Page 69 of Filthy Sweet

“What the hell is going on?BIG REGGIE IS PISSED!”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Fox

Reggie hangsup immediately and refuses to answer our calls. My stomach sinks and stays sunk, and Owen looks pale as we decide to just head back to Seattle.

“This is bad,” I say, my voice flat.

Owen zips up his suitcase. “I’ve never heard him use the Big Reggie voice when he’s mad before.”

I push my hand through my hair. “It’s horrifying,” I agree.

On the ride to the airport, through security, and all the way to Seattle, Owen and I are numb. He holds my hand, clinging to me, and I get the doors for him, make sure he eats and drinks. But even when we kiss, it’s like I won’t allow myself to really be there with him.

I feel like a ghost in my own body.

Everything is crashing down around me. I’m going to lose Reggie, and I’ll have to lose Owen, too. It will only be right. I can’t come between the brothers, especially not when I know there’s a whole other shitstorm waiting for me whenever Aya makes her move.

I’ll just be alone again. I’ll shut down all these parts of me that feel raw and exposed, and I’ll do what’s right for Owen, no matter how much it fucking hurts. It sucks, but that’s who I am. Those are the kind of options I’m left with in this shitty life.

“No answer,” Owen says. I’m pulling out of the parking lot of the Seattle airport, and Owen is trying his brother again.

“Shit.” I grind my jaw. “Really wish he would have read that fucking letter.”

Owen rests his hand on my thigh and sinks down in his seat. “At least I can’t remember what we were saying when he was on the phone.”

I cruise out to the expressway. “Your place?” I ask.

“I guess, yeah. It’s probably a good idea to take some space from each other until we talk to Reggie.”

I swallow. I hadn’t meant it that way, exactly, but sure. It’s probably better to tear myself away now instead of getting more attached before the inevitable.

“Right. I should give my bands some attention right away, but I’ll leave my phone on, and I’ll keep trying Reggie.”

Owen nods. “Like you said,” he adds hopefully, “he’s got a big heart. He’ll always forgive us.”

I don’t point out that I said Reggie would always forgive Owen, not me. “You’ll let me know if you hear from him?” I ask. “And if you need anything? Like I said, I’ll keep my phone on.”

I know I’m repeating myself, but it doesn’t matter. I just need to find some way to make this better.

Owen strokes my leg as I drive. “Thanks. You, too, Fox.”

When we get to Owen’s place, I carry his bags up, then take him, slowly, in a kiss. I’m terrified that this is the last time I’ll touch him, and I try to drink in the memory, clasping every sound and warm sensation.

Home, I take an exhausted, steamy shower, then pace the condo. The idea of losing Owen is more than I can bear. It hurts every fiber in my body, and my soul screams that I can’t allow that to happen.

But the bald fact keeps staring me in the face. Owen might be better off without me and my abject catastrophe of a life.

When I can’t handle it anymore, I hop on my motorcycle and start riding. The wind whips through the early autumn air as I speed up and down the hilly Seattle streets, and it’s not until I arrive at the recording studio that I realize where I’m going.

Right. Work. The only fucking thing I might be able to fix.

When I unlock the door and head inside, I’m surprised to see Mare alone without her band. They’d been on a roll writing new songs for a week, and I expected them to still be essentially living here.

“Fox,” Mare says, standing. She wears a flowing cotton dress, comfortable and casual, with peachy splashes of color. “I thought you were in Palm Springs.”

I rub my jaw. “I was. Back early. Just thought I’d stop by, see if you needed anything.”

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