Puck Prince (Houston Scythes Hockey #1)

36. Owen

36

OWEN

“I can’t believe I might have found my own apartment,” she gushes. “And it’s perfect. Like, perfect perfect.”

I’m having a hard time remembering anything except the floor of the walk-in closet. But the way Callie looked spread out in front of me, writhing against my face? Perfect perfect.

The drive back to my complex is much lighter than the drive there. For one, I’m not so high and tight about Callie moving anymore. I don’t love the idea of her being farther away, considering everything that has happened recently. But I do feel good about the place we toured.

Especially the closet. It can’t be overstated: the closet was great.

I also know that at some point, this whole charade is going to end. Regardless of how I feel about it—which remains an unenthusiastic, hazy “unclear”—our so-called relationship wasn’t, isn’t, and probably never will be real.

Undesirable circumstances got us into this situation. Paparazzi backed us against the wall. The only way out was to pull the fire alarm and run together.

That’s not the kind of thing everlasting love is built on. Not that I’m capable of anything like that, anyway. Not with my genetics.

In short, this is a means to an end. The end being: Callie is safe, Summer is out of the public eye, and I am taking care of everyone I promised to take care of.

And yet.

And fucking yet.

I can’t stop forgetting that this is fake. When I’m with her, it’s different than anything I’ve ever felt before. Callie is different from anyone I’ve ever been with before.

I’ve spent most of my life wanting to protect the people who matter most to me. But with Callie, it’s more than just checking the “Duty to Others” box. I want to make her happy.

Taking care of her—seeing her smiling and happy—feels like one of the most selfish things I’ve ever done.

“The living room is the perfect layout for an L-shaped sectional,” Callie rambles on, flipping through the pamphlets the property manager gave us. “Or, wait! A cute loveseat and a chaise lounge. I’ve always wanted a chaise lounge.”

“Yeah?” I try to jump into the conversation. If I had to guess, I look troublingly pensive right now. I don’t need her asking what I’m thinking about.

“Yes. Oh, shit!” She drops the pamphlet.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I need furniture. I don’t have any furniture. In fact, I don’t have any anything ! I need dishes and towels, and, and… and laundry detergent. Oh, and art!” She grins. “I’ve never bought art for my own apartment before.”

Despite the unironed details of… well, everything that is the chaotic shitshow we currently call life, her enthusiasm makes me smile.

“I’ll have to go shopping,” she muses excitedly.

“That sounds exhausting. You and Kennedy have fun with that.”

Callie laughs, rolling her eyes at me.

But if she asked… I’d go with her. I’d buy her every damn thing she wanted.

She’s in a good mood. It looks good on her.

We enter through the double doors of the complex. Callie is practically skipping. I stop at the elevator, but she heads for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I’m taking the stairs, you lazy bones!” she sing-songs.

“Alright, I give up. Who are you and what have you done with my typically snarky, excessively stubborn, and, more often than not, pain-in-the-ass fake girlfriend?”

Callie turns to skewer me with an eye roll. Still, it’s accompanied by the smile she hasn’t dropped since we left the last apartment. “Don’t be a hater. I’m in a good mood. You should try it sometime.”

“All because of an apartment?” I reluctantly follow her up the stairs. The view of her in front of me doesn’t do anything to clear up the mangled will-we-won’t-we thoughts in my head.

“Maybe it’s just an apartment to you, but to me, it’s the next step in moving on. Moving up. I’m figuring my life out and leaving all the negative behind.”

At the landing, I grab her arm and pull her hard against me. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you’re so rejuvenated?”

My mouth is close enough to hers to kiss her.

I want to.

“What other reason would I have?” She smiles, her voice velvety.

I swallow hard, suddenly in desperate need of some rejuvenation myself. Only one of us got off earlier. I might need to find a nearby closet so I can claim my turn.

“Maybe I can refresh your memory…” I tower over her, and she tilts her head back.

Just before my lips touch hers, I pull back, take her by the hand, and yank her towards my door.

“Owen! What are you doing? Where are we going?”

“Where do you think?” I pull my keys out of my pocket, grinning at her, ready to go, loving the tension. But my expression drops when Callie frowns at something over my shoulder.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?” I ask as she grabs a folded piece of paper taped to my front door.

“This.”

“Probably just solicitors,” I shrug. “They’re not supposed to come in here, but I always have a dozen takeout menus from that Indian place down the?—”

I stop talking when Callie’s eyes widen. “Owen…”

I take the paper from her hand, and Callie falls against me like she can’t stand on her own.

You can’t protect her forever.

It’s one sentence. No name, no indicator of who wrote it or when they left it here. It says so little, and yet, it says a thousand things. Things that make me feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Come inside.” I shove the note in my pocket. I want to ball it up. To throw it away and never look at it again.

But shit just got real. Someone is threatening me. I need to hang onto it.

“Who would do that?” Callie is shaking. Her voice is broken, that smile from moments ago dead and gone.

“You tell me.”

She hesitates.

“Goddammit, Callie!” I don’t mean for my words to come out as harshly as they do, but this secrecy thing has gone on long enough. “Why won’t you tell me who he is?”

We both know this is about the guy from last night—the guy from her past. This is him, and I’m going to kill him.

“Because I don’t want you to do something stupid!”

