Call It What You Want(64)

All of a sudden, being here feels cruel. Like I’m taking advantage. Was I so desperate for company that I latched on to the last person in the world who should want to spend time with me? His situation was already crap, and then my father flushed it down the toilet.

This is worse than hiding in Mr. London’s office.

I stand and turn for the door without looking at Owen. “I need to go home.”

Mrs. Goettler stops me in the hallway, putting a hand on my arm. “What happened? Rob, are you all right?”

I can’t take her kindness. Not now.

“I’m Rob Lachlan,” I say. “Junior.”

Her expression shifts as the impact of this sinks in. She lets go of my arm. Takes a step back.

I can’t meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “I shouldn’t—I’m sorry.” I turn and fly down the stairs. The door barely makes me pause. My car is at the end of the block, and bitter wind whips at my eyes, stinging with censure.

I’m almost to the Jeep when feet slap the pavement behind me. “Hey,” says Owen, nearly breathless.

I don’t look at him. “I already gave you a chance to punch me.”

“Rob. Stop. Look—wait, are you crying?”

“No.” I swipe at my face and turn away. I am. Great; this can be doubly humiliating.

“Stop.” He grabs my sleeve. “Stop. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that.”

I give half a laugh. “You’re sorry? Owen, I ruined your life.”

He doesn’t let go of me. “No. You didn’t. Your father didn’t, either.”

“Come on.”

“I mean, not directly. She’d finally built up a little savings, and a friend told her your dad could help—” I grimace, and he breaks off. “We weren’t living on it. It was just …” He frowns. “For a minute I forgot you’re not you anymore.”

What a loaded statement. I sniff and look away from him. “Oh good.”

“I hate when people ask things like that. It’s not you. It’s—it’s everything.”

“I’m sorry.” His hand is still fixed on my sleeve. “I’ll go. Okay? Just let me go.”

“You don’t have to go.”

I glance back at his house. The curtain is pulled partially to the side, though I can’t see Mrs. Goettler. “I’m pretty sure your mom hates me.”

“Mom doesn’t hate anyone.”

“I saw her face.”

“She was surprised. I was going to tell her. I didn’t want to hurt her—”

Hurt her. “I get it. Just let me go, okay?”

His grip on my sleeve doesn’t loosen. “Rob. What I said. That wasn’t—that wasn’t about you.”

“It was about who I used to be.”

Owen’s face goes still, and I wonder if he’s realizing I’m right. I expect him to let me go and turn away.

Instead, he screws up his expression and says, “Maybe? Not really? You can’t be so different.”

I think of my father, probably sitting in his chair in the family room, drooling all over himself while the television blares Sesame Street. I think of my mother and the sudden appearance of wine bottles.

I think of myself adjusting the feeding pump under Connor’s judgmental eyes. “I’m different, Owen.”

“Yeah, well, I like who you are now.”

It’s more than I can take. Especially after everything with Maegan, with Connor, with Owen’s mom just now. My throat closes up and my eyes burn. I press my free hand to my face.

Owen lets out a breath. “Dude.”

His hand releases my sweatshirt, and I swipe at my eyes, ready to bolt.

Instead, he wraps me up in a hug. It’s so unexpected that I can’t even get it together to pull away. I don’t want to pull away. I lean against him and try to steady my breathing.

“Still friends?” he says.

“You deserve a better friend than me.” My voice sounds like it’s coming out of a sniveling toddler.

“I’ll take what I can get.” His voice drops. “Though it’s going to be tough to get Mom to believe you’re straight if she’s seeing this.”

That makes me laugh, and I draw back.

Owen’s eyes are repentant, lit with a touch of concern. So different from Connor’s eyes last night. “I shouldn’t have gotten all over your case. You just asked me a question.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, you should. Mom always says we shouldn’t hide from questions. People who ask want to know the answer. It’s different from people who judge without asking.” His expression sobers. “I guess that applies to you, too. Everyone thinks you’re a thief, but you’re not. Not really.”

It’s a generous statement. Much like everything else about Owen, I’m not sure I deserve it.

Looking into his eyes, I know he would have answered my call after I found my father. No doubt about it.

“I stole earrings.” The words fall out of my mouth in a rush.

“What?”

“I stole earrings.”

“You what?”

“I stole earrings. From Connor’s house. His mom had left them on the side of the hot tub. She won’t even know they’re gone. I don’t know why I did it.” I rake my hands back through my hair. “I guess—I thought—I wanted to do something to hurt them … but I also want to do something to help someone else. Like the girl you gave the forty dollars to. Or your mom.”