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Owen frowns. A forlorn look paints his face as he works his jaw. His hazel eyes lock with mine, and I watch as despondency morphs into determination. “Angel,” he whispers my name like a prayer, “I know we’ve fucked up at every turn, but we promise to make this right. Which starts with explaining it all.”
The earnest look in his eyes gives me pause. Should I hear them out? Reading it doesn’t mean I forgive them. Holding out my hand, I accept the journal.
Owen sighs in relief as there’s another knock on the door before it’s pushed open. “Jefferson, you need to be out of here in the next five seconds,” Reign snaps.
I watch as Owen’s hand drops to the front of his scrubs, reaching for what I’m sure is one of his knives. A smile crests his face as he rolls his shoulders back, ready for a fight. “I’d love to see you try, asshole. I owe you a facial,” he sneers.
“I’d like to see you try,” Reign retorts, tossing Owen’s words right back at him.
My hand shoots out before they can come to blows, grabbing Owen’s wrist. “You two can measure dicks another time,” I command. “Owen was just leaving. Weren’t you, O?”
Owen’s gaze meets mine, releasing his grip on his blade before he reaches up, caressing my bottom lip with his thumb. “Anything for you, Angel,” he murmurs so only I can hear. Then Owen turns, walks toward the door, and pauses long enough to exchange death glares with Reign, Fernando, and Elias. “I’ll see you fuckers soon,” he mutters before disappearing from sight.
Yawning, I stretch, sitting up in my bed. It’s my third day home, and after doing nothing but sleeping, I’m finally feeling more like myself. Turning, I glance at the journal I’ve left untouched. Part of me is nervous that I’ll feel a greater sense of betrayal, but I also understand I won’t know until I do.
I sigh, picking it up and running my fingers over my name engraved into the leather cover before I open to the first entry.
June 12, 2023
Ariah,
Today, I had to betray the trust of my brothers and crush your heart in the process. All in the name of saving Owen. By the time we reached your house, you were gone, and so went the hopes of explaining what had to be done.
Save Owen? Fuck, was leaving without confronting them a rash decision? Inhaling, I prepare myself for whatever comes next.
We still don’t have all the details, but Owen was taken, and I was given explicit instruction to choose Samantha, or he’d be killed.
My breath hitches, robbing me of the necessary air to process what I’ve read.
Saying I’m sorry will never be enough, and even if you never forgive me, know that I made the decision—not any of the guys. Just know that we’re coming for you as soon as we possibly can, and I promise to make it up to you because you’re my forever girl.
Until then, I’ll write the words I’ve struggled to say.
Wes
Song: Back to December- Taylor Swift
My pulse doubles, and my skin prickles with awareness as my mounting panic forces my eyes to close. I can’t even focus on Wes’s usual highhandedness. They were forced, and Owen was missing. But they never said a word. No one made any attempts to reach me once Owen came home. Snapping the journal, I center my thoughts before they spiral out of control. As eager as I am to discover their truths and the cause for their continuous betrayal, I can’t read anymore for now.
Huffing, I grab my cell phone off my pillow and send the text.
Me: I’ll meet with Wyatt tomorrow afternoon.
Not ready for their reply, I put my phone back on Do Not Disturb. I need more time to process before any of them can visit. A big part of my heart hangs on to the hope this won’t break us.
52
WYATT
The last place I want to be is at some dumbass election campaign rally in some town I never knew existed in the United States. Yet, here we stand in Applebrook, Maine, hidden in plain sight.
I thought Edgewood was exclusive. Some of these towns have unofficial requirements to be able to move in. Otherwise, land is passed down through generations.
Cheers erupt around the packed campaign rally for the Presidential hopeful, better known as a dead Senator walking, Matthew Baker. I watch as another pompous prick walks up to the podium. “Did you know MC stands for master of ceremonies?”
“And why did we need to know that useless fact right now, Wy?” Sebastian asks.
Shrugging my shoulders, I adjust the collar of my army-green bomber jacket, blocking Maine’s brisk fall air. “Aren’t rallies for learning?” I quip, earning me an elbow in my side from Owen.
