The call disconnects, and I stare at Owen. Neither of us says what I know we’re both thinking. It can’t be. I refuse to believe it.
“You didn’t tell her the truth about what happened.”
“I may have omitted the attempted murder, but I didn’t lie.”
“Same thing.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“Daisy, Wesley got on a plane to Boston.”
“Stop. Please don’t say it. Please.”
“Not saying it out loud doesn’t change the fact that what happened to you was personal. They aren’t just coming after you. They're coming after the family.”
“But why?”
“He flew back to Boston, Daisy.”
“You already said that.”
“If I remember correctly, you told Chad you refused to share his offer to buy the ranch with the family. Where was Chad from?”
“Boston.”
“Baby, this is a big deal, and the sooner we deal with it as a family, the better.”
“Just one more night. Please?”
“Daisy, your brother has notified the authorities about what happened at the ranch. Goose Hollow police know what happened to you. Someone is going to say something. I’d rather he heard about what happened from us.”
“Please, Owen. When we wake up tomorrow, we can tell the world. Let me have today.”
“Cal is gonna have my fucking head.”
“Thank you.”
He shoots off his stool and storms across the kitchen to pull a beer out of the refrigerator. Retrieving the bottle opener from the side of the fridge, he rips off the cap and guzzles it down.
He’s pissed.
“I’m—”
He holds a finger up, stopping me from speaking until the bottle is empty.
“I don’t give a shit if my beer intake turns you off. I fucking needed that.”
The edge in his voice is one I’ve only heard once before. The time he saved eighteen-year-old me from a handsy record exec who had cornered me in a dark room and wasn’t taking no for an answer. If Owen hadn’t found me and ripped him off me, the trajectory of my life might have changed that day.
“My comment about your drinking was a joke. Is that why you barely drink anymore?”
His grip on the bottle is so intense I worry it’s going to shatter in his hand. “There’s always some truth in everything you say. Even when you’re giving me shit. I haven’t been shy about how I feel about you. I listen to every word you say. If I can fix whatever is holding you back, I will. Beer. Root beer. Who fucking cares what I drink if it’s part of what’s keeping us apart?”
Dumbfounded, all I can do is listen to the thump, thump of my heart, as it echoes from my chest to my head, while my inner monologue chastises me.
Why are you acting so surprised?
He’s made his feelings clear. It’s you who can’t own up to them.
