Broken Beautiful Hearts

  Coach turns to April’s table and points at one of the cheerleaders. “Natalie. Go to the gym and tell Coach Graff that I’ve got something he oughta see.”

  “Why did he have to pick her?” Tucker says under his breath.

  Natalie reluctantly gets up from the table, her cheeks growing pinker by the second.

  Dylan’s face pales. “I don’t think I’m funny, sir. Not even a little. I’m the opposite of funny.” His eyes dart to Natalie, who is almost at the cafeteria door. “Please don’t bring Coach Graff down here, sir.”

  Coach makes Dylan sweat it out for a second then calls out, “Natalie? Come on back and sit down.”

  Natalie looks relieved and rushes back to her seat.

  “Take a walk, Rollins. Before I change my mind.” Coach dismisses Dylan with a wave and eyes Titan and the Twins.

  “Sorry, Coach,” Cam mumbles.

  Coach marches up to Cameron. “Sorry is for sissies and second-rate players. You play football for the Warriors. State champions four years running, with the highest recruitment rate to Division One colleges in Tennessee.” He turns to Christian. “You want to show off for the girls? You can do push-ups on the field this afternoon for the first half of practice. Invite all the girls to watch.”

  “Yes, sir.” Christian stares at the floor.

  Tucker scrambles past me, carrying his skateboard, and runs up to the football coach. “I saw the whole thing, sir. Titan started it.”

  Coach examines Tucker and his fauxhawk. “Good lord, son. What happened to your head? Did some older boys get ahold of you?”

  “No, sir.” Tucker runs his hand over the short strip of hair on his scalp. “It’s my haircut.”

  “You did that to yourself on purpose?” Coach shakes his head. “Where’s your visitor’s pass?”

  “Um … I’m not a visitor. I go to school here, sir. I’m a freshman.”

  “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

  Does he think Tucker broke into the Black Water cafeteria to sample the epic mac and cheese?

  “He doesn’t take gym.” Owen pushes his way past the Twins and stands next to Tucker.

  The information throws Coach for a loop, and he studies Tucker like he’s checking to see if the kid has two heads. “Why the hell not?”

  “My family moved to Black Water two years ago,” Tucker explains. “The requirements were different at my old middle school. So I never took—”

  “I’m glad we cleared that up,” Coach says, cutting Tucker off and turning to Owen. “I hope you weren’t involved in this mess, Mr. Law. I’d hate to tell Cutter that you’re using my high school athletes as sparring partners.”

  Owen rubs the back of his neck. “I wasn’t—”

  Coach puts his hand on Owen’s shoulder and steers him toward our table. “I know it’s tough without your dad around. My old man left when I was about your age.”

  Owen stiffens.

  “You should think about wrestling again. You were damn good, and there’s nothing like being a member of a team.”

  Owen was a wrestler?

  “I’ll think about it, sir.” Owen maintains a respectful tone, but his rigid posture makes it clear that he doesn’t appreciate the advice. He returns to the table, but instead of sitting down again, he grabs his tray. “I’ll catch y’all later.”

  Tucker follows him.

  Grace and my cousins didn’t react when Coach mentioned the situation with Owen’s dad. Does everyone know? Owen looked so uncomfortable.

  It’s hard to imagine what it would feel like if my dad had walked out on us. Whenever he left on a mission, all he wanted to do was get back to Mom and me. I knew there was a possibility he might not come home, but I never thought it would happen. Watching someone leave willingly is a different kind of loss.

  The Twins drag themselves back to the table.

  “Forty-five minutes of push-ups?” Christian complains. “I’m going to beat Titan’s ass.”

  “It could be worse. Coach could’ve benched us,” Cam says.

  “He wouldn’t have much of a defense without the three of us.” Christian smashes one of his sandwiches inside the plastic wrap.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I feel like this is my fault. I don’t know why Titan is acting like this. Owen and I are just friends.”

  Sort of.

  “Titan will never buy that,” Cam says.

