Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,8

chest heaves, I can’t breathe. There is nothing in my stomach, and yet somehow it wants to be sick all over the tile floor.

"Owen." Four letters, and I choke on every one of them.

We stare at each other, and everything flows between us. The love, the pain, the accusations, the years apart, they mix into a concoction of strangling intensity.

I'm not sure how much time passes, because I'm stuck, but my mom's voice breaks through.

"Owen, you changed your mind?"

Um … what? Owen is who my mom normally expects? Why? And how often?

He glances at me, then back to her. "Uh, no." He holds up a white paper bag. "I forgot to give you your prescription earlier. I guess I was distracted."

She takes the bag from his outstretched hand. "Oh, thank you. I forgot too."

He stands in the threshold, an awkward silence taking over the three of us.

His dark brown hair is slicked back, freshly showered by the looks of him, and he’s wearing a nice button-down shirt with dark jeans. Fifteen-year-old Owen was handsome, but twenty-eight-year-old Owen is absolutely yummy. I want to kill him. No one should age that well. How dare he stay so handsome and not gain a hundred pounds and be bald.

Mom reaches for his forearm and pulls him into the house. "You might as well stay and eat,” she coos, giving him a smile. “I made one of your favorites."

I nearly choke on my spit. One of your favorites? What the hell has been happening while I've been across the country? Are these two bff's and nobody told me? Do they have matching necklaces? A secret handshake? This motherfucker stole my mom!

A surge of irritation flows through me.

I pivot and return to the kitchen. I can’t even handle this situation right now; my brain is short circuiting. I don’t see this man for ten years and he waltzes into my mom’s house like he lives here. And I’m in sweats!

In angry haste, I transfer the caramelized onions to a plate, slice the bell peppers and put them in the pan. Once those are cooking, I chop the chicken like I’m murdering it and season it before adding it to a separate pan. I make sure to slam it good and hard so that the entire house knows I’m pissed. I'm heating tortillas when my mom comes in.

She surveys the scene. "I didn't tell you we were having fajitas."

So, she’s totally going to ignore the awkwardness of Owen being here? Awesome.

I shrug. "Lucky guess." There is a growl to my tone.

How weird would it be if I went to my room and put on a sexy black dress and full makeup? I want Owen to feel the satisfying pain of knowing he would never have me, but considering I look homeless right now, I’m not much of a catch to lose.

She snorts. "Or you still know Owen's favorite foods."

Dammit, Mom, going in for the kill.

I don't say anything. Instead, I get out the sour cream, the guacamole, the cilantro.

“Honey, I know you don’t like to talk about him, so that’s why I didn’t mention—”

“It’s fine,” I growl. I’m not mad at her, I’m mad at him and I hope she knows that. I made a rule with my mom a long time ago: no talking about Owen. Now that rule is coming back to bite me in the ass.

Reaching out, she squeezes my shoulders. “You want me to ask him to go?”

Yeah, right, and show how much I care he is here in the first place?

No way.

“I’m totally fine.” I tip my chin high and blow a stray hair out of my face.

"Alright, well, I'm going to wash up for dinner," my mom says, leaving the kitchen.

This is fine. I can handle this. Everything is fine. Taking a deep breath, I stare up at the ceiling. I knew I was going to see him. But so soon? I'm not sure I’m ready.

"Autumn?"

His voice reaches out, swirling around me like smoke, curling up my legs, my torso, over my shoulders. For three years, my sun rose and set on the owner of that voice. Slowly, I turn toward him, knowing we have to do this.

Owen stands there, arms crossed. It's a defensive stance, but his expression doesn't match. It's hard to describe his expression, except that it's not angry or hateful like I expected.

That was how he looked the last time I saw him and I expected it to be the same.

But now? I see concern. Apprehension.