Page 89 of The Reality of Us
Gone was the sparkle in her eyes, replaced by the hard glint of defeat.
His injured leg shook when he stopped in front of her, the heavy bag of ice strapped to his knee with thick medical tape pulling painfully as it sagged.
“Don’t,” she said as he opened his mouth. There was no emotion in her tone, just the weary resignation he remembered from when they’d first met.
Gone was the woman he loved.
And he’d never even told her.
Owen’s grip on his crutches tightened, his vision blurring. “Is it …”
It must’ve been the pictures she’d warned him about. Fury threatened to consume him at the thought of her privacy being violated so hideously, but he forced himself to rein in his reaction. Phoenix had broken the law by releasing private images of Alice without her consent.
Owen would sue.
He would fight.
He’d fix this. He had to.
But Alice shook her head.
He held her gaze for a few beats before looking at the phone clutched in her hand. “Please.” Maybe it was the gentleness in his voice that broke her. He hoped it also reminded her she wasn’t alone. They were in this together, for fuck’s sake.
She passed him the mobile silently and closed her eyes like she couldn’t bear to see whatever it was again. “People are watching us,” Alice whispered.
The tenuous hold he had on his emotions snapped, and Owen switched into protector mode. It should’ve felt like slipping on a second skin, a return to his real self, but his skin burnt, his head pounded. An image of Alice was frozen on the screen. Her hair was a mess, and she looked pretty wasted. Critically, he watched the clip, his pulse spiking when she made a joke about the drugs being good.
At the sound of her voice next to him, not on the screen, Owen tore his eyes away from the video.
An apologetic expression was on Alice’s face, a total juxtaposition to the woman on the screen.
Sirens went off in his mind.
“Listen,” she said.
She was going to run. Leave him.
“I don’t know who you are …” Owen turned towards the reporter, his words louder, more powerful than hers.
“Owen, stop, please.”
He ducked his head, lowered his voice. “I’ve got this,” he told her.
Alice straightened her shoulders, a spark of fire returning to the bright blue pools he loved so much. He’d tell her the plan once they had some privacy. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she said.
She was in shock, clearly.
He barely even tilted his head towards her when he spoke. “Let me handle this, honey.”
He knew he’d fucked up before he’d even finished saying ‘honey’. Calling her that so publicly, in a way that sounded like he was trying to keep her in line, like everyone else in her life had always tried to.
One of his crutches fell to the ground as he reached for her. “I didn’t mean …” he started, but it was too late. Alice’s face had shuttered, and she lurched away from him. And maybe he imagined it, but a faint whiff of her wildflower scent lingered in the air where she’d been standing.
“Don’t,” she snarled before shifting her attention back to the media pack. “This is a silly video of a stupid girl. I mean, we were all young once, right? We’ve all made mistakes. This girl”—she jabbed at the phone screen—“was trying to be who she thought she should be.” She brushed her fringe out of her eyes and looked straight at the camera phone still pointed at them. “I’m so sorry to everyone I’ve disappointed, but I can assure you all this is behind me. It doesn’t reflect who I am now and I’m committed to doing the work I need to earn back your trust.”
“To earn back their trust?” Owen couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.
When she didn’t look at him, he knew it was over. But no. Just no. It wasn’t over until he’d left everything on the table.
