Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(34)

“I understand,” I say, my eyes moving back to Blakely. “I’m not lying.”

He holds my attention for a few long seconds, the sound of his pen clicking open and shut like a bomb ticking away in my ears. “Mosely, let him go,” he says, pushing the button on the radio pinned to his collar.

“You sure about that?” I hear his partner respond.

“Seems so,” Blakely says, and within seconds, his partner is stepping back out of the vehicle and opening the door for Owen. I don’t breathe until his hands are free. When the car holding my father pulls away, I move closer to him, letting my mom finish her talk with the police officers.

“Come on, you need ice,” I say, pulling at the sleeve of his shirt, urging him to follow me inside.

Owen’s quiet as we walk up my porch and through the main living room, but he pauses at my piano. I backpedal a few steps, and nod toward the kitchen, and he catches up.

“Let me see,” I say, placing my hands on both of his shoulders, gently guiding him to one of our stools. I step closer, until my body is practically between his long, outstretched legs, and I move my hands to his chin, tilting it upward so I can see how bad his bruising is in the light.

“That’s going to be really bad. God, Owen…I’m so sorry,” I say, but he quiets me fast.

“Shhhhhh,” he says, his head tilting back down and his eyes on me. His hair is super messy, the beanie he was wearing lost somewhere in the scuffle with my dad.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I say, closing my eyes and letting my head fall forward. I want to cry, but I’m so drained; I can’t even do that.

“Don’t be. Not with me. Not over this,” he says, his hand slowly sweeping a strand of my hair away from my face. His gesture sends a short wave of shivers down my neck and arms, and I hate my father for ruining this moment. I want to enjoy it, but I can’t.

I turn to the freezer and fill a small plastic bag with a few ice cubes, then wrap it in a dishtowel. “It’s the best we have. Don’t get a lot of shiners in our house,” I chuckle. My joke is stupid, but Owen smiles at it anyway.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it from me, his hand covering mine completely when he does. God how I want him to hold my hand.

I move to the stool next to him and prop my elbows up on the counter, digging my hands into my scalp and massaging my head, like this situation is something I could somehow erase, only keeping the good parts.

Our silence doesn’t last long, and Blakely comes in to sit in the third stool to take down our version of the story. Owen lets me do most of the talking, and I notice they don’t write down anything he says anyway. Seems the Harper-brother rumors have even tainted the local law enforcement’s opinion of him.

By the time the police leave, it’s time for Owen to drive me back to school, and the trip back feels shorter…or maybe it doesn’t feel long enough.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, laughing slightly when I realize how simplified that sounds. “And saving my mom. And me. And for beating my father’s ass.” My laughing picks up a little more, but it’s a nervous laugh, so I suck it in and try to hold myself together.

“Mind if I tell people my brother James did this?” he says, pointing to the now puffy cheek just below his bruised eye socket. “If people know an old man did this, that won’t be good for me.”

He doesn’t laugh at first, so I just nod yes, and start to say I understand.

“Kens,” he says. “I’m kidding. I just meant I won’t tell anyone. And Andrew won’t either.”

“Oh,” I say, biting my lip and smiling briefly before sliding a step or two away from his truck.

“I’ll see you later. I’ve got some things, okay?” he says, his brow pinching while he looks down to his lap, the light from his phone illuminating the cab of the truck.

“You shouldn’t text and drive,” I say, causing a whisper of a laugh to leave his lips, and a smile to creep up the side closest to me.

“I wouldn’t do anything dangerous,” he says, winking and tossing the phone into the empty seat beside him. His tires kick up gravel as he pulls away, and I wait at the front of the school until his taillights are so far away that I can no longer tell if they’re his.





Chapter 9





I woke up instantly. That sound—it was better than an alarm. That sound was the one noise my subconscious had been on the lookout for—the one thing my ears have been begging to hear.

The bouncing was methodical, and then the clanging of the metal against the eave of the garage was undeniable.

I speed from my room—dressed in only sweatpants and an extra-large thermal shirt— stuff my feet into my boots and race down through the front door and down the porch stairs. My expectations are stunted the second I see a guy, not quite as tall and not nearly as muscular as Owen, tossing a ball up at the hoop—and missing. Repeatedly.

Andrew.

“Oh, damn. I’m sorry. That’s…that’s probably loud, huh?” he says, looking at his watch and then to me, realizing I’m in whatever I slept in.

“Yeah, it’s…it’s okay, though. It’s eight. I should be up anyways,” I say, pulling my arms close from the chill, also trying to bluff the disappointment no doubt painted all over my face.