  “Why not?” I ask. “It’s true.”

  Christian smashes another sandwich like a bored little kid. “Everyone knows guys can’t be friends with girls. Not really.”

  Grace gives him an incredulous look. “We’re friends.”

  “That’s different,” Christian says without missing a beat.

  “How do you figure?” Cam asks.

  Pain flickers in Grace’s eyes for a second, then it’s gone. “Christian doesn’t think of me as a girl, that’s why.” She picks up her bag and gets up from the table. “I’m his sidekick, like one of the guys.”

  “Come on, Grace. That’s not what I said.” Christian reaches for her arm, but she yanks it away.

  “You don’t have to say the words for it to be true.”

  “Trouble in paradise?” April asks from her table.

  “Do everyone around here a favor, April,” Cam snaps, “and shut up.”

  April glances at her friends, embarrassed. “Screw you, Cameron.”

  Cam watches Grace walk out of the cafeteria.

  “Grace!” Christian calls after her.

  “I should find Grace.” Christian crushes his trash and presses it into a ball.

  “Why don’t you leave her alone and stop jerking her around?” Cam asks.

  “What are you talking about?” Christian sounds confused.

  Cam leans across the table and looks his brother in the eye. “You know what I’m talking about. She doesn’t deserve it.”

  “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it,” Christian says before he gets up and walks away.

  “He’s just going to make it worse,” Cam says.

  The sadness in his voice and the way he jumped all over his brother … something doesn’t add up. Or maybe it does.

  “Does Grace know how you feel about her?” I ask.

  “We’re just friends.” Cam looks away, shredding a paper napkin in front of him.

  I lean closer and lower my voice. “Come on, Cam.”

  He checks the area around us. When he seems satisfied that no one is eavesdropping, he props his elbows on the table. “You can’t tell Christian anything.” He lowers his head and rests it against his palm.

  “I won’t.” I’m becoming an expert at keeping secrets. “But you should tell him before one of them figures it out.”

  Cam laughs. “No chance of that happening. Christian can’t even figure out how he feels about Grace. In case you haven’t noticed, most people act like Christian and I are the same person. Hell, some of our friends still can’t tell us apart. Except Grace. And she only sees Christian. I’m background noise.” He collects the trays everyone else left at the table. “Let’s get outta here.”

  “What if you’re wrong about Grace?” I ask as we leave the cafeteria. “Maybe if she knew how you felt—”

  “Some things should be left alone.”

  “But if you don’t take a chance, you’ll never know.”

  Cam walks beside me, shoulders hunched. “At least I won’t get my heart stomped.”

  It’s a hard point to argue. I’m always surprised when I see people set themselves up to get hurt. They hold their hands over a fire, then they’re shocked when they get burned.

  “Looks like Owen cooled off,” Cam says.

  At the opposite end of the hallway, Owen leans against a bank of royal-blue lockers watching us.

  “Should I be worried?” Cam asks.

  “About what?”

  “The fact that Owen Law is hanging out in the hall, waiting for my cousin.”

  “He’s not waiting for me.” I’m not ad
mitting it to Cam, but Owen does look like he’s waiting for someone. “He was probably at his locker when he saw us coming, so he waited. Isn’t that what a good Southern boy would do?”

  “Yep.” Cam lowers his voice. “There’s just one problem with your theory.”

  “What?”

  “Owen’s locker is on the other side of the building.”

  Without thinking, my eyes go straight to Owen. He’s looking right at me and he stands straighter as we walk toward him.

  Owen says something to Cam, but I’m not paying attention. I’m thinking about what Cam just said.

  Owen’s locker is on the other side of the building.

  Suddenly, I’m the person holding out my hand. I see the fire, but I still want to hold my hand over the flames.

  “I’ve gotta hit my locker before fifth period. Do you know how to get to your next class from here?” Cam asks.

  I realize he’s talking to me.

  “I’ll get her there if she doesn’t,” Owen says.

  Cameron gives him a warning look.

