My heart hurts and I can feel tears forming in my eyes, but I blink them away.

“When I was fourteen, she left. Just one night packed up all our shit, left only my clothes and Fable’s and took off. We didn’t hear from her for a year.” He takes a deep breath, as if he needs it for strength. “She called me one day. Out of the blue. Begged me not to tell Fable. Asked me to come live with her. I wanted to. Despite everything she’d done to me I wanted it so bad.

“First she just said she wanted us to live together here in town. Then she started talking about moving away. Out of the state. Across the country. She wanted a fresh start. The idea of leaving Fable like that, and Drew … it scared me. I went to Fable and told her everything. They got in a huge fight and Mom left. Four years later she finds me. I don’t know how, but she showed up awhile ago and I … I’ve been helping her the only way I know how.”

“Owen.” My voice cracks and his gaze meets mine, his green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You can’t blame yourself for any of this. It’s all on her. It’s not your fault your mom is so hateful and selfish.”

“Try telling that to my fourteen-year-old self.” He thumps the back of his head against the door and gazes at the ceiling. “She’s in jail now, you know. Like your dad. Well, county jail. Fable called the cops that night. Turns out she had warrants out for her arrest. I was so pissed at my sister for doing that. She put our mom in jail.”

Their mother put herself in jail, but I decide not to point that out. “Are you and Fable not talking?” I ask. It would hurt me if I knew he wasn’t communicating with his sister. Just break my heart.

“We’ve talked. I texted her, though she made me sweat for a few days. It’s not—perfect, but we’re trying. She’s still mad at me for dealing with Mom on my own. That I gave her drugs. That I gave her money.”

“You did what you thought you had to do.” I inhale deeply, then let it all out, trying to gather my thoughts. “I hate that you kept it from me, too. But I had my own secrets to hide. I can’t … I can’t be mad at you for that.”

He closes his eyes, presses his lips together. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“Yes, you do.” My simple answer feels so freeing it lightens my heart.

His eyes crack open and he looks at me. “I don’t deserve you.”

“If you don’t deserve me then I don’t deserve you.”

“Chels …” His voice drifts off and he sounds so sad, so defeated, I can’t take it any longer.

I stand in the middle of his room, wondering if I should just go for it. I missed him so much these last few weeks. My body still aches for his and now it’s even worse. When he held me outside, my knees had grown wobbly and I thought I would collapse, it felt so perfect to finally be back in his arms.

Now he’s suffering and it feels like he’s doing it alone. He’s too far away from me. I want to touch him. I need to touch him.

Deciding to hell with it, I reach for the hem of my sweatshirt and pull it up and over my head, tossing it onto the floor. I’ve done this before; this very moment reminds me of the night in the hotel room, our first night together. When we were naked and vulnerable and afraid, but still happy that we were in this together. We had each other.

He needs to know he still has me.

Owen’s eyes are wide after I threw off my sweatshirt, but he doesn’t move from where he’s standing. Doesn’t say a word, either.

He just watches. And waits.

Leaning over, I pluck off my boots, tossing them near the bed. Standing straight, I grab hold of the waistband of my yoga pants and shimmy out of them, letting them fall to my feet so I can kick them off.

“Chels.” Owen says my name again, then clears his throat, his expression full of slumberous, hungry desire. He wants me. I can see it. I can practically smell it. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve missed you.” I say nothing else, just let those simple words hang in the air as I whip off my tank top and expose my upper body completely. A strangled noise falls from his lips and heady, powerful pleasure swamps me, makes my knees weak.

I’m clad in only my turquoise-blue panties, with a little white bow at the center of the waistband. When I wear them I usually feel like a little girl, but I definitely don’t feel like one now. Not while standing in the middle of Owen Maguire’s bedroom with nothing else on but these panties, my br**sts heavy, my ni**les hard, and between my legs I can feel myself grow slick and hot.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he finally says, his voice rough. “So damn much.”

“I want you.” Glancing behind me, I start to make my way to his bed and suddenly he’s right there before me. His big hands grasp my waist, fingers pressing into my skin as he guides me down onto the bed, before he whispers against my lips.

“I want you, too. You’re my f**king everything.”

His words wash over me and I close my eyes, my breath catching in my throat when he kisses me. His full, delicious lips are finally on mine again and I want to cry.

But I don’t. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold him close. Spread my legs and feel him settle between them, his jeans rough against my bare skin, his belt buckle biting into the tender flesh just above my panties.

I help him shed his clothes and he takes off my panties, slipping them down my legs with shaky fingers that skim along my skin, his mouth on my br**sts, his hand settling between my thighs. I’m so wet for him it’s almost embarrassing, but before I can push him away or say something stupid, he rears up on his knees, leans over me, and pulls a condom from the bedside table drawer.