“Something stupid?” I widen my eyes, ripping the note back out of my pocket. “You mean like this? Like threatening me and you and?—”

“How do we even know it was him? How do we know it’s about me?”

“Who else would it be about?” As soon as I ask the question, the answer hits me hard enough in the gut to knock the wind out of me. “Summer.”

I want to rage. I want to scream and get in my car and hunt the bastard down. But I don’t know who he is—who either of them are—so I can’t. That smug, proud, I’m protecting my own feeling that had me all puffed up just a few minutes ago? That’s as much dust in the wind as Callie’s smile.

For the first time in a long time, I feel something sickeningly familiar: fear.

All I can do is drag Callie into my apartment and plummet down on the couch. I rest my head in my hands, trying to figure out what to do next. What I even can do.

Callie comes and sits next to me. “Listen, maybe it’s nothing.”

“Maybe it’s nothing?” I spit out. “You’re joking, right? One or both of the guys you and Summer got caught up with is fucking with us. That’s not nothing.”

“I just mean, maybe the threats are empty. Because what can they do, really?”

I drop my hands and look over at her. “I don’t know. You tell me. What can the nameless man do, Callie? You know him—I don’t. What is he capable of?”

Callie chews on her lip, tears forming in her eyes. My question dragged her back somewhere she didn’t want to go. Somewhere that hurts. I regret my words immediately.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, Cal, I’m sorry.” I pull her against me, my hand in her soft hair. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I don’t know who Nicky’s dad is, but I do know what that son of a bitch did to Summer. It eats at me every single day. And now, knowing someone hurt you, too—it’s too much. We need to put a stop to it.”

“I just don’t want my problem to be your problem. And I don’t want you to go to jail,” she sniffles.

“I’m not going to go to jail.” I let out a frustrated sigh. “You have to get caught in order to go to jail, and I wouldn't get caught.”

Callie pulls away, looking at me frantically. “See? See?! That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

I actually laugh a little, putting my hands on her shoulders. “I’m kidding. I’m kidding.”

“You’re not funny.”

I also wasn’t kidding.

“I’m sorry,” I wipe the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. “But seriously, Callie, if this is Nicky’s dad, I have to put an end to it. I won’t allow my sister and my nephew to be threatened. I love them too much. Protecting them is my job. And if the note was from the guy Kennedy was dancing with, I need to put a stop to that, too.”

She thinks about that for a long time before she answers. “I just… don’t want you to feel like taking care of me is your job just because we’re dating. Or, fake dating, I mean. I know you want to make this convincing to people, but hunting down a psycho from my past wasn’t part of the agreement. You didn’t sign up for that.”

“And you didn’t sign up for any of it.” I turn towards her. “If you remember, I was the one who pulled you off the sidewalk and into the apartment, sending the media into mass chaos and your uncle into a frenzy. And I was the one who publicly announced we were in a serious relationship when we were hardly on speaking terms. You can’t really take the blame for any of it.”

“I mean, some of it is my fault.”

She’s not entirely wrong. If she was less… her , maybe I could’ve stayed away.

“Which part?”

“The part where I locked myself out on Kennedy’s balcony. Obviously you couldn’t just leave me out there.”

“I mean, I could have.” I shrug. Her mouth pops open, and I laugh. I lean back against the couch and take her with me. She snuggles in. “No, you’re right. I would’ve never left you out there alone. And I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone now, either. Running from someone in your past, being afraid to sleep at night, watching your back constantly—it’s no way to live your life, Callie. And it needs to stop. Do you understand?”

Callie waits another painfully long moment before answering. “Owen… why do you care so much? That wasn’t part of the agreement. And it’s kind of breaking a lot of the rules.”

I groan. “I’m going to be honest here: I fucking hate the rules.”

Callie tenses against me. She’s holding her breath, waiting for me to go on.

I’m not sure whether or not I should. Stepping off this balance beam we’re walking might be a terrible idea. There’s no guarantee the landing spot will be soft.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, Callie. I know this is all for show, to keep the media in their seats, but I do care about you.”

Okay, now I’m the one holding my breath.

I shouldn’t have said it.

It was too much.

Shit. She’s going to think I’m crazy.

She’s going to get up and walk out. Then she’ll be alone just to get away from me, and I fucked up. I should have kept my mouth shut. I should have?—

Callie sits up and kisses me. It’s soft at first, pulling me out of my head and firmly into my body. She pulls away, our faces still close, her lips parted.

She doesn’t look like she’s going to bolt for the door. She looks like a woman who wants to be kissed. And I love giving her what she wants.

I part her lips with my tongue as she hooks her leg over me, straddling me on the couch.

I grab the hem of her dress and slide it over her head in one fluid motion.

The material has barely hit the floor before she’s grabbing my shirt and adding it to the pile.

I undo her bra with the flick of my thumb, and I could live in this moment. She’s so fucking beautiful.

We kiss again, and I roll her under me, lying her back on the cushions so I can crawl over her. She’s so soft and small and fragile below me, and fuck me, I’d set the whole goddamn world on fire to keep her safe.

I just might.

“Owen…” she murmurs.

“Yes?” I kiss her lips. Her cheeks. Her neck.

“I need you.”

I unbutton my jeans and tug them down just enough.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise, kissing her again just before I thrust myself inside of her.

And with that, we throw the rulebook out the fucking window.