Page 65 of Pumped

Mom’s expression turns sympathetic. “You said Owen’s been weird with you all day?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why you’re in a bad mood?”

“I’m not in a bad mood,” I protest as an uncomfortable mass twists in my stomach. “I’m just… Ugh, fine. Maybe I’m a little upset.”

“Because you care about him and you think he might be angry with you.”

I squirm at how precisely she’s able to describe the aching, almost painful feeling inside me. “Yeah, something like that.”

Mom sighs, but her lips curl into a sappy smile. “Oh sweetie, you really like him, don’t you?”

I scowl at how she makes me sound like a lovesick teenager. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

She bumps me with her shoulders. “You’ve changed—I’ve noticed. So has Owen. You guys aren’t the same people you were when you moved into that house. You didn’t like the old Owen, because he was more…”

“Uptight, arrogant, and snobby?” I provide.

She laughs. “Yeah, something like that. But this new Owen, what’s he like?”

I think about it for a moment as the truth reveals itself to me. “He wants people to think he’s tough, but on the inside, he’s not. He’s… softer.”

“And he’s let you see that side of himself. That means something.”

I hesitate as doubts creep in, wrapping their tentacles around me. “But it might just be because we’re spending so much time together. We never liked anything about each other before. So this might just be a proximity thing.” Even as I say the words, the deepest part of my soul rejects that explanation.

Mom gives this some consideration before she speaks. “So what? Even if it is just proximity, who cares? That doesn’t make your feelings any less real, does it?”

I blink, genuinely unsure of how to answer the question. “I don’t know?”

“Don’t you?” Mom puts her hand in the middle of my chest, right above the spot where my heart is hammering against the inside of my ribs. “What do you feel here? Tell me if that’s real.”

I feel hunger, yearning. Eager and impatient and greedy. I want Owen to come to me, to smile at me and laugh at my silly jokes. I want him to boss me around, talk dirty to me in bed, then come apart in my arms. I want us to take Ivy on bike rides and to swimming lessons and to visit museums. I want this life I’ve gotten just a small taste of. I want all of it and more.

I gasp as the full weight of this realization descends upon me. I’m not a single dude anymore who likes going out partying and hooking up. I’m not a floater anymore, going wherever and whenever I want. That life is behind me. Ahead of me is this world of possibilities and in the center of it all are Owen and Ivy.

I grip the back of the seat in front of me as I struggle to calm my racing heart.

“Everest?” Concern flashes in Mom’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, not able to speak. Memories of pizza nights and movie nights flash through my mind. The small touches we exchange in the kitchen every morning. The palpable relief when we both come home from work in the evenings.

Our nightly routine, each taking turns getting Ivy ready for bed, reading her a bedtime story and tucking her in. Slipping away to my room in the basement when she falls asleep.

Christ, we’re living together. We’re raising a little girl together. We’re sleeping together. We’re partners. We’re a family. He feels essential to me because heisessential to me. This life doesn’t exist if he’s not a part of it.

My heart is ricocheting around in my chest so fast I think it’s going to shoot right out of my body. My lungs can’t keep up.

“Everest?” Mom sounds alarmed, her voice filtering through the sound of blood rushing past my ears

“Ev?”

The deep baritone comes from my other side and I spin around to find Owen standing next to the shuttle. We’ve stopped and everyone’s climbed out. And now, they’re all staring at me.

Owen steps in close, brows drawn together, lips set in a firm line. In the before times, I would’ve assumed that he was angry, pissed that I was making a scene in public. But I know better now. He’s concerned, worried. His mind is probably whirring at a hundred miles per hour, trying to triage the problem and create an action plan to address it.

His strong, steady hand wraps around my wrist. “What’s wrong? What happened?” His gaze flicks to Mom, then back to me. “Ev?”

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