Wild Reckless

He pulls his keys from his pocket and tosses them slightly before grabbing them in the air and turning on his heels. I want to jump in the other side of his truck, run away with him, go home with him, go anywhere with him. Hell, I want to sit in the truck and wait while he fills out job applications and does whatever else it is he does when he’s gone.

“Hey, Kens?” Willow asks, her arm over the top of her car while she looks at me. Owen pauses at the sound of her voice. “You know, Jess and I were thinking we’d just go grab dinner at his house, since it’s so close. We don’t have to be back here until six, in case…you know…you wanna do something else?”

My lips actually hurt from the force of wanting to smile, but I keep it hidden, pushing my lips tight and only letting the corners of my mouth curl.

“Could you bring me back here? By six?” I ask Owen, hoping he simply says yes, that he doesn’t bail on this completely.

“Yeah, that’s cool. I’ve got time. I have to pick up Andrew, so…” his voice fades away, and his attention moves to the cab of his truck. I secretly love that he’s so unsure of his words with me. This is different from teasing. This is different from being cruel. And I like it.

“We’ll see you at six, Kens,” Willow says with a wink. Jess is already in the car with her, looking over his shoulder at Owen and me, and I’m sure she’s filling him in on everything she thinks this is about. That’s probably for the best, because Willow might understand what’s happening better than me.

“You ready?” Owen asks, from the other side of his truck. I didn’t really expect him to open my door or anything, but he seems so uncomfortable being alone with me now.

“Oh, uh…yeah. Should I just throw my stuff in the back of the truck then?” I ask. Owen shrugs a nod, so I lift my heavy bag to the back of his truck, securing it between the metal side and a tire, then climb into the cab with him. His truck looks different in the daylight, but it still brings back memories of the last time I was in here with him, when I swore at him and slapped him like a girl. I feel a little ashamed, because I can tell he’s remembering that, too.

“So, where’s Andrew?” I ask, wanting to start a safe conversation—any conversation.

“He’s at the community college. He splits his time between here and there, usually doesn’t get done until after our school lets out,” Owen says, his lips forming a prideful smile. “Andrew’s sort of smart.”

“Wow, so he’s like, what? Taking college classes?” I ask. We had a program like this at Bryce, but the professors came to our school.

“Yeah, he has eight credits or something like that. English and algebra, I think? If he passes with an A, he gets full credit toward his diploma. It’s free, so I made sure when he was selected he took advantage of it,” Owen says, his eyes on the road as we pull away from the school—the opposite direction of everyone else.

“That’s amazing. You must be proud of him,” I say, knowing he is by the way he talks about his brother.

“Yeah, well…one of us should get a college degree,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s being humble or bitter.

“What about you? Where are you going?” I ask.

“Depends,” he says, glancing up at the rearview mirror, then beyond his shoulder, his eyes grazing over me as he does. “I’d like to play ball somewhere. But then...who’s gonna pay the bills?”

Owen doesn’t add anything after this, and I don’t know what to ask, so I reach forward and twist the knob on his old stereo to listen to some music. Nothing comes in very well, the classic rock station sounding the best; I leave the dial there. A few minutes later, we pull up at the front of the community college, and Andrew waves from a bench.

“You’re going to need to scoot to the middle,” Owen says, looking at the small space next to him, the one with the hump in the middle of the floor.

I unbuckle my belt and slide there, bending my knees in front of me and looking for the seatbelt straps.

“There’s no belt here. Sorry…I’ll be careful, though. I’ll keep you safe,” he says, his eyes flashing to mine for a beat before moving back to the steering wheel. I notice the hard swallow in his throat.

“Door’s locked,” Andrew says, his voice muffled from outside. He’s pulling on the handle, but nothing’s happening. I start to reach over to pull the lock at the top, but Owen puts his hand on my arm, stopping me.

“I got it. It’s broken,” he says, careful not to look at me while he leans across my body. I practically suck myself to the seat, holding my breath the entire time his body is stretched across my lap. I can see the bare skin on his side as he reaches over, his shirt pulling from his jeans, and I notice the gray band of his boxers.