Page 74 of Love Me Tomorrow

This topic is always going to burn a hole in my chest. But I’ve had nearly sixteen years separating today from then to reconcile that my tumultuous emotions, while threatening to crest the surface, can be shoved back down. I’ve had good practice. Become something of a professional at it.

“Not that Gage was particularly bad before the accident, but I was . . . I was the good kid. I was the kid who never caused trouble in class. Real shy, too.” I brush my lips over Savannah’s forehead, needing the contact. “Gage and me, we grew up with this plan to enter the police academy together. Live up to the Harvey legacy for another generation. Do what our dad and our grandpa and his dad had done. But burying my parents—it changed something in me, like a switch going off. I spiraled. Dropped out of the academy within days.”

As though hearing everything that I’m not saying, Savannah sweeps a hand over my inked arm. “I once overheard you say that you got into tattoos in jail.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I went from being the ultimate nice guy to every parent’s worst nightmare. I got wasted at biker bars. I gotpummeledat biker bars. Landed myself in jail twice for that—too much drunken brawling. Ten out of ten, wouldn’t recommend it.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Letting her go, I drag my knees up and drop my wrists on top. For this, I need space. “I met your dad around then.”

Her shoulders jerk. “Oh.”

“I needed a job. Turns out booze and drugs don’t pay for themselves.” When her expression falters at my admission, I almost bark out a laugh.Yeah, meet the real Owen Harvey, sweetheart.A real class act. Just another case of a kid having a decent upbringing only to go off on a bender. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I mutter, “Rose’s was hiring. Bus boy. Nothing spectacular, but I went in and somehow nailed the job interview, considering that I was tanked.”

Savannah’s questioning gaze lands on my face. “This was how long ago? Did I—did I ever see you there?”

I shake my head. “Don’t think so. You were probably in college.”

“When?” she demands, this time a little more sharply.

“Shit, I don’t know. Summer of ’06? Something like that.”

“The internship,” she whispers, mostly beneath her breath. Louder, she says, “I begged Frannie Barron’s husband for an interior design internship. Summer between sophomore and junior years. It’s one of the few times in my life where I haven’t been full-on in with ERRG. It literally took me months to convince Pops to let me off the hook for an entire summer break.”

I guess there are small graces. I would have hated for her to have seen me then . . . the way I used to be.

“Two times in jail that year already.” Reaching for the beer, I drain it dry. “Even Gage sat me down—the irony used to kill me. Gage, the former troublemaker, telling me, the kid who’d done everythingrightfor so long, to pull my shit together. So, I did. Quit drinking. Dropped the coke. Was doing everything in my power to block out this goddamn need to drown the world out by drowning myself in the process, and then . . . then over a hundred bottles of wine went missing.”

“Oh, God.” Savannah’s hand goes to her throat, and she looks positively sick. “I remember this. My dad, he never once said your name, but I remember him talking about it at dinner. It wasallhe could talk about for weeks. Some of those bottles were worth thousands of dollars.”

My lips tug upward sardonically. “He pulled the entire staff in for questioning. One by one they all walked back out, and I remember sitting there, waiting, and knowing it was about to be a shit storm. I hadn’t done anything, but I was the new guy on the block, and I was the druggie the manager kept an eye on at all times. The look on your dad’s face when I walked in—I was guilty before my ass even hit the seat.”

Savannah’s brows furrow, her knees tucking in so she’s hugging them. “I feel sick,” she whispers.

Yeah, we both know where I’m going with this.

“Innocent till proven guilty—something I knew well. My dad was a cop. My brother was in the academy. Great in theory,” I say, my voice pitched low, “shit in practice. I was arrested within the hour. Told I’d be given the chance to make bond, but that moment never came.”

“Owen, I don’t even know what to say.” Her hands knot together, anxiously twisting as a flurry of emotions cross her face. “Did you hire a lawyer? How long were you in jail?Shit, shit shit.”

“There are a lot of things I love about N’Orleans. The food. The culture. Hell, even the drunken tourists. What I don’t love are the back-end deals. The greasing of palms. The turning a blind eye. The pretending you didn’t just wrong someone because they fit the stereotype—yeah, I had a rap sheet. Yeah, I was reckless and stupid. But I wasn’t a thief.” My molars grind together. “Two months later, the real culprit came in and confessed. Turned out he was one of the dishwashers. Apparently his conscience couldn’t handle me sitting behind bars for a crime that he’d committed.” I pause, briefly. “I was released twenty-four hours later.”

A panicked, high-pitched laugh escapes Savannah. “So, what? My dad hates you for something you didn’t do?”

“Nah, sweetheart. Pretty sure he hates me because I’m a very obvious example of where he went wrong. I’m a living, breathing mistake that could have turned around and sued his ass to kingdom come.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No,” I murmur, shaking my head, “I didn’t. Because despite everything, your dad taught me a good life lesson: success isn’t winning when you’re stepping on the backs of others to achieve it. At any point, he could have stopped and really done a thorough investigation of the staff. Done his due diligence as a business owner. It’s not the route he took.”

Her hand finds mine, our palms kissing. “How are you not bitter? How can you even look at me and not want to screw my dad over? Strike up revenge. Whatever you want to call it.”

“All you can do is play the cards you’re dealt.” At the end of the day, landing in jail isn’t the hardest card I’ve ever been dealt. Not even close. But that—that one will stay a secret.Always. “Because playing to thewhat-ifsonly gets you so far in life. Ending up behind bars gave me a different perspective.” With my free hand, I tap her forehead gently. “The world may tell you to sit down, or to get back into place, but the only person who gives them that power isyou.”

A slow, understanding smile spreads across her face. “Take what you want.”

“Take what you want,” I confirm, running my fingers through her hair. I cup the nape of her neck because touching her is quickly becoming my new addiction. “Plus, revenge is useless. Unless we’re talking punishment of the sexual variety, then I’m all in.”

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