  “We’re just walking,” Owen says.

  “Good to know.” Cam takes off.

  Owen smiles at me.

  It’s like there’s a little girl inside me, holding a bunch of yellow balloons, and she releases them to take flight inside my chest.

  CHAPTER 25

  Caught Up

  WHEN I FINISH PT that afternoon, I return from the locker room freshly showered to find Owen pacing in front of the ring with his cell phone to his ear.

  “Come on, Mom. Pick up.” Owen tugs at his hair like he’s trying to yank it out. “It’s bad enough that you’re ignoring my texts, but now you’re sending me straight to voice mail?” He stops pacing and leans against one of the ring’s padded corner posts with his arm above his head and his forehead pressed against the padding.

  “Don’t do this, Mom. Please. Not tonight,” Owen begs. He hangs up and hurls his phone at the floor. It hits the concrete and explodes. “Shit!” He grips the ropes and shakes them, shoulders slumped, and hangs his head.

  I walk over, watching his shoulders rise and fall with each deep breath. In the dimly lit gym, his black track pants and hoodie make him look like a shadow.

  “Owen?” I say his name softly and touch his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  He takes one hand off the ropes and lays it on top of mine, curling his fingers around the side of my hand. He slides his thumb under my wrist, sending a ripple of shock waves up my arm.

  “My mom is playing her trump card. She doesn’t want me fighting, and by the end of tonight, I won’t have a shot at the regional championship.”

  “I need you to give me more than that. What did she do? I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

  Owen’s hand slides off mine and he turns to face me. The top of my head doesn’t even reach his shoulder. “You would help me?”

  “It depends on what we’re talking about.”

  He tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and his touch gives me goose bumps.

  “There’s nothing you can do, but knowing you’d help me means a lot.” Owen scrubs his hands over his face. “My mom was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago so I could drop her at home and use the car. The semifinals are tonight outside of Nashville. If I’m a no-show, I’m disqualified and I can’t fight in the finals.”

  “What about Cutter? Can you ride with her?”

  He shakes his head. “She’s meeting me there. UT has a big game on Friday night and they needed her at practice today. Even if I called her now, she wouldn’t make it back in time to pick me up.” He sounds defeated, and I understand. Getting disqualified without having a chance to compete isn’t something I could stomach, either. “Maybe I could ask your cousins for a ride when they come to get you?”

  “They’re not picking me up today,” I say calmly. “Practice doesn’t end until seven, and Cam said it might run longer because we don’t have school tomorrow. So I drove myself.”

  Owen’s eyebrows shoot up. “Since when do you have a car?”

  I take out the keys and dangle them from my finger. “My uncle let me borrow a Jeep he’s working on.”

  “You’ve gotta give me a ride, Peyton. I’ll do anything. I’ll pay you or carry your books for the rest of the year. Whatever you want. I just need a ride.”

  “To a fight?” I take a step back.

  Owen drops to his knees and steeples his hands. “Please.”

  I want to go to an MMA fight about as much as I want to walk into school naked. But how can I say no?

  “I can’t go to an MMA fight.” The words slip out.

  Owen stands, watching my every move. “What do you mean by can’t?”

  I pull the elastic off my wrist and work on gathering my hair into a ponytail. Anything to keep from making eye contact with Owen. “I meant won’t.”

  “You don’t have to go to the fight. You can drop me off,” he says, switching gears. “If I can’t catch a ride home with Cutter, I’ll hitchhike back, and I’ll do it with a smile. Just get me there.”

  “Fine. I’ll take you. But I’m not going in.”

  “Seriously?” Owen throws his arms around my waist, picks me up, and spins around. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”

  My heart slams against my ribs.

  It’s a figure of speech. People say it all the time.

  I’ve said it. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but I kind of wish he did.

  Owen puts me down. He grabs his bag and lifts mine off my shoulder. “You’re saving my ass, Peyton. I owe you.”

  “Come on.” I lead him through the parking lot to the Jeep.

