“Were you there?” I ask, even though I know he was. How else would Jaden have heard about this supposed breakup?
Owen nods. “I won’t tell Mom. That you left.”
“Thanks.” I lace my sweaty palms together in my lap just as Dad comes into the room carrying a tray. A sweet peppermint scent fills the room. He sets the tray on the ottoman and starts handing out smooth white mugs.
“With a little drop of honey, just how you like it,” he says, holding out my tea.
“Thanks, Dad,” I whisper, and close my hands around the warm cup.
Mom settles on the couch next to Owen, tucking her jean-clad legs underneath her. Her hair is straight today, a golden sheet around her face. Owen and I look exactly like her—?gray-blue eyes, straight brows, hair that takes on a life of its own unless we take care to tame it. She seems a lot calmer today, a determined set to her chin.
“All right,” she says as Dad sits in the chair next to me. “This has been a rough couple of days, so your father and I wanted to touch base with both of you and make sure we’re all on the same page.”
“Same page?” I ask.
“Just let me finish, Mara.”
I press my lips together and she inhales slowly through her nose.
“We’ve spoken with Owen and he’s told us what happened, but I think you need to hear his side, Mara, because people will start talking at school once this gets out.”
Owen studies me and I can almost feel him trying to burrow into my thoughts.
“So . . . what happened?” I ask him.
He clears his throat and leans forward, arms resting on his knees. “Hannah’s just pissed off, Mara. She’ll calm down.”
“Owen, what happened?”
“Please don’t take that tone,” Mom says. Dad reaches over and squeezes my knee once. “Just listen.”
“I’m trying—?he’s not saying anything.”
Owen sits back, digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyes. “This is weird, okay? I’m basically baring my sex life to my parents and sister.”
“Fine. I’m listening.”
“We were on the trail,” Owen says, meeting my eyes head-on. “We stopped at that overlook—?you know, the one with the benches and that plaque about some Civil War battle that happened nearby that no one ever reads. Anyway, we sat down and started . . . well, you know, kissing and stuff, and then we . . . you know.”
“Do I?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“I think you need to.”
“Mara, for god’s sake,” Mom says.
“We had sex, all right?” Owen says. “Not like you didn’t know what I was saying.”
I swallow hard, my throat tightening. Everything he’s saying makes sense. Still, something’s not settling right, like a greasy meal on an empty stomach. “So . . . how did her wrist get hurt?”
“We were on a freaking stone bench, Mar. It wasn’t exactly a feather bed. It was awkward and uncomfortable, to be honest.”
Dad shifts next to me, sighing and running his hand through his hair.
“Then . . . well, she got really pissed,” Owen says.
“About what?”
