She’s always been deeply intuitive about what’s happening around her, and this is what worries me. I don’t know how she does it, but she’s always been able to read me like a book, asking about the boy I’m seeing before I’ve even told her I’ve met someone.
And now she’s going to be at my dad’s house. With Owen and me. Who are together.
We’re so screwed.
“She’s going to figure it out,” I inform him, panic rolling around in my stomach until it forms a knot, making me more than a little uneasy. “She’ll know something’s up. She’ll say something.”
Sensing my panic, Owen pulls the car over onto the shoulder of the highway, putting his hazard lights on before turning to me. “Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes. “Everything is going to be fine.”
Sadly, I don’t hear his words of assurance right away. Various scenes of how Dad might find out and react play out in my mind instead. “We were fools to think we’ll get away with this. We should have just told him a few weeks ago. He could have been okay with it by now.” Realistically, I’m not entirely sure I believe this myself, but I know that if he finds out now, it’ll ruin his Christmas and possibly sour the holiday for him altogether. What have I done?
“Amy, listen to me,” Owen says, reaching over and forcing my eyes to his. Once they lock, I feel a small wave of calm wash over me, and I exhale slowly. “Yes, she’ll probably suspect you’re seeing someone—and she’s already told me she suspects as much with me—but if we carry on like everything is normal between us, that’s as far as she’ll get.” He pauses, his thumb moving along my jaw soothingly. “But, we can tell him when we get there, if you want.”
The calming tone of his voice continues to soothe me, my rationality returns, and I shake my head. “No… I mean, yes, I want to tell him. Keeping something this big from him is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I just don’t think telling him now is a good idea.” I second-guess myself again, so I ask, “Do you? You’ve known him way longer, and in a way I don’t. Am I wrong?”
Owen’s expression turns somber, and he shrugs. “It’s tough to say. I definitely think that if he finds out on his own, it could be so much worse than if we just tell him. But I don’t think you’re wrong in wanting to wait until the New Year. He’s got so much planned over the next few days, and there’ll always be company over. We need to tell him alone…” Owen pauses, and then adds on, “And when he’s not so close to his weapons.”
I laugh, and when Owen’s eyes soften, I know this was the reaction he was hoping for. “So we stick to the plan,” I say, feeling a little bit of my confidence in our decision returning.
Once things have been resolved, Owen puts the car in gear and we pull back out onto the highway when it’s safe. Because we’re already running a little behind, he decides to drive a little over the speed limit. The roads aren’t so bad, and there’s very little traffic in our way, so we figure it’ll be pretty smooth sailing.
Until we see the flashing red and blue lights in our rearview window.
It would figure that an hour and a half away from our destination would have Washington State’s finest pulling us over. Owen puts the car into park and rolls his window down, waiting for the cop behind us to approach. He grabs his license from his wallet and his registration from the glove box, having it ready for when it’s requested.
The crunch of gravel and snow outside is heard as the highway patrol officer approaches, and then he’s right outside the driver’s side window, leaning over and peering inside. “License and registration, please.” Owen hands it to him, and the officer thanks him. “So, where are you headed to in such a rush, Mr. Cavanaugh?”
“Portland, Officer,” Owen replies respectfully.
The officer peers into the car, his eyes catching mine. “Speeding sets a bad example for your daughter there, don’t you think?”
Inhaling sharply, my eyes widen in shock as they move to Owen. He’s still facing the officer, but I can see that the man’s assumption bothers him by the way his jaw clenches as he reaches for his ID and the ticket. But when he fails to correct the officer, I step up.
“He’s not my father, actually.” Sure, I could probably be a little more polite, but I’m mildly insulted. How dare he just assume this? Yes, there’s a definite age gap between us, but it’s not like our situation is entirely uncommon. Maybe girls don’t go around seducing their father’s best friends on a regular basis—or maybe they do, I don’t know—but it’s not like a twenty-plus-year age gap is unheard of. You can pick up any celeb magazine and see a laundry list of names in a similar situation.