Page 22 of Chasing Love: The Owens
Unfortunately, it’s mostly when she talks about Wren. A girl from school she has no idea is her half sister.
Telling him Leia is his means setting fire to the remains of our lives that I haven’t even stitched back together yet.
But not telling him… means I’m the person I never thought I would be.
I squeeze my eyes shut as they fill with tears.
It doesn’t matter how many times I promise myself I’ll do it. I never do. I’m a coward and a liar, but I just want to wrap a protective bubble around Leia and me, stopping anyone else from getting in. She’s been hurt enough.
And do I dare allow the man who left me in ruins a chance to do that to my daughter?
I open my eyes to see Bennett staring at me from the sidewalk.
Shit.
I freeze, as if I could turn into a puff of air and make myself invisible. But he squints, tilts his head, and smiles. That ache in my heart squeezes again when he walks toward me.
No, no, no.
I wipe my face, brushing away the tears already halfway down my cheeks, but it’s too late to pretend I’m not crying. I put one hand on the wheel and the other on the gearshift, debating whether I should drive away before he reaches me.
But he breaks the distance too fast, and suddenly he’s right outside my window, knocking gently. “Delaney?”
I don’t look at him. I can’t.
Because if I do, I know I’ll tell him.
And if I confess, it means letting him in.
A mother protects. She doesn’t invite trouble. And that’s what I was trying to do all those years ago.
I drag my sleeve across my face and roll down the window just enough to feel the warm morning breeze. I get the faintest whiff of his cologne. Clean and grounded, as he’s always been.
“Hey,” I say, voice rough. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckles. “Same as you. School drop-off.” Bennett gives a small shrug, gaze scanning my face too closely. He doesn’t mention my red-rimmed eyes, but his brow flickers. Of course he notices. “You okay?”
I nod too fast. “Yeah. Fine. Just tired.”
His lips thin, and his gaze drifts to the school. I’m a horrible person.
Tell him. Just tell him and get rid of the guilt.
“You sure?” he asks. “You look…”
Broken? Guilty? Yep, both.
“… like you’ve had a rough morning,” he finishes, his tone softer.
I scoff. “That’s one way to put it.”
A beat of silence lands between us.
I hate that he can still read me. That part of him still wants to fix my problems.
“You want to grab a coffee?” he asks, nodding toward the little café I know is a block down. “I’ve got time.”
My heart stumbles over its beats.
