Page 7 of Puck Princess

“In here!” I let out.

All I can see are his legs from the knees down, but I’d recognize those shins anywhere. “Jesus! What the hell are you doing under there?”

“Oh, ya know, just hanging arou—Help me!” I guess it’s good to know that even in dire times, I can muster sarcasm.

Owen drops to the floor and wedges his large body next to me under the armoire. For a second, I’m sure he thinks I’m doomed and is turning this into ayou jump, I jumpsituation. Then he presses his palms to the wood and pushes. With a little grunting, some teeth gritting, and two very flexed arms, he wills the damn thing off of me.

I scurry out and then pretend to help as he lifts himself into a squat and then presses the armoire back into place against the wall, as if it never fell at all.

I drop to the end of the bed, my heart racing.

Owen turns to me, slightly out of breath. “Are you okay?”

I try to nod and say what you’re supposed to say when your ex asks you that question.I’m fine. Great, actually. Never better.

Instead, a sob tears out of my chest. “I’m just… having a really bad day.”

“Callie.” He says my name so gently, so softly, that I can’t help but cry.

Owen pulls me into his chest, and I let him.

“I got you,” he whispers, his mouth pressed to the top of my head.

I’m going to soak his shirt—with tears, if he’s lucky; with snot, if he’s not. But then I realize, he’s not wearing a shirt.

And he smells… terrible.

I pull back and, for the first time, look at his face. His lip is bloody and there’s a new bruise on his jaw.

“What the hell happened to you?”

One of Owen’s shoulder’s twitches in a half-assed shrug. “Oh, ya know… just a really bad day.”

3

OWEN

“Owen, I’m fine,” Callie says for the third time, but I’m ignoring her.

I ignore her straight into my arms and continue ignoring her while I carry her to the living room, far away from any toppleable furniture.

“Seriously, Owen, you’re overreacting. You don’t have to carry me.”

“You’re pregnant and a dresser just fell on you. I think you’reunderreacting.”

“I don’t think that’s a word.”

“But it is a thing, and you’re doing it. Now, be quiet while I make sure nothing is broken.”

I set Callie on the couch, and she lets out an angry sigh like I’m torturing her instead of three minutes out from literally saving her life.

“I’m the physical therapist.”

Here we go.

“If anyone would know if I was seriously injured, it would be—ouch!”

I look up at her, her bruised leg in my hands, and arch a single eyebrow.

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