Page 82 of Pumped

My gaze flicks to Donnie, still sitting at the table. He doesn’t even wait for me to ask the question, just nods and silently mouths “No problem.”

I jump to my feet and dash toward the staff locker room. “Donnie’s going take my class. I’m leaving now.”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s only a couple more hours. I’ll be fine.” Owen throws his objections at me, but I can hear the mix of guilt and relief seeping into his words. He feels bad for being an inconvenience, but he’s grateful at the same time. That’s my Owen—so precious and needy, but too damn proud to admit it.

“Too late. It’s already done. Donnie’s telling Beau right now.”

“Ev…” The way Owen trails off, it’s not clear whether he’s scolding or whining. It’s probably a bit of both.

“Just hang tight. I’ll be there as fast as I can.” I throw open my locker and start throwing things into my duffel.

Owen sucks in a deep, shaky breath. “Okay, thanks.”

“Of course, babe. Love you.”

Owen mumbles something that sounds sort of like a “love you too” and then hangs up.

Beau is at the front desk with Sawyer when I run out. “Everything okay? Donnie told me he’s taking your class.”

“Yeah, I think so? Ivy’s just being a pain in the ass and Owen needs backup.”

Sawyer shakes his head. “This is why we’re never having kids. Preston would never know what to do with them.”

“No, he’d just hire an expensive nanny,” Beau responds.

Sawyer tilts his head in thought. “Actually, yeah, he probably would.”

Beau turns back to me. “Anyway, you go. We’re good here.”

“Thanks, Beau. I owe you one,” I call out as I jog for the door.

I make it home in record time, but the house is silent, like eerily silent, when I walk inside. I can almost feel the tension vibrating in the air.

“We’re back here!” Owen shouts from the kitchen.

I brace myself as I head in. What I find there is deceptively calm.

Ivy and Owen are sitting across the kitchen table from each other. Owen’s leg is bouncing like mad, even with his hand gripping his knee. Ivy’s arms are crossed over her tiny chest, her chin stuck out in the most epic pout as she stares resolutely at a spot in the middle of the table.

Owen meets my gaze, eyes flat and hard before softening into something that makes me want to pull him into the tightest hug.

I move toward him, drawn in by the helplessness I read on his face. I set my hand on his shoulder and squeeze. He takes a deep breath and his knee stops bouncing.

“Hey guys, what’s up?”

Ivy lifts her gaze from the table and the glare she shoots in my direction rivals the dirtiest scowl Owen’s ever leveled at me. I almost take a step backward at the hostility rolling off her. Who is this girl? What did she do with our Ivy?

“Ivy, do you want to tell Uncle Everest what’s wrong?” Owen’s voice is tightly controlled.

“No!” she fires back with zero hesitation, and if it weren’t for my hand on Owen’s shoulder, he probably would’ve flown out of his chair.

“Ivy,” I say before Owen can go off on her, making sure to keep my tone level and calm. “Is this about the swimming lessons?”

Owen huffs an unamused scoff. “That was an hour ago.”

Does that mean they’ve moved on to another argument? How many arguments can they have in the hour since they called me? Jesus.

“So what isthisargument about?”

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