Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(51)
“You couldn’t possibly want more pie,” he smiles, handing House and Andrew their passes, his eyes having a silent conversation with his brother and friend. “Guys, really…it’s just a ride.”
Andrew nods and moves to the line for the ride, but House sticks with Owen for a little longer, his eyes telling a different story. “I’m fine,” Owen says, he grits through his teeth, his voice almost threatening toward his friend.
“Sure you are, man. But if you suddenly decide you’re not, you tap out, got it?” House says, holding up his fist, waiting for Owen to accept. Owen just pushes it away finally, his motion harsh and abrupt as he turns and leaves his friend standing with me while he joins his brother in line.
I walk to join them slowly, and before House and I get too close, I ask: “What is tapping out?”
“It’s our safety plan. When we race, there’s always a point where we have each other’s backs—where it’s safe to admit we’ve had enough. We bail on whatever the situation is, back off the gas, pull over and calm down,” House says.
“You ever need the safety plan?” I ask, and he nods yes.
“Has he?” I know the answer as soon as I ask, but it’s confirmed when House sucks in his bottom lip and raises his brow.
The ride before us goes quickly, and Owen is handing the carnival worker our pair of tickets before I’m ready. Instinctually, I look around us, expecting to see a crowd gather, to see people whispering in horror, amazed at what Owen is about to do. But nobody cares. My friends are all up in cars on the other side of the wheel, their view of this completely obstructed. They have no idea how brave Owen’s about to be—and I’m terrified that he’s not really being brave at all, that he’s only being wild, as Willow would say.
“Locked and ready,” the carnie man yells, signaling something to the ride operator. With a jerk, we stream upward about twenty feet, halting fast and our gondola swinging back and forth while we wait for the bucket below us to load more riders.
Owen’s brow is already beading with sweat, and he pulls his hat from his head and runs his long sleeve over his face, his dark eyes blinking fast.
“We don’t have to do this,” I say, but he interrupts me.
“Yes. Yes, we do,” he says, and suddenly, his hand finds mine. His grip on my fingers is hard, but the way we lock together is almost familiar—right. Owen tugs on the fabric of his left sleeve with his teeth, chewing on the ribbed edge for a few seconds before grasping it with his thumb and holding it to his closed lips, his eyes darting from the safety latch to the pivot wheel to the line of people still waiting to load. With every new thing he notices, his grip on my hand gets tighter, and when we swing up even higher, his breath falters.
“I’m going to ask him to stop the ride. Owen, we’re getting off,” I say.
“No!” he says, closing his eyes and squeezing them, tucking his chin into his chest, then shaking his head no. “No,” he whispers. “Please, Kensi. Help me through this.”
Without pause, I pull Owen’s right hand into my lap, and I cover it even more with my other fingers. His leg starts to bounce, and the rhythm is making the cart swing a little too much, so I lift his hand again, this time bringing it to my chest so I can hold it to me closely.
“Close your eyes, and I’ll tell you when they’re done loading, when you can just look out at the city, okay?” I say.
“Okay,” he whispers, doing as I say.
“One more round, and that’s it...almost there…loading. Latching. Waving. Okay,” I say, still clutching his hand in mine, his fingers fretting and fighting to find more of my hand to grip any time I threaten to loosen my hold.
“Are we moving? Kensi, I can’t tell. Are we moving?” he asks, his voice soft and vulnerable.
“Not yet. Soon, Owen. We’ll be moving soon,” I say, locking my eyes on his closed lids, watching them twitch with panic.
His breathing starts to stutter even more, and I begin to open my lips to beg him to let me make them stop one more time—when his eyes open, his soul looking right into mine. Then the sky begins to move behind him. I keep his gaze, doing my best not to interrupt, to blink, and I let my mouth form a faint smile. “We’re moving,” I say, his hand still held to my chest, my heart no doubt pounding against our grasp on one another.
“Owen, you can look out now, look at the town and the stars,” I say, glancing over his shoulder as the lights from the festival fade and refocus with every pass we make. Owen keeps his eyes on me, never blinking. But I know he’s seeing something. I know he’s safe, that he doesn’t need to “tap out,” because he’s smiling, and his eyes are showing traces of something new, like the life of a child lost years ago.
It’s joy.
As the ride slows, we pause at the top, still frozen in our pose, our hands tethered to the point where I can no longer feel beyond my first knuckles. But Owen’s smile remains, and his breathing starts to even out, his chest rising and falling at a normal pace. I spare a look away as my friends exit below us, and I notice Willow point up to our cart as she reaches her arms around Jess and squeezes him.
“I think they’re proud of you,” I say, gesturing to the group waiting for us about thirty feet below. Owen doesn’t look, and he doesn’t break our trance. But he does finally speak.