Page 12 of Dear Owen

But Owen was awake now. I felt it in the tension that rolled through his body, in the way his hand slid up my spine, steadying me even as I flinched away.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, the words soft, almost gentle. “You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

Safe. I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but my throat was too tight. I turned my face into the pillow, trying to hide the tears, the shaking, the shame.

Owen’s hand cupped the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair in slow, calming strokes. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I hated him for saying it. I hated him for the way he pulled me closer, rolling me into his chest as though I was something fragile he needed to protect. My wrists strained against the cuffs looped around his waist, the metal biting into my skin as he rocked me gently.

The motion was soothing, rhythmic. His body was warm, his breaths slow and even as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“You’re safe, Kira,” he said again, quieter this time, like he was speaking to a child. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Not ever.”

I wanted to scream thathewas the one I needed saving from. That this wasn’t safety, that he wasn’t my savior. But the words stayed trapped inside me, buried beneath the exhaustion, the confusion, the ache in my bones.

Owen continued to rock me, his lips brushing my hair, my temple, his whispers blurring into the darkness. I didn’t want to relax, didn’t want to let the tears slow, but my body betrayed me again. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breaths, the gentle touch of his hands—it wore me down, pulled me deeper into the blackness until I couldn’t fight it anymore.

As I drifted back to sleep, Owen’s words followed me into the void, soft and deadly and so terribly tender:

“You’re mine, Kira. You always will be.”

Twelve

The soundof skates carving into the ice was one of the few things that could quiet my mind. Out here, under the bright, artificial lights of the rink, there was no basement, no chains, no whispers of Kira’s tears haunting the edges of my thoughts. Just the cold air, the sharp sting of breath in my lungs, and the raw, animal simplicity of the game.

Practice was in full swing, a chaotic symphony of shouts, pucks ricocheting off the boards, and sticks smacking against the ice. I wove through my teammates with precision, my focus honed on every movement—every chance to be faster, sharper, better.

“Owen!” Coach barked from the bench, his voice cutting through the clamor. “You want to tell me where your head’s at today?”

I blinked, the haze of my thoughts scattering like glass under a hammer. I skidded to a stop, ice spraying up around me as I turned to face him.

“I’m here, Coach,” I said, my voice smooth, controlled.

He didn’t look convinced. “Then prove it. Five laps, now.”

I didn’t argue. I dropped my head and pushed off, my muscles burning as I sped along the rink’s edge. Lap after lap, I channeled everything—the restlessness, the weight pressing down on my chest, theneedto get back to her—into the rhythm of my strides. The sharp turns. The sting in my thighs as I powered forward, faster, harder.

Kira’s face slipped into my mind. The way she’d looked last night, her body wrecked beneath my hands, her voice raw and broken as she whispered my name.

Mine.

The word echoed through me like a drumbeat, fueling the fire in my veins. I’d counted every mark I’d left on her—every bruise, every bite. They were tally marks in my mind, proof of her surrender, proof that she belonged to me in ways she didn’t even understand yet. But the image shifted. Her tears. The soft, muffled sobs she thought I didn’t hear.

My skates hit a divot in the ice, sending me stumbling forward. I caught myself quickly, a surge of anger flaring hot in my chest.Focus.

“Owen!” Liam’s voice broke through the noise, skating up beside me as I finished the final lap. His tone was casual, but there was a thread of curiosity beneath it. "What’s up with you today? You look like you’re ready to murder someone."

I forced a smirk, pushing down the knot tightening in my chest. “Maybe I am.”

He laughed, clapping me on the shoulder as we skated back toward the group. “Save it for Saturday. Thompson’s gonna eat ice when you hit him with that look.”

Thompson. The opposing team’s top defenseman. It wasn’t enough for me to beat him. I wanted to break him. But not like I’d broken Kira—piece by piece until she couldn’t remember a world without me in it.

She tried to leave you.

The thought struck hard, hot and unwelcome. My jaw clenched as we lined up for drills, my fingers curling tight around my stick. She’d stacked those desks like she really believed she could get away. Like I wouldn’t have been there to stop her. Tosaveher. The window had been her way out, and I’d taken it away, boarded it up while she watched. I’d seen the way her face crumpled, the way hope shattered in her eyes.

Good.

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