Page 52 of Jacob

“Hey, buddy,” Lincoln shouts through the living-room doorway.

Owen throws him a wave. “Hey, guys.”

I must admit, he’s looking better than he did when he was at my house. Shaven, haircut, and his clothes are freshly pressed again.

His mother has probably seen to it that he gets back on the straight and narrow. Becausewhatever will the Muircrofts think of him?

Owen spots Skye hunched over the kitchen island. He points in her direction.

“I’m just heading to the bathroom,” I lie and hop onto the first step of the stairs. I don’t want to hear what he has to say to her.

18

SKYE

“I don’t want to talk to you, Owen.” I’m already in a weird mood after Lincoln’s admissions and seeing him reminds me how pissed off I am that I wasted fourteen years doing a relationship jig with Owen when I could, sorry,should, have been with Jacob all along. I think I would have been happier with him. My ever after.

“So you keep saying.”

I finally lift my head to look at him. “You look well.”

“Because I looked like shit before?”

“I already know you’re getting married, if that’s what you want to talk to me about.”

“Where the hell did you hear that? It’s not public knowledge.” Realization falls over his face. “Jay and Linc?”

I nod.

“It’s complicated,” he tells me like that’s enough of an explanation.

“Everything is complicated at the moment, it would seem.”

“How? What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” I mumble. “Anyway, if that’s what you wanted to talk to me about, I don’t care.”

He walks over to me, lifts my hand off the kitchen island, and turns me to face him. “We haven’t spoken properly for over a month. You won’t speak to me or return my calls. I know I’ve been so wrapped up in myself, but I need to know you’re doing okay.” He slides both his hands down my arms and threads his fingers with mine.

The familiarity of our relationship is easy to find in his touch, but it’s not a relationship I want anymore. Owen and I are only friends and have been for a really long time.

I screw my face up. “Why the hell would you start caring now?” I try pulling my hands away, but he refuses to let go.

“I always cared for you, baby.” He gives me his puppy-dog eyes.

“Don’t touch me. And don’t call me baby.”

He looks hurt. “What’s going on with you?”

“We wasted years together. When I could have been with someone who would burn down an entire city for me. Or pick me up from the garage when they are meant to, or have a tattoo branded into their skin that’s dedicated to me.” Shit, I shouldn’t have said that, but I’m mad. At him. Us. Me.

Stroking his chin, he watches me carefully. “I’m sorry that I never made you feel special.”

I don’t want to fight with him, and I hate confrontation. Harmony is more my jam. Conflict, not so much. Although this is probably the reason we dragged on for as long as we did. I was too much of a wimp to confront him.

“You make me sound like a prize prick and you know we shared some great times too. Don’t you remember?”

I actually can’t.

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