“Oh, yeah…sorry. You should totally come in. She’d love to meet you. Andrew sort of talked you up, before I could. She’ll love you,” he says, his smile short of being real. I get the feeling it’s masking something.
I pull my bag over my shoulder as I exit the truck and follow Owen up the steps of the front porch. He’s about to turn the knob to the front door, when he just leans forward, his forehead resting on it and his sigh the kind that carries the weight of something serious.
“My brother’s here, too,” he says, and at first I think Andrew. But then I realize—he’s talking about James. “I don’t know what you’re going to get, so just…” Owen rolls his head to the side until his eyes find mine. “Sorry…if this gets weird.”
Almost every part of me wants to run, turn on my heels and sprint for the safety of my house. I play tough, and I’ve walked the line with Owen, but James—what I’ve imagined about James—scares me. My feet drag when he opens the door, and I consider my moment of hesitation, leaving, running, fleeing…Owen would understand. And then it flashes through my mind all at once—when Owen should have run away from me, when Gaby was confronting me, when my father was in my driveway banging on my door…he stayed.
He stayed.
Owen’s house is immaculate. I don’t know what I expected, but clean and bright wasn’t it. Given that it’s mostly Owen and Andrew at home alone, I thought things would be disorganized, maybe a little messy. I expected dark, and masculine.
“O? Is that you?” I hear a voice call from the direction of the kitchen. Owen’s house is a mirror of mine, only where I have a piano setting he has an actual dining table.
“It’s me, Ma,” he yells back, his eyes moving around his house, searching. He’s edgy.
“Good! I have a few hours before…” His mother rounds the corner and sees me, her step and speech both stuttering. She’s tall, like Owen, and her frame is thin, like a woman who works long hours and never stops to eat. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she’s wearing a security uniform, her feet only in socks.
“Mom, this is Kensi. She’s our neighbor,” Owen says, shrugging at me slightly, I think not wanting to offend me.
“Nice to meet you,” I smile, stepping closer to her and reaching out my hand. She rubs both of her palms along her pants, then smiles faintly as she takes my hand in hers.
“Kensi, yes. I’ve heard about you. So nice to finally meet you. I’m Shannon. Is your family settling in okay?” Her eyes look to Owen for guidance, but he only raises his brows high. There really isn’t an easy answer for this one, so I lie.
“Yes, we like it here,” I say, leaving words like parents, father and affair out of the picture.
“I was going to have Kens stay for dinner. She treated me the other night, but I didn’t know…” he stops there, letting his eyes speak the rest as they move beyond his mom to the living room where the television is blaring.
“No, please. Please stay, Kensi. We’d love to have you. And I was just ordering a pizza. It’s not much, but I don’t have a lot of time to cook, so…yes, please—I insist! What do you like? Pepperoni?” His mom is already dialing on her cellphone, her back to me, so I look to Owen, not sure what I should do.
“I can go. Really, it’s okay,” I whisper to him, and his eyes are telling me it’s all right to leave. But then a new voice interrupts everything.
“Haaaaaa, look at you, baby brother. Is this your new girlfriend?” James says, his body filling the entire frame of the doorway between the formal living room and the family area. His hands stretch up to touch the ceiling, causing his shirt to raise and show how thin his stomach is. His hair and eyes are dark like Owen’s, and his smile is equally tempting—a trait the Harper boys can use for good or evil at will, it seems. Unlike Owen, though, James seems to lack focus, his eyes wild and everywhere all at once.
“James.” Owen’s greeting is curt and callus, and I feel as uncomfortable as I knew I would the moment he told me his brother was here. Again, I want to run.
But I don’t.
His brother holds Owen’s stare, the two of them having a private conversation with their eyes—one I know isn’t friendly. Eventually, James shrugs and turns to walk back to the family room and the television he has playing so loudly that the sound is distorting. Owen’s mom motions for us to join James in the living room while she moves back into the kitchen, and Owen grabs my hand, stopping me before I take a step.