I pull away from him and attempt a smile. “I don’t want anything to do with him,” I say. The words are hard for me to say, because there might be actual truth in them. I can’t even think about how angry I am at Owen right now when Trey is still standing in front of me. “Thank you for telling me,” I say as I head to the door. I open it so that he’ll take the hint. “I want to be alone for a while, though. It’s been a long day.”
Trey walks toward the door and backs out. “I’ll see you Sunday night at dinner?”
I nod and force another fake smile to appease him. As soon as I close the door, I lock it and rush to my bedroom. I crawl inside the tent and find a piece of paper on my pillow. I pick it up and read it.
Please come by my studio tonight. We need to talk.
I read Owen’s note so many times, I could likely rewrite it with perfectly matched handwriting. I lie down on the pillow and sigh heavily, because I have no idea what to do. There’s nothing that could excuse the fact that he’s going to jail, or the fact that he lied to me. But despite everything that just happened, every part of me is aching for him. I barely know the guy, yet somehow I can feel that familiar clench of a fist gripping at my heart. I have to see him one more time, even if it’s just to say good-bye.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Owen
I should have told her. The second I was released from custody, I should have gone straight to her apartment and told her everything.
I’ve been pacing the studio floor for over an hour now. I only pace when I’m pissed, and right now I’m not sure I’ve ever been this angry. I’m going to burn a hole into this floor if I don’t stop.
But I know she’s read my message by now. It’s been over two hours since I left it on her pillow and I’m starting to think she’s already given up on me. I don’t blame her. As much as I want to try to convince her that Trey’s not good for her and I’m not as bad as she now thinks I am, I have a feeling I won’t even get that opportunity. There’s no telling what she’s been told about me by now.
Just as I begin to head toward the stairs, I hear a knock on the glass door. I don’t rush to the door. I sprint.
When I open the door, her eyes meet mine briefly before she glances nervously over her shoulder. She grabs the door and quickly slips inside, shutting it behind her.
I hate that. I hate that she’s scared to be here and scared who might have seen her walk in the door.
She doesn’t trust me.
She turns and faces me, and I hate the disappointment flooding her eyes right now.
We need to talk and I don’t want to do it right here, so I reach around her and lock the door. “Thank you for coming.”
She doesn’t respond. She waits for me to say something else.
“Will you come upstairs with me?”
She glances at the hallway over my shoulder and nods. She follows me across the studio and up to my apartment. It’s crazy how different things are between us now. Two hours ago, everything was perfect. And now . . .
It’s amazing how much distance one truth can create between two people.
I walk to the kitchen and offer her something to drink. Maybe if I pour her a drink, the conversation might last longer. There’s so much I want and need to explain to her, if she will just give me that opportunity.
She doesn’t want a drink.
She’s standing in the middle of the room and it appears as if she’s afraid to approach me. Her eyes roam around the room as if she’s never been here before. I can see the look on her face. She sees me differently now that she knows.
I quietly watch her assess the room for a while. Eventually her eyes meet mine again, and there’s a long pause before she works up the courage to ask me what she came here to find out.
“Are you an addict, Owen?”
She doesn’t skirt around the subject at all. Her straightforwardness makes me cringe, because nothing is a simple yes-or-no answer. And she doesn’t appear to want to wait around for the explanation with the way she’s eyeing the stairwell.
“If I said no, would it even make a difference for us?”
She regards me silently for several seconds, and then she shakes her head. “No.”
I had a feeling that would be her answer. And just like that, I no longer feel like explaining my side of the situation. What would be the point when my answer doesn’t matter? Telling her the truth could just further complicate things.
“Are you going to jail?” she asks. “Is that why you said you’re moving?”
I tilt the bottle and pour myself a glass of wine. I take a long, slow sip from it before answering with a nod. “Probably. It’s my first offense, so I doubt I’m away for long.”
She exhales and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she’s looking down at her feet. Her hands move to her hips and she continues to avoid eye contact with me. “I want custody of my son, Owen. They would use you against me.”
“Who’s they?”
“Lydia and Trey.” She looks up at me now. “They’ll never trust me if they know I’m involved with you in any way.”
I expected something along the lines of good-bye when she showed up here, but I didn’t expect the hurt that would come along with her words. I feel stupid for not thinking about how this would affect her. I’ve been so worried about what she would think of me when she found out, it really didn’t occur to me until just now that her relationship with her son could be jeopardized.
I pour myself another glass of wine. Probably not a good idea for her to witness me downing wine now that she knows about my arrest record.
I expect her to turn and walk out now, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a few slow steps toward me. “Will they let you choose rehab, instead?”
I down the second glass of wine. “I don’t need rehab.” I place the glass in the sink.
I can see the disappointment take over. I’m familiar with that look. I’ve seen it enough by now to know what it means, and I don’t like that her feelings have so quickly moved from wanting me to pitying me.
“I don’t have an issue with drugs, Auburn.” I lean forward until we’re just a foot apart. “What I have an issue with is the fact that you seem to be involved with Trey. I may be the one with the criminal record, but he’s the one you should be careful of.”
She laughs under her breath. “He’s a cop, Owen. You’re going to jail for possession. Which one of you do I trust?”