Second Chance Boyfriend(72)

“Maybe to you she acts that way but never to me. She loves me!” He’s yelling, the tears are coursing down his cheeks and he swipes them away angrily. “Go on believing she’s a bitch. Maybe you’re being the bitch this time, Fabes. Did you ever think of that?”

I’m stunned. I can’t believe he just said that to me. I’m this close to falling completely apart and damn it, I need to be the strong one. “You’re upset,” I say quietly. “I understand. Why don’t we get a good night’s sleep and we can talk tomorrow.”

“Whatever.” Owen turns away from me and crawls onto the futon, fixing the pillows and then pulling the blankets over him, his back to me. He’s so stiff beneath the covers, he looks like he could shatter.

“I love you, Owen,” I murmur just before I close the door.

He doesn’t even bother with a reply.



Drew



I’m pacing my bedroom, waiting for Fable to come back. A million questions are running through my brain and I’m afraid to ask her any of them. We were having an amazing night. And now this…

If her mom really did ransack their apartment and take everything they pretty much freaking owned, leaving her kids only their clothes and personal stuff, then she’s incredibly selfish and callous. Owen is heartbroken. Fable’s so angry I’m afraid she’s going to lose it at any moment, though she has this weird calmness about her too. I’ve never seen her like this before, though hell, not like we’ve been together long.

This entire relationship of ours has been a whirlwind from day one. I can’t imagine my life without her. I’m also trying my best to be there for her. She’s not necessarily pushing me away.

But she’s not really including me either.

What the hell can I do for her anyway? I feel helpless. No one can get a hold of her mom. Owen hates me and views me as some sort of bad guy hell-bent on breaking his sister’s heart—again. The only thing I can offer is a place to stay and even then I still felt like I somehow fucked up by making the suggestion.

I can’t win. I sound like a selfish baby, but damn. I want Fable to know she can depend on me no matter what. I’ll be her rock, her support, whatever she needs. I would do anything for her.

Unfortunately, I don’t think she fully realizes that yet.

Long, endless minutes later, she’s slipping inside my bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. Her shoulders slump forward as she leans against the door, her expression one of utter exhaustion.

I want to comfort her but she’s put up an invisible wall. One that says she can do this on her own, thank you very much.

Fuck that. I’m gonna tear down that wall, no matter how long it takes.

“How’s Owen?” I ask.

“He hates me.” She closes her eyes, a weird little smile appearing. “He blames me for our mom ditching us. Says that maybe if I wasn’t such a bitch, she wouldn’t have left in the first place.”

“What?” I practically shout and she opens her eyes, glaring at me.

“Ssh! He’ll hear you.” Pushing away from the door, she walks toward my bed and collapses on top of it, burrowing her head in the pillows. “I don’t want to talk about it, Drew. I just want to go to sleep.”

She’s acting odd but I’m not about to call her on it. She’s upset. Yet again her life has been turned completely upside down.

“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” I ask.

Her shoulders shake like she’s laughing. She still won’t face me. “Are you trying to use some sort of line on me? Let me warn you up front. I’m not in the mood.”

“Fable.” Like I would expect anything from her tonight. “I’m not trying to get in your pants. I want to take care of you.”

“Fine.” She rolls over onto her back and undoes the snap on her jeans, shimmying out of them. Despite my not wanting anything from her—and I swear I don’t—I can’t help but stare at her legs, those lacy pink panties she has on that are barely covering her.

Swallowing hard, I glance down, trying to gain some composure. I shouldn’t act like a pervert in her time of need, but I look at her and I want her. It’s an automatic reaction.

I glance up to catch her shrugging out of her shirt and tossing it on the floor. She reaches beneath her tank and undoes the clasp of her bra, pulling it off from under her top in that magical way girls have. The bra is white and lacy, a little scrap of fabric that falls from her fingertips. She’s wearing just the tank and the panties, her nipples pressing against her top, gooseflesh rising on her skin, and I release a shuddering breath. Tell myself to get the hell over it and do the right thing.