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I hold my purse tighter to me. “No.”
The elevator arrives and the doors open.
Owen’s hand curls around my bicep as I take a step toward the elevator. In the firmest voice he’s ever used, he says, “It’s late. I’m driving you.”
My heart beats faster than it ever has.
My chest feels every thump, every thrash, every tremor.
I look at Owen, finally.
I see so much in those blue eyes.
Misgiving.
Worry.
Uncertainty.
But mostly care.
So much care.
Tears threaten at the back of my eyes.
I swallow every emotion crowding me and nod.
I don’t say anything because I know I’ll start crying if I do.
Anger always makes me cry.
But more than that, I hate that after finding so many rights between us, we’ve found a very big wrong.
28
Charlize
Isleep horribly.
I think I get at most two hours. It’s disjointed and filled with dreams I know were terrible and am glad I can’t quite remember.
I drag myself into the kitchen at seven a.m. and find Dylan sitting at the island. He’s watching me with concern, which makes sense since I cried half the night and look terrible.
“Why am I looking at you?” he asks as I move to the coffee machine. “I thought you were sleeping at Owen’s last night.”
With that, I burst into tears.
“Fuck, Char.” Dylan’s arms are around me a moment later and I bury my face in his chest while clinging to him. “What happened?”
“I had a fight with Owen. Well, not so much a fight as a disagreement. One I walked out on,” I say in between sobs and a whole lot of snot.
I go back to planting my face in his chest.
Dylan lets me cry for a long time.
I’ve cried in his arms a lot in my lifetime, but this may be the hardest I’ve ever cried over a guy.
When I finally lift my face to his, he says, “Tell me what happened.”
