Wild Reckless (Harper Boys #1)(64)

Want to talk about it?



His response comes a few seconds later.



I think I just want to look at you for a while.



I put my hand back against the glass, this time Owen doing the same, and I stay there, for an hour, looking at him looking at me. And I’m terrified—afraid of what happened tonight, of everything I saw and of the thought that James might come back.

And I’m afraid I’m losing myself to danger—the worst kind, the kind that rules your heart.

I’m falling for Owen Harper, and I’m afraid he’s going to die.





Chapter 14





The chatter downstairs stirs me awake. My mom’s voice is somewhere between normal and a whisper, which can only mean one thing—my father’s here.

I’m awake and sitting up in seconds, but I’m not so sure I want to face that much drama this early in the morning. The moon is out, the sun still a half hour from rising. The sky has seemed darker lately, winter bringing a thick layer of darkness that takes over the starts and ends of every day.

My alarm will sound soon, so I push the clock button to at least spare myself the noise of morning DJs that are far too peppy to be real. I grab my jeans, a long-sleeved undershirt and my favorite T-shirt, a black one that reads Mozart Would Have Loved Miles Davis. It’s a test day, and I’m feeling unlucky. Actually, I’m feeling unprepared—so I’m going to need all of the superstitious things in my life to align. And clearly, my morning isn’t starting off on the right note.

My shower is hot, but the water runs out far too quickly, so I towel dry before my skin has a chance to get cold, drying my hair and scrunching the curl into it. I pull a knit hat over the crown, keeping the little part of my hair that’s still wet warm, then I take a deep breath and force myself to go downstairs.

I’m pleasantly surprised when I’m greeted by Owen’s back, his feet propped atop the footrest on the stool by the counter, my mom’s coffee mug cradled in his hand. Everything pleasant turns to anxiety, though, when my mom makes an obvious detour in the conversation, coughing to announce my entrance into the room.

“Ohhhh, you’re up early. Good morning, Kens. You want some bacon? I made some for Owen, and there’s some left; it’s still warm.” She’s already putting it on a plate and pushing buttons on the microwave. Owen smiles at me, leans forward, and presses his lips to my cheek while my mom’s back is to us.

She made him…bacon?

“Why are you here?” I whisper, my voice quiet but not quiet enough to keep my mom from craning her neck slightly at my question. She’s spying.

“I was awake early; Mom left for work, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t want to wake Andrew up yet, so I was waiting on your porch,” he says.

“I found him out there,” my mom says, topping off Owen’s coffee cup—her coffee cup, which she gave to him. This is all so….

“Thanks,” he nods, taking another drink. The two of them hold each other’s eyes, something strange passing between them, but I can’t tell if it feels like bad news.

“Have you heard from your brother?” I ask as soon as my mom is out of earshot. Owen only shakes his head no.

“I’ve gotta get Andrew moving,” he says, sliding his half-filled mug over to me to finish. I smell it, and can tell it’s strong—I drink my coffee with more milk than coffee. I stand to pour it in the sink, then turn to walk Owen to the door, but my mom is already showing him out, thanking him for something.

When she comes back in, she’s humming—humming.

“What’s going on?” I ask, that uneasy feeling too much to ignore.

“Well, I’m dog tired, and I have forty-eight hours off, so I’m planning on napping until about noon, then I’m in for a marathon of HGTV to see if I can turn this kitchen reno into something other than a condemned piece of property,” she says, laughing at her mildly funny joke.

“I meant with Owen. What’s going on…with Owen?” I ask, and she purses her lips, tilting her head in that way she does when she’s trying to buy herself time. My mother has a hard time being anything but honest, and when I think back on it, I realize she tilted her head when she told me we were moving, when she said she was excited about it, and when she told me I’d love my new school just as much as Bryce.

“You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know,” I decide. If whatever she’s keeping to herself is anything like the crap that’s unraveled on me over the last six weeks, then I don’t want to know; I’m better off not knowing. She can go back to humming.

What’s weird though is how quickly she lets me off the hook, how quickly she actually does go back to humming.

I pull my science book out and spend the next twenty minutes cramming for my test, keeping with my theme of only doing lucky things for the rest of the morning. Studying has to be lucky.

Willow’s early; I thank my karma for being able to leave the house of weirdness behind. I kick myself though when I realize I’m only getting into a car with a person who’s going to interrogate me for the next ten minutes.

“So, how was practice and dinner with the Harpers? You never called, and I was up all night waiting for that phone to buzz, you bitch,” Willow says, pushing her glasses tighter to her face with the tip of her finger.