Monica Murphy - Four Years Later

She’s nice, his sister. When he introduced us, she actually hugged me, her pleasure at meeting me genuine. I was a little overwhelmed at first because Owen had warned me on the drive here that she could be pretty standoffish when she first meets someone. Says she has a hard time trusting people.

I could relate. Maybe she saw that, too; I don’t know.

Fable’s definitely beautiful, petite yet busty, with long, sunny blond hair and those same flashing green eyes as Owen’s. The affection between the two of them is palpable, and it makes me happy to see such obvious sibling love.

It almost makes me a little jealous, which is so stupid and pointless. Would I ever matter as much to Owen as his sister does? Totally not fair of me to think that way, but I can’t help it.

The drive to the stadium in Santa Clara had been long but fun. He’d come and picked me up in a sullen, agitated mood, but then he’d seemed to brighten a little when he saw me. And when he kissed me, his lips had lingered, and he’d held me extra close. Told me he missed me, his gaze roving over my face as if he couldn’t get enough of me, and for whatever reason, he seemed to calm down.

Had something happened before he came to pick me up? The thought nagged at the back of my mind the entire drive. I tried not to distract him too much since it rained on us most of the way and the roads were slick, so I kept my worry to myself.

And I am a total worrier. I inherited that trait from Mom and I hate it. Though she always claimed all the worry made me that much better of a student, since I feared missing an assignment or getting a bad grade. Worrying kept me on track, she told me more than once.

Whatever.

“So how is Owen doing in school?” Fable asks, her expression curious.

It’s halftime and Owen has taken off. Probably going to the bathroom, leaving me and Fable alone together.

“He’s doing a lot better,” I say, my voice a little shaky. I wish I weren’t so intimidated but oh my God, this is Owen’s sister. The one person he seems to love more than anyone else. She pretty much raised him and he respects her so much. I just want her to like me. “When I first started seeing him, he wasn’t applying himself, you know? And he also wasn’t going to class, which is obviously a problem.”

Fable sighs. “He can be so irritating. And stubborn. If I keep telling him to do something, I swear sometimes he’ll flat-out not do it just because I want him to. You know what I mean?”

I shrug. Not really, because that’s not how I am whatsoever. And somehow I convinced Owen to do his schoolwork. Of course, he had so much on the line at that point I don’t think he was willing to risk it.

“It’s always been hard to keep him focused,” Fable continues. “He’d much rather be doing something else. I think he gets bored easily in class. He’s very smart. He just tends to get … distracted.”

“Well, he’s back on the team, he’s working, and he’s going to school but somehow maintaining his heavy schedule pretty smoothly. I’m trying to help keep him on track. He’s still playing catch-up with his portfolio for the Creative Writing class but I think he’s almost there,” I explain.

“So it sounds like he doesn’t really need to see you anymore, does he?” Fable asks, her voice gentle.

I shrug, unease slipping down my spine. “I guess not.”

She smiles. “He likes you.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I like him, too.”

“Owen has never introduced me to a girl before.”

Now I’m shocked. “Really?”

Fable slowly shakes her head. “He’s always been very … independent. We both have. We’ve had to be.”

I have no idea what she’s alluding to and I wish I did. But it’s not my place to grill Owen’s sister. He should just tell me about his life on his own. Of course, I hold my own secrets close to my chest and I’m still not ready to admit anything to him.

Such as how guilty I feel for being here, in Santa Clara, when really Mom’s place isn’t that far away. I should have gone by to see her. She misses me terribly. I just talked to her on the phone yesterday and she’d sounded so sad, so desolate. She has no one, she likes to constantly tell me. No one but me. She can’t wait for me to come home and go to graduate school. She truly thinks I’m just going to move in and it’ll be the two of us against the world again.

I hate to break it to her, but that’s the last thing I want to do. And who knows what my life will be like two years from now? Things could change. Dramatically.

“He admires you a lot,” I say, wanting Fable to know just how much she means to Owen. I assume she realizes it but it must feel good to hear it, too. “You and your husband. He says the two of you pretty much raised him.”

“We did—well, mostly during his teen years, but those are the worst, right?” Fable smiles. “Owen and Drew became super close despite Owen’s initial distrust of him. But Owen hardly trusts anyone, so that’s normal. Now they’re so close; it’s sweet. Drew’s like the big brother Owen never had.”

