“Close your eyes, and I’ll tell you when they’re done loading, when you can just look out at the city, okay?” I say.
“Okay,” he whispers, doing as I say.
“One more round, and that’s it...almost there…loading. Latching. Waving. Okay,” I say, still clutching his hand in mine, his fingers fretting and fighting to find more of my hand to grip any time I threaten to loosen my hold.
“Are we moving? Kensi, I can’t tell. Are we moving?” he asks, his voice soft and vulnerable.
“Not yet. Soon, Owen. We’ll be moving soon,” I say, locking my eyes on his closed lids, watching them twitch with panic.
His breathing starts to stutter even more, and I begin to open my lips to beg him to let me make them stop one more time—when his eyes open, his soul looking right into mine. Then the sky begins to move behind him. I keep his gaze, doing my best not to interrupt, to blink, and I let my mouth form a faint smile. “We’re moving,” I say, his hand still held to my chest, my heart no doubt pounding against our grasp on one another.
“Owen, you can look out now, look at the town and the stars,” I say, glancing over his shoulder as the lights from the festival fade and refocus with every pass we make. Owen keeps his eyes on me, never blinking. But I know he’s seeing something. I know he’s safe, that he doesn’t need to “tap out,” because he’s smiling, and his eyes are showing traces of something new, like the life of a child lost years ago.
It’s joy.
As the ride slows, we pause at the top, still frozen in our pose, our hands tethered to the point where I can no longer feel beyond my first knuckles. But Owen’s smile remains, and his breathing starts to even out, his chest rising and falling at a normal pace. I spare a look away as my friends exit below us, and I notice Willow point up to our cart as she reaches her arms around Jess and squeezes him.
“I think they’re proud of you,” I say, gesturing to the group waiting for us about thirty feet below. Owen doesn’t look, and he doesn’t break our trance. But he does finally speak.
“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, and all at once, I fall for Owen Harper.
Chapter 12
Beautiful.
Owen Harper called me beautiful. And then just as quickly, he was gone. I squeezed his hand tightly while the ride slowly brought us down to the ground to exit. We walked down the long, metal exit ramp, where Willow was waiting for me, her eyes full of questions, and when I turned back to find Owen again—he had disappeared.
Gone.
He does that. Just…goes.
His truck was nowhere to be found when Willow brought me home. His room was empty for the entire night. And he’s been away all day.
That’s why I practically race down the stairs at the sound of the basketball, and I’m not even disappointed when it’s only Andrew and House shooting the ball. They might be able to tell me something…anything!
Of course, my boldness stops stone cold as soon as House opens his mouth. “Ken Doll! Looking to hold hands with your boyfriend while you both eat cookies and drink milk and watch cartoons?” He’s saying everything in this overly-childish teasing voice, and I hate that it’s embarrassing me.
“Dude, don’t be a dick!” Andrew says, throwing the ball hard into House’s chest. I like Andrew more and more.
“What? You saw those two acting all junior high and shit last night. Don’t pretend like you weren’t making fun of them as much as I was,” House says, throwing the ball back at Andrew twice as hard, ricocheting it off his less-coordinated hands. Andrew scrambles to pick the ball back up and looks up at me sheepishly, guilty for enjoying a laugh at my expense. I forgive him because he honestly feels bad. House can eat it, though.
“It’s Kensi,” I say, looking beyond House’s broad body into the open front door and windows of the Harper house, wishing to see someone inside.
“Yeah, I’m not calling you that,” he says, spinning the ball on his finger a few times, a cocky smirk smeared across his face. I snatch the ball from his right hand and pull it under my arm. My heart is smacking the insides of my ribs as I realize how ballsy I’m being. I stare him down while he maneuvers a wad of chew in his mouth, spitting obnoxiously, the tobacco staining my driveway. I can’t help but revolt when he does it, and I let my disgust show. House isn’t any different from the privileged boys in uniform I used to have to deal with at Bryce. Instead of flashing his money around to intimidate me, though, he uses his size and masculinity. I bet it’s effective on others, and on girls who probably harbor secret crushes on him.