how to answer that…a bank account. You opened a bank account,” he says, scratching his head.

I hold the letter up, waggling it.

“I can’t read that,” he teases.

“I got in,” I say, and there’s silence for a few seconds until it settles in and he realizes what I mean.

“You’re kidding,” he says, a small laugh growing into a more powerful one. “Holy shit! You got in…doing it your way! Wow, that’s…Kens, that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, you know,” I say, my compliment greeted quickly by silence on the other end. Owen is struggling, and I’m daft for thinking he’s ready to make a decision on this so quickly. Like my mom, he’s not in celebration mode either—I just hope he’s moving toward acceptance.

“What are you going to do?” Owen asks, focusing on his happiness for me.

“I don’t know. I was kind of done with the idea of going there, ya know? But then I got this envelope, and it feels real, and now…” I say, looking back to my lap, to the stamp from the school I’ve dreamed of for so long.

“You should go, Kens. It’s what your heart wants,” Owen says.

I slide down against the window, letting my head rest along my hand so I can look at him. Maybe once that is what my heart wanted, but now, all it craves is the boy looking back at me.

We don’t talk about my letter any more, and we don’t talk at all for long. But we never hang up, keeping our phones next to us until our eyes can no longer stay open, so we can listen to each other dream.





Chapter 23





I must have heard him. There must have been some sound, something familiar that stirred my mind just enough to force it to remember that I had something to do in the morning. That’s the only explanation for the feeling that sinks my heart into oblivion the very moment my eyes open.

I don’t remember leaving my room. I don’t remember how I traveled down the stairs. And I don’t recall how freezing the air was outside when it blasted its way inside my lungs. All I remember is my heart, how it ripped in half the second I saw the small piece of paper tucked in my car window, Owen’s truck…gone.

Even now, two hours later, it’s like reading it for the very first time.



I had to leave this way. If I didn’t, I would never do the right thing. I will love you…for always.

~ Owen



My eyes are raw from crying, and my mom has given up on trying to help. We’ve been sitting here in the kitchen, sipping strong coffee and sniffling into tissues from the moment I woke her up with my heavy sobs. I couldn’t make it back to my room, collapsing on the door when I stepped back inside the house.

The sun wasn’t up yet, the clock reading only four in the morning. And I just knew. What I keep playing over and over in my mind is how close I was to stopping him. He only could have been gone for minutes.

I want to stay home from school, but I also want to talk to Mr. Chessman. I need clues, and I need him to stall Mr. Mathison. I’ve dialed Owen’s number at least sixty times, every single time my call going right to voicemail. I’ve only left a handful of messages, each time my words come out broken, my sentences only halves.

When it’s time for school to begin, I drag my bag along the driveway with me, my eyes on the ground most of the way until I reach my car door. Andrew is standing in his driveway, a heavy coat pulled around his body, his backpack by his feet.