Then I meet Owen, and my world is flipped upside down. Everything’s changed. I can’t blame him for all of the changes, but he’s part of it. A big part of it.

I wish he were still a part of it.

Closing my eyes, I try to shut off my churning thoughts, my overactive imagination. I can’t go home. I can’t stay in this stupid apartment. I have nowhere. Nothing. No friends, no possibilities. Maybe I could rent a room. Sell what pitiful amount of furniture I have and move in with someone. That could work, and the rent would be way cheaper.

First thing tomorrow I’m looking for someone with a place to share. Tonight … tonight I’m too tired and too depressed.

My phone buzzes and I crack open my eyes. I hold it up so I can see who texted me. Probably Kari, crying the blues that she can’t go out on a Saturday night. Or that her parents treat her like she’s on her deathbed when she’s really only sick with stupid mono. Those had been her complaints last night when she texted me.

These messages aren’t from Kari, though. There’s an endless stream of them, one after another. One heartbreaking sentence at a time.

I miss you.

I think about you all the time.

I dream about you.

I lied to you and I’m sorry.

I was embarrassed.

Ashamed.

I want to earn your forgiveness but I don’t know how.

I hold my phone with trembling hands and tears forming in my eyes. I haven’t cried since that night I ran away from Owen. I told myself I was stronger than that. He couldn’t break me. I refused to let him.

But now, with the truth typed out for me to see, I cry. Quiet, continuous tears that slide down my cheeks, drop from my jaw onto my chest, dampening my shirt. I don’t care. The release feels good. It frees me from everything I’ve held so tight within me for weeks.

Sniffing, blinking past the tears, I text him back.

One pitiful sentence at a time, just like the ones he sent to me.

I miss you, too.

And I think about you all the time.

You come to me in my dreams and I don’t want to wake up.

You lied to me but I lied to you, too.

Because I was embarrassed.

And ashamed like you.

Maybe someday I can tell you about it.

I wait for his answer, my breathing short, my chest aching. What if he doesn’t reply? Maybe he’s drunk. Maybe he’s … oh God, maybe he’s high and he’s trying to con me into going back to him.

Maybe, just maybe, I want to be conned. I want to go back to him. I miss him so much. I need him.

Does he need me?

My phone buzzes and I look at the screen, my heart in my throat.

Tell me about it now.

It would take me forever to text him everything. Before I can reply, I get another message:

Come over. I want to see you.

Can I? Am I brave enough? I don’t know. I want to see him. I’m desperate to look at him, smell him, feel his arms come around me and hold me tight.

Please Chels. I need to see you.

I need you.

His last text tells me that I am.

CHAPTER 21

Owen

I wait out by my car for her, wishing for about the ten thousandth time that I’d offered to come pick her up. She probably would have turned me down. I don’t want to push, but I hadn’t expected her to answer my text messages.

She did. Her words mirrored mine but reflected her own troubles. The secrets she kept from me. I want to hear them. I need to.

I need to see her.

Girls approach me outside, one after another, all of them asking if I need anything, do I want something to drink, something to eat, maybe I could take them back to my room and they could help me out in other ways. So many girls are here, looking to score with a football player. Ready to brag to their friends that they snagged one. I don’t want to deal with the groupies and the obvious girls who want nothing more than to get laid.

I used to be one of those guys who wanted nothing more than to get laid. It didn’t matter with whom or where, I was happy to be getting some.

I’m not that guy anymore. I want my sweet, smart girl. I need Chelsea.

Whipping my phone out of my pocket, I check for a message from her but there isn’t one. My head is clear, the faint haze from my earlier buzz all gone. I’m focused. Centered. She feels close. I can sense her presence, I swear, and when I glance up I see her. Walking across the street, headed straight for me. Her hair is in a sloppy knot on top of her head, she doesn’t have any makeup on, and she’s wearing the sweatshirt I gave her when we went to Drew’s football game and black leggings that make her legs look like they’re a mile long.

She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“Hi.” She stops directly in front of me, her hands stuffed in the pocket on the front of her sweatshirt, her expression wary but her gaze … hopeful.

“Hey.” I want to reach out and touch her so bad it’s killing me. “You, uh, walked here?”

She shrugs. “I’ve had so much crap happen to me lately, I figured I may as well live dangerously and walk. What else can go wrong?”

Damn. She doesn’t usually talk like this. She’s the positive one in this relationship. “What’s going on, Chels?” I give in to my urge and reach out, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, let my index finger trace the curve of it.

She releases a shuddery breath and closes her eyes, exhaling softly. “Are you high?”

“What? No.” Fuck. I need to tell her the truth. “I took one puff on a joint earlier. Wade caught me. I stopped.”