Broken Beautiful Hearts(85)

“People believed him?” Grace demands.

“Enough to call my house and threaten me.” This part of the story doesn’t seem as dramatic in my head. But it’s hard to describe how much it hurt to have everyone doubt me.

How much it still hurts.

“That’s why my mom sent me here to stay with my uncle. The threats really freaked her out, and Reed kept calling and showing up at our house.… It was too much for her.”

“Does Owen know about any of this?”

“No! I don’t want him to feel sorry for me or treat me like I’m fragile, on the verge of breaking.”

“I’d never say anything to him,” Grace says calmly. “You can trust me.”

I nod and take a deep breath.

“Now I understand why you’re not sure if you want to get serious with Owen. After all that, I’m surprised you didn’t swear off dating altogether.”

“I did.” But I wasn’t expecting to meet someone like Owen.

“But you like Owen,” Grace says as if she understands. “Are you worried about letting things get serious with him because he’s a fighter, like your ex?”

“It’s not that.” I tell her exactly how I feel without worrying about how it will sound. “I’m scared to get close to him because I don’t trust my judgment and I can’t afford to make another mistake.” My eyes flicker to the brace strapped around my leg. “Look at what the last one cost me.”

What I don’t say is the other thing I’m thinking.

There’s no “letting myself get close” to Owen. I’m already close to him. If that’s a mistake, it’s too late, because I’ve already made it.





CHAPTER 35

Unraveling

TODAY I ASK Owen to take me through my exercises before I hit the pool. I need to burn off some energy—at least that’s what I’m calling it.

Watching Owen through the gym window while I’m in the pool is becoming more unbearable every day. The tension from being so close to him and seeing the way he moves in the ring has me wound so tight that I can’t think about anything else when I look at him.

I’ve never met a guy who affected me this way—a guy I wanted this much.

I’ve wanted guys to kiss me before, but I want Owen to touch me—every inch of me. And I want to touch him.

I didn’t feel this way with Reed. We slept together, and it was good. But not mind-blowing, tension-inducing good. I never lost track of a conversation because I was daydreaming about Reed’s hands all over me.

I know it would be different with Owen.

I’m standing at the end of the pool, staring at the water and imagining how different, when an old lady in a flowered swim cap clears her throat. “Are you using the lane?”

I snap out of it. “Yeah. Sorry.”

I adjust the strap of my black one-piece and quickly braid my hair. My eyes dart to the glass wall, out of habit. Usually, Owen is working out or sparring in the ring.

Not today.

He’s standing in front of the window, watching me.

And it’s so incredibly hot.

A rush of heat burns down to my core. I should smile and act casual, or jump in the pool—anything except stare at him like I want to take off his clothes.

“Miss? Are you getting in?” the lady asks impatiently. “It’s bingo night at church, and it’s my turn to spin the wheel.”

Bingo night breaks the spell, and I ease into the pool, painfully aware that Owen is probably still watching.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. “I won’t be long.”

Cutter graduated me from walking to swimming laps, which cuts down on the amount of time I can spend drooling over Owen.

A swim class finishes, freeing up the other lanes. Now it’s just Bingo Lady and me. I count my strokes, anything to distract me from the window. But I’m getting tired faster than usual.

Bingo Lady finishes before me and rushes off to spin the wheel.

I steal a look at the window.

The gym is empty.

Owen and I are often the last ones to leave, but I don’t see him. He wouldn’t take off without telling me. I check the clock on the wall. No wonder I’m tired and the gym is empty. I swam twice as long as I normally do.

I pull myself out of the pool. Water drips down my legs, and I lean to the side and wring out my braid, leaving puddles behind me as I head for the showers.

The entrance to the women’s locker room is next to the glass door that leads to the gym.

Owen pushes it open and walks toward me without a word.

My heart throbs at the sight of him—his broad shoulders and muscular chest, his intoxicating brown eyes, and full lips that beg to be kissed. He picks up my striped towel as he passes the chair where I left it, stops in front of me. He holds the towel between us, our toes almost touching. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I should feel self-conscious standing here, dripping wet, in nothing except a bathing suit. But I don’t.

Owen opens the towel, slips it around my waist, and uses the ends to pull me toward him.

My chest touches his, and the thin layer of wet fabric between us emphasizes how little clothing we’re both wearing.

My fingers graze his waist as my hands slide down and rest above his hip bones. “I’m dripping on you.”