“I can’t even comprehend what might’ve become of him if he’d done that. She would’ve ruined him. He’d be some high school dropout junkie living in the streets if he’d gone with her,” Fable continues.

“So what happened to her?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, her gaze meeting mine. “I haven’t heard from her in four years. Neither has Owen. Good riddance, I say.”

Four years. I can’t imagine not hearing from my mom in four years. Dad? That I can see, but I don’t want to hear from him and there’s a difference. Sounds like Fable and Owen don’t want to hear from their mom either.

“She sounds like a despicable human being,” I finally say.

Fable laughs, and the sound makes baby Autumn smile. “Great word. So true. She is a despicable human being. That’s why it’s nice to see Owen with someone so … normal. Not some over-the-top cheap-looking girl with her tits hanging out of her shirt and her hands all over him.”

Ugh. Just imagining that makes me want to throw up. I hate thinking of Owen being with anyone else, and it’s a reality I kind of have to face.

He’s been with a lot of someone elses.

“Our mom screwed with his head. He had all this guilt over her. Always thought he was responsible for her well-being or whatever. She put it on him. So when she finally left and disappeared out of our life for good, he’d go out with girls, but none of them were worthy of him. They were all kind of trampy.” Fable gives me the once-over but her eyes are kind. “You, Chelsea, are not a tramp.”

“Um, thanks?” I say, laughing nervously. I have no idea how to respond to that assessment.

“It’s a compliment. Trust me.” She smiles, and we both glance at the football field when the crowd cheers. My gaze snags on Owen and I can’t help but go all dreamy-eyed at seeing him running across the field in his uniform, the number 26 and his last name emblazoned on his back.

He looks good—big and broad and indestructible. He’s quick on his feet and can catch a ball with a preciseness that impresses. No wonder his coach was so eager to get him back on the team as fast as possible.

“He reminds me of Drew.” I look over at Fable and she’s watching Owen with the same sort of wistful expression I must have. “Different position but same determination, same natural ability. He could go far. As far as Drew has, if he wanted to.”

“You really believe that?” Football hasn’t been up for much discussion between Owen and me. I know it’s important to him. But we’d focused on his grades so much we hadn’t discussed anything else. And if we weren’t talking about school, we were busy flirting.

“I do. Drew wants to talk to him. See if that’s what Owen really wants. Though I’m not sure what Owen really wants.”

I don’t think Owen knows what he wants, either. He’s just cruising through life without a plan. Without a net. Whereas me, I like to plot and plan and figure out my next step. After graduate school, I’m going to teach, most likely at college level. That has been my plan since I was a little kid. Mom had instilled it in my brain that it was the best possible future for me. The only option I had.

But now … I wonder. It sounds so boring. Teaching. Doing the same thing, day in and day out. Would I want that? Would I be happy? Would I really be fulfilled? If you’d asked me this question a few months ago I would have answered yes without hesitation.

Now, I’m not so sure. Meeting Owen, spending time with him, letting him take me off track and actually learn how to have a little fun, changed me.

For the better.

Owen

It felt good to be out on the field and winning the game knowing my girl and my sister and niece were in the stands watching me. I caught sight of them a few times, chatting with each other more than keeping their eye on the game, and I could forgive them for that. Fable’s probably seen enough football games to last her a lifetime and Drew’s career is really only a couple of years in. And Chelsea isn’t big on football.

Plus, they’re getting to know each other, and that’s important to me. If Chelsea is going to become as big a part of my life as I hope she will, then I want them to like each other.

I’m at home with my girl now, kicking it in the living room, waiting for her to finish taking a shower. I’d tried to get in the shower with her but she’d shoved me out of the bathroom, giving me that look—the one that said no way, asshole—while whispering, “Wade’s right out there. He’ll know.”

I didn’t push. Hell, I’d cleaned that bathroom like crazy to ensure she’d even want to take a shower at my place. Guys are pigs. I’m no exception. But when we made plans for Fable to be here this weekend a few days ago, Chelsea had said she might stay the night and take a shower at my place. She even asked if that would be okay.

Took a lot for me to play it off and act like that was no big deal. While inside I was dying to tell her, move in with me forever.

How I feel about Chelsea is just … fucking ridiculous, in the most awesome, unbelievable way.

“Going out with your girlfriend?” Wade’s tone is kind of snide, a little joking. I think he’s still mad at me about the Des thing, but what can I do? It’s too late to back down now, and I kind of like not having Des here all the damn time, bringing his posse of druggies with him.

“Yeah. My sister’s here, you know.”

“Right. I talked to Fable after the game.” She’s always liked Wade. Though she’d probably hate him if she ever discovered all the trouble we got into numerous times throughout our high school years. Thank God we hadn’t been caught.

That hadn’t been all Wade’s fault. We were a bad influence on each other.

A knock sounds on the door and Wade goes to answer it. I’m feeling too lazy to even move from the couch. I played a hard game today. Truthfully, I was trying to show off for Fable and Chelsea. I’m going to pay the price tomorrow, especially if I get what I want later tonight.

Chelsea, naked in my bed. Beneath me, making her cry out my name when I first enter her.

Yeah, I’ll gladly suffer through sore muscles for that.

“Uh, Owen.”

I glance up at the sound of Wade’s voice to see him with the door partially shut, his head tilted toward it and his expression one of pure panic.

Shit. I think I know who’s waiting on the doorstep. I gotta get rid of her, quick.

Pushing up from the couch, I rush toward the door, Wade backing away so he’s not in the middle of the family drama. Because there will be drama if I let her linger for any length of time. Fable is supposed to meet us here with her car before we head to The District for dinner. I can’t have her see Mom.

That is the absolute last thing I need.

“What are you doing here?” I say the moment I step out onto the front porch and slam the door behind me.

Mom glares at me, her arms wrapped around herself. She’s wearing raggedy old jeans, those same damn Nike shoes that have probably been around for ten years and look it, and a freaking T-shirt.

It’s like 50 degrees outside. She must be freezing.

You don’t care, man. You. Don’t. Care.

“It’s been almost two weeks.” Her expression turns pleading in an instant, but the hard glare is still in her eyes. I’m trying to look at her and see nothing, but it’s so damn hard. She’s my mom. I always feel like I owe her. “I need money, Owen. I need a smoke. I—I need to come down.”

Come down? Shit. “I don’t have any weed in the house.”

Her mouth hardens. “Don’t lie to me. You always have weed in the house.”

“Not this time.”

We stare at each other in silence, neither of us moving. We’re at a standoff and we’re both too stubborn to give in first. All I can think is the clock keeps ticking, bringing us closer to Fable showing up here soon, and Chelsea coming out of the shower and going in search of me.