“I’ve just been caught up in a suspected terrorist attack and lost one of my closest aids. Of course I would give a press conference, and the police need to talk to us.”
I sigh. What an annoyance.
“Fine.” I turn around and fluff up my pillow. “Your flat, press conference, police.”
“Police, conference, office, flat and dinner.”
“Dinner, seriously?”
He stands in front of the window, the light from outside framing his silhouette. He pulls his t-shirt over his head in the way men do with one hand, that makes him look ridiculously sexy. I never thought that watching such a simple, mundane task would be such a turn on.
Maybe it was just Owen.
He at least keeps his tracksuit bottoms on, and I send a silent prayer of thanks to the man upstairs, not that I’m remotely religious.
He climbs in, and I turn onto my side to face him.
“Do you remember doing this as kids?” I ask as he settles in next to me, his arm going underneath the pillow while the other rests next to his head.
“I do. We were a lot smaller, as was the bed.”
I grin and turn onto my back. Silence fills the space, and I can hear Owen’s breathing get deeper as exhaustion pulls him under. Now that I’m lying down, I’m wide awake.
I stare at Owen, his features relaxed for the first time all night, the peace of sleep removing any frown lines and stress. I lean over and gently run my hands though his hair, and he moans.
“Why did you leave me?” I whisper the question that I’m desperate for him to answer but can’t bring myself to ask.
16
Owen - Age 14
“Passmetheball,you bell-end.”
Fucking Liam. He’s always so selfish.
“I’m wide open,” I call for the ball again, and I’m ignored. Again.
He shoots and misses.
Fuck’s sake.
“Sorry, man, I thought I had it.”
“Dude, I was calling for the ball, wide fucking open.”
“Just like your sister,” Harry Leverton shouts from behind me, and I see red.
“Leave it,” Billy mutters, but it’s too late. Harry’s spent the whole of lunch winding me up, and this is the last straw. I turn around to where he’s standing, surrounded by his mates. The ringleader of a truly shitty gang.
“What you say?”
“You heard me,” Harry says. The fat lump takes a step back, closer to his sidekicks.
Secondary school has made Harry even more of an arrogant toss pot, and each year he gets a little wider, a little bit thicker, and a little bit more of a twat.
He thinks he owns the school.
“Have you seen her? What a beauty I’d love to—”