“Don’t tell me you’re talking about me.”

At the sound of his deep voice, I turn to find Owen standing above us, a smile on his face and a shopping bag clutched in his hand. I return his smile, my heart flipping over itself when he settles into the empty seat beside me, his shoulder brushing against mine.

“You know it,” Fable says, a wicked grin on her face. “I’m telling Chelsea all about your bad habits.”

“Gimme a break.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m perfect.” Grinning, he sets the bag in my lap. “I got you a present.”

“What?” I’m shocked yet pleased. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he says simply, nodding toward the bag. “Open it.”

I peek inside and then pull out a thick, white hooded pullover sweatshirt with the 49ers emblem on the front. It’s soft and warm, a little oversized, and I clutch it close, my gaze snagging on the price tag, eyes widening when I see the price.

Holy crap, it was expensive.

“I love it,” I tell him, touched that he would think of me and want to buy me a gift. “Thank you.”

“Put it on. Show your 49er spirit.” He takes the sweatshirt from me and tears off the price tag with a firm tug.

I shrug off the pale gray cardigan I’m wearing and take the new sweatshirt from Owen, then slip it on. It’s bulky and thick, cozy and soft, and I slip my hands into the front pocket, practically hugging myself. “How does it look?”

“Good. Real good.” The heat in Owen’s gaze momentarily steals my breath and I give him a stern look, tipping my head to the side toward his sister.

The last thing I need is him wanting to attack me in front of Fable. How embarrassing.

“You two are so cute.” Fable sighs and shakes her head. “Just friends, my ass.”

Owen says nothing and neither do I. Where did she hear we were just friends? Is that what Owen told her? We’ve not declared ourselves in any sort of relationship, but I did figure we were headed that way.

I definitely wouldn’t describe us as “just friends.”

The words bother me the rest of the game. Through the entire second half, though I put on a brave and happy face when the 49ers win. I chat with Fable but I can feel myself withdrawing, folding into myself. She knows a lot of people in the skybox—it’s filled with other players’ wives and girlfriends, and they all want to talk to the star quarterback’s wife. She matters; she’s important.

I don’t matter. I’m not important. I’m just Owen’s friend.

Trying my best to muster up being in a good mood, I meet Drew after the game and he’s just … dazzling. Gorgeous and friendly and so incredibly sweet to his wife; clearly he loves her madly. I can see his respect and affection for Owen; the three of them are close.

But not me. I’m not close to Owen. I’m just his friend.

So stupid, how I can’t let this go, but … it devastates me. What did I expect, though? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I’ve never been a believer in insta-love, though Kari certainly has been. She’s still chasing after that stupid Brad, yet he acts like he doesn’t want to give her the time of day.

Owen always acts like he wants to give me the time of day, yet we’re just friends.

Argh. If I could smack myself in the face and knock some sense into my head, I so would. I’m like a broken record. The iTunes playlist put on repeat. Again and again the words rattle around in my brain, pulse through my blood.

Just friends. Just. Friends.

Maybe I need to embrace those words. Remember them. Maybe that’s all we really are. At least, according to Owen. I need to prepare myself. He’ll leave me eventually. Move on, because that’s what he does. He’s never had a steady girlfriend; he’s admitted that to me more than once. So what am I doing, setting myself up to fail with Owen?

I need to harden my heart. Not let him in.

But I’m afraid it’s too late. He’s already so in, there’s no way I can get him out anytime soon.

And I don’t want to, either.

Owen

Something happened. And somehow, I ruined everything.

The weather is shit. It’s like the skies closed up special for the game and the minute it was over, the clouds parted, opened up and dumped enough water to flood the entire stadium. Getting out of the parking lot was less of a nightmare for us than for the regular folks, since we got to park in the special team lot, but still, it took awhile. And I flat-out couldn’t resist when Drew asked us to go out to dinner with them.

Chelsea had agreed readily, but she was quiet the entire meal. I have no idea if I pissed her off and I wasn’t about to ask her in front of Fable and Drew, so I tried my best to include her in the conversation. But she wasn’t having it. Not that she was rude, but she’d sort of withdrawn into herself, remaining quiet as she sat by my side. Fable noticed. She asked Chelsea if she was feeling all right, and Chels confessed she had a headache and that she was tired, but she’d be fine.