Broken Beautiful Hearts

12. Sky Full of Stars

Owen's hand lingers around mine a moment longer than I expect.

"You know what about me, exactly?" I ask.

And should I be worried?

"Well, I know the Twins are your cousins and you're staying with them. And I know your name. I guess that's not much, but it's something."

His phone rings, startling us both, and my hand slips out of his. Owen answers and holds up a finger, indicating he wants me to wait. He offers the caller a gruff "hi."

Trekking through the grass took a toll on my knee, and I search for a place to sit. A tower of hey bills stacked against the barn is my only option.

"I don't want to talk about this again," Owen says under his breath, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I need time to figure it out."

Sitting behind a barn in the dark, listening to a guy blow off his girlfriend, is too awkward for me. I start to get up.

Owen notices and abruptly ends the call. "I got to go."

"Fighting with your girlfriend?" I ask in a way that comes off sounding more like a statement than a question.

He drops down on the hay bale next to mine, stretching his long legs in front of him, without giving me an answer. He notices that I'm still perched on the end of the bale.

"I just sat down. If you take off now, I'll think it's because of me."

"Maybe it is." I keep my tone light and scoot back just enough to make it clear that I'm undecided.

"Give me a minute and I'll walk back with you and protect you from the bears."

Bears?

My eyes dart to the tree line past the main barn. This is Tennessee - trees, forests, and the Blue Ridge mountains. With my luck, I'll walk away and end up getting mauled.

I settled back against the hay. Owen looks up at the sky and studies it with an intensity that makes me wonder if he's thinking about more than the stars.

I've never seen a sky so dark or stars so bright. Without traffic lights or fast food signs on every block, the moon is the only thing competing with the constellations.

"Ever feel like your screwed no matter what you do?" Owens question comes out of nowhere.

All the time. Part of me wants to say out loud. "Once in a while."

"Any advice?" He gives me a half smile.

I don't know this guy, but he seems nice - and unhappy. I can relate.

He's waiting for me to respond. I shrug. "Sometimes life only gives you two options. Bad or worse. So you go with bad."

"Makes sense." He studies me like he's taking inventory, checking off boxes on a mental list. The competitor in me wonders how I'm scoring. What if I'm giving him advice about his girlfriend, possibly a delightful friend of April's?

The faint sound of laughter from the party floats through the air.

"Why did you come to Black Water?" Owen asks. "I'm guessing it wasn't for the social scene."

I tap on my brace. "I tore my PCL, the ligament that runs behind my knee. My doctor said I'll need a lot of physical therapy to get my knee back and shape, and I only have four months to do it."

"What happens in four months?"

"I'm a soccer player. I need to get back on the field in March, when the season starts."