  “Want me to drive?” he offers. “I know where I’m going. It’ll be faster.”

  I hesitate.

  “Worried I’ll crash it?” Owen asks. “I’m a good driver and I have insurance.”

  I snort. “If you’re such a great driver, why did you throw in the part about having insurance?”

  Owen pats down his pockets. “Where’s my—?”

  “Your phone? You threw it on the floor.”

  “Right. Not my finest moment.”

  “It’s okay. I threw my cleats out the car window once, after I lost a game.”

  He opens the car door for me and offers me his arm when I step onto the running board. I settle into the driver’s seat and start the car while he runs around to jump in, but when I try to shift out of park, Owen covers my hand with his and stops me.

  “Forget something?” He leans over and pulls the seat belt across my chest without touching anything he shouldn’t. It’s the sort of gesture you read about in novels, but nobody does it in real life.

  Except Owen.

  He straps the seat belt into place and secures his own. He doesn’t say much during the forty minutes to the arena. He thanks me ten more times and fidgets with his hands—opening them, stretching his fingers wide, and then squeezing them closed.

  “Are you nervous?” I ask. Because I am, and I’m not the one fighting tonight.

  Owen looks over at me, and his dark eyes search mine. “Why?”

  “Why what?” I’ve completely lost track of the conversation.

  He flashes me a smile. “You asked me a question before you got distracted by whatever it was you were thinking about a second ago—which I know couldn’t have been me, because you’re not attracted to me and we’re just friends.”

  I open my mouth, but I can’t think of a single thing to say.

  “But I’ll catch you up anyway,” he says. “You asked if I was nervous, and I asked why. Then you couldn’t remember what you asked me.” He winks at me.

  “Are you always this cocky before a fight?”

  “Have you always been this good at changing the subject?”

  I lean my elbow on the armrest between us. “You changed it first. I guess you aren’t comfortable admitting that you’re nervous.”

  “Not as nervous as you are about watchin
g it,” Owen says.

  “Nice try.” I keep my eyes on the road so he can’t read my expression. As much as I enjoy flirting with Owen, I’m not a fan of the fact that he can read me so well. “I don’t like fights, or fighters. Didn’t we cover this?”

  “Have you ever been to an MMA fight?” He sounds so confident and sure of himself. The competitive side of me cringes.

  “No.” I hesitate before adding, “I’ve been to more than one.” The moment the words leave my lips, I regret saying them. I’m only inviting more questions.

  Owen’s gaze darts between my face and the road. “When? Who did you go with?”

  “My best friend’s older brother is an MMA fighter. She dragged me along to watch his fights.” Sort of true.

  “And you weren’t into it.” He’s not asking, which saves me from feeling like a total liar when I don’t correct him.

  The truth? I loved going to fights. The skills involved in MMA and the conditioning it requires impressed the hell out of me. Now the thought of watching a fight just reminds me of Reed.

  Owen sighs. “So much for my brilliant plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “The one where I talk you into coming to a fight and you see the error of your ways. Then you become an obsessive fan, beg me to bring you to all my competitions, and scream your lungs out when I win.”

  I laugh. “You’re delusional.”

  “Okay. Forget the last part.” He sounds hopeful.

  “I’m guessing your mom doesn’t come?”

  Owen stiffens, then shakes it off. “Don’t try to change the subject. I’m asking the questions. You used to like MMA, and now you hate it. What happened between then and now? Did you see someone get hurt in a fight?” He’s working hard to connect the dots that I don’t want connected. But he’s on the wrong track, and every omission and misleading piece of information I give him sends him deeper into a rabbit hole.

  “I’m not playing twenty questions. MMA isn’t my thing. End of story.”

  “Come on. Give me something. Friends are supposed to tell each other stuff.”

  “Aren’t you the guy who was giving me a hard time about the friends thing?” I ask.

  “I’m not saying I wouldn’t go out with you if the option was on the table, but it’s not. I guess you’ll just have to wonder what it would’ve been like since we’re just friends.”