Page 83 of Fragile Hearts

Owen can call it a random break-in all he wants, but we both know that’s not true. The timing is way too coincidental to be anything but my mother. That meet-up with her was to ask for money, and if she wasn’t going to come right out and ask for it, she was going to get it anyway she could.

Everyone on the island knows the Sinclair name. It’s not a secret that Owen’s family is one of the richest here, so seeing my name in the media attached to his, she saw her opportunity. But I never thought she’d take it this far. Breaking into my house, and just as I think it, I realize it wasn’t just about breaking in. She’s stolen from us too.

It was always about the money, money I don’t have, but she knows there are things in this house she could steal, pawn and collect cash. All untraceable because those are the types of people she keeps around. Ones who know how to break the law and not get caught.

I step into the house, Mochi still in my arms, not wanting to be put down. The poor thing must have been terrified, and I’m so glad he wasn’t hurt. I would have never forgiven myself for leaving him here.

Carefully moving through the house, Owen following behind me, I look at the dining room table where Owen and I study, our books thrown around, and I know what’s missing.

“She took our laptops,” I whisper, not trying to shy away from the fact that I know this was my mother. “And your Xbox.” I point to the small console shelf where it used to sit. She took everything she could carry out of here without it being obvious, leaving the TV, the sound system, anything too large to take quickly.

“And my headphones,” Owen adds, and the second I hear his voice, I break down.

The tears are falling hard and fast, the silent sob escaping my lips when I pull in a ragged breath. This is my fault. All of this is my fault.

If I didn’t move in with Owen, none of this would have happened. He was unknowingly dragged into this mess when I finally took a chance on him, but this is exactly the reason I didn’t want to. I never wanted him to see what my life was like before I moved in with Alana and Daisy because there’s no way he would have wanted anything to do with me.

“I’m sorry,” I stutter, the words coming out slow and choppy as Mochi licks at the tears that run down my cheeks. “This is my fault.”

As soon as I admit it out loud, I hope to feel lighter, but I don’t. The guilt just pulls tighter in my stomach, nausea churning at how awful this all is.

All I’ve ever wanted in my life was a place of my own, something safe and quiet, a place to retreat to when life got to be too much, and I found it here with Owen. But that’s all about to change, and I knew this was all too good to be true.

“Babe,” Owen croons, coming up beside me, his arms wrapping me in a comforting embrace. “None of this is your fault. You have no control over what anyone else does.”

Again, he doesn’t admit it was my mom. He’s too good of a person to place blame without having facts, and that makes him an amazing person. Even on his worst day, he will always be better than me on my best day.

It’s what made me fall in love with him. It’s what makes me want to stay. It’s what makes me want to run to him when shit gets too real. He is my everything.

“I can’t be here when the police come,” I tell him, and he holds me closer, his lips pressing softly to my hair.

My eyes close, and I try to picture what our house looked like before she trashed it, before she did the one thing she knew would destroy me. I let my mind remind me of the unease I felt moving in here and the day I laid Owen out when he came home unexpectedly. It floats through all the moments that happened slowly but effortlessly, and how one day, Owen’s house became my home. It was something I dreamed about since I was a kid, something I made happen without anyone’s help but Owen’s.

She doesn’t get to take this from me. She’s taken enough already. But even as I say this, it’s hard to recover from all this trauma. It creeps back in when I let my guard down. My life will never just be settled knowing my mother is around, knowing she can do something like this.

“Go to Alana and Flynn’s,” Owen says. He’s still wrapped around me, his hold never loosening, never making me feel like he isn’t here for me. “Pack some things and take Mochi. I’ll meet you there after the police leave.”

He’s calm and composed, each word is said with thought and precision, and I don’t have to explain to him why I can’t be here. He would never push for me to share anything I’m not comfortable sharing, but in this situation, I owe him.

“I’m sorry,” I start, but Owen shakes his head, turning so he’s facing me, taking my face in his hands. His thumbs brush along my cheeks, swiping away the tears. All of this is so overwhelming, and my go-to is to apologize, to try to smooth things over.

As a kid, it was always my go-to in the hopes that things wouldn’t fall apart, but they always did. It didn’t matter how many times I apologized, how quiet I was or how much I tried to do everything right, it never worked.

“Sloane, you never have to apologize. None of this is your fault. None of it,” he says, his words firm. “I’ve told you this before, and I’m going to say it again until you believe me. I will spend the rest of my life showing you that none of this is your fault, that you’re worth the risk. You’re worth all of this.” He tosses a hand around, signaling to the mess around us.

With his fingers under my chin, he lifts my eyes to his, and when I look at him, his gaze is intense and filled with so much affection I can feel it radiate through me.

“This is why I have insurance. All of this is just stuff, and it can be replaced. What can’t be replaced is you and Mochi, and you’re safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

And just when I think the tears are stopping, they pick back up again, flooding my eyes and streaming down my cheeks.

Mochi lets out a whimper, and Owen laughs, reaching over to rub his fluffy head. “He doesn’t like it when you cry,” Owen says, kissing my forehead.

“Then you gotta stop saying shit like that,” I tease between sniffles, trying to push this awfulness aside.

“I won’t ever stop saying it,” he says with sincerity. “It doesn’t matter to me if this happens again or if your mom shows up, it won’t ever make me stop loving you. You are not your mom. You aren’t that girl you were when you were little. You are strong and resilient. You’re my little fighter.”

Fuck, he’s so good. So damn good to me.

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