My story is carved into my bones, every sharp edge and jagged scar.
I know the moment I took James’ life—know it like my own heartbeat. It was the moment I said goodbye to Lucy.
What I had never known is how deep the ripples ran, how they dragged down the people I loved, no,love.
I thought it would be a blessing. Maria, finally free. Owen given closure wherever he was.
I was so, so wrong.
It wasn’t an ending. It was the beginning of his undoing.
“James’ body was found in an alleyway across from his local pub. But I guess you already know that.” His voice is measured, but there’s something beneath it, something fractured and broken. He glances down at me, his face unreadable.
“Earlier that month, I had been released from serving two years in prison. Two years for attacking Harry and his dickhead friends for what they did to you. I found Maria, I found James. But you—” His throat bobs as he swallows. “You were nowhere.”
I feel the weight of his words, feel them settle into the hollow broken space in my chest.
“Two years was plenty of time for me to disappear.”
“I always wondered why you never testified.” His voice tightens, tension coiling between us like a snake. “You were the one person who could have told the court what really happened that night. Told them what Harry had done. I called and wrote letters. Nothing.”
I let out a breath, but it does nothing to steady the guilt.
“If I had known, I’d have been there. In a heartbeat. When you left, it was bad.” Memories crash over me, sharp and unforgiving. “He took my phone, my freedom. Cut off every lifeline. I had no idea you even tried to reach me. He made me believe you had left. That as soon as you could, that you just left me.” My voice catches, and I swallow past it.
Owen shakes his head, the movement stiff, his jaw locked. “Surely someone from school would have told you they had pressed charges. You could have put two and two together.”
“I was already gone. Harry’s party was the start of the holidays, with no phone, no school. I had no way of knowing.” My voice carries the weight of everything I did. Every action, decision, regret. “I didn’t stay long, Owen. I couldn’t. I ran. Lived on the streets, barely surviving each night.”
His nostrils flare as his hands clench into fists. “And that’s where Andrews found you.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Because we both know Andrews finding me wasn’t the salvation he hoped for me. In his eyes, it was just another type of prison.
“I still care about you. Not one day, Luce, have I stopped caring. Not one.” His eyes bore into mine, unrelenting, and it’s too much.
I turn away. I have to. Because Owen sees too much, always has. Because when he looks at me like that, it’s like he’s peeling back every single shitty layer I’ve ever built to protect myself.
“So why did they think you killed James?”
He exhales sharply, a bitter grin pulling at his lips. “I beat the shit out of him earlier that night. God, it felt good turning the tables on him. But the whole pub had seen it. I threatened to kill him, then a few hours later, he turns up dead. I was suspect number one, and there were enough witnesses and evidence from our earlier fight to charge me.”
My chest tightens. “Owen, I—I’m so fucking sorry.”
His shrug is forced, too casual, but his jaw clenches and won’t look at me. “It is what it is.”
“Hey.” I sit up, shifting closer. “Owen, I mean it. I am sorry. For everything. I was so angry at you all, I honest to God thought you had just left me. And you were everything—” Myvoice catches, emotion clawing at my splintered chest. “You were everything that was good in my life. And then I was empty.”
His grip tightens around the hard drive, his knuckles whitening. When he speaks, his voice is low, laced with something close to betrayal. “You see, Luce, that’s what hurts the most.” His words are slow. “That after everything—after every shitty moment in our childhood, after every good moment we found in between the bad—you believed I could leave you.”
“I don’t—”
“I loved you.” His voice cracks, just a little, but the weight of it hits like a fist. “I still fucking love you. And you thought I could walk away? Just leave you in that hellhole?” He lets out a harsh breath, shaking his head before suddenly grabbing the hard drive and launching it into the gravel. It hits with a dull thud, bouncing before coming to a stop.
“Owen.” I jump up.
“Leave the fucking thing,” he says, anger rolling off him. “I’m so sick of people manipulating us, pulling the strings, planting doubt. But what I can’t work out, Luce—”
He steps closer, voice lower now, raw and unfiltered.
