Page 32 of Fragile Hearts

Sloane laughs as she undoes the leash from around her ankle. “Okay, piggie, let’s go stuff our faces then.”

“Holy shit, that was so good,” I groan as I sink into my chair on the back deck.

“So good,” Sloane groans beside me as Mochi lets out a little bark of what I assume is happiness because the fluffball has been fed so much meat.

“You know my mom will pretty much give the leftovers to you every Sunday,” I tell her, rolling my head along the back of the chair so I’m facing her.

Sloane laughs. “Yeah, maybe, but I don’t want any favoritism.”

“It’s not favoritism,” I say.

Smiling, Sloane looks up at the sky. “I kinda think it is, but don’t worry, I won’t turn down the leftovers. That pork is too good.”

I keep watching her as she sits beside me, a calmness about her that wasn’t there when she first moved in. I like that with every day she lives here, she’s getting more and more relaxed, which is probably why I ask my next question.

“Do you ever hear from your mom?” I ask, my words quiet and gentle.

She turns to look at me, her smile fading as she shakes her head. “No, I don’t even know where she is.”

I sit up a little, reaching out to grab her hand, twisting our fingers together. “Do you want to know?”

She blows out a breath, turning back to the ocean view, her hand still in mine. “I don’t know. No. I used to think I did, but I figure what’s the point? She clearly doesn’t want me.”

I squeeze her fingers. “You don’t know that for sure.”

She huffs out a laugh. “She left, didn’t she?” she says, but there’s no bitterness in her voice, just a weary resignation, as though there’s nothing she can do about it. “She didn’t want me, so I guess the feeling is now mutual.”

I narrow my brow, wondering if that is really true. “Maybe she’s changed?” I suggest.

She smiles. “Maybe. But I have to, even if deep down, I’m still the same damaged girl I always was.”

“Sloane,” I murmur, tugging on her hand until she looks at me. “You aren’t damaged. Not even close.”

“I kind of am,” she says, shrugging. “But it’s okay, Owen, I know who I am and?—”

“No,” I state, sitting up even straighter. “You’re not damaged. You’re...you’re...”

“I’m what?” she asks, a wry smile on her face.

I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as we watch each other, our fingers still entwined. “You’re perfect,” I eventually whisper.

She scoffs, letting out a quick laugh as she turns back to the ocean. “Trust me, Owen, I am far from perfect.”

I tug on her arm again, harder this time, pulling her out of her chair and over into my lap. Wrapping my other arm around her waist, I pull her close, relishing the feel of her in my arms. “To me, you are,” I whisper, letting go of her hand as I tuck some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Owen,” she murmurs, her eyes soft as she looks down at me.

“It’s true,” I tell her, needing her to believe me. “I’m not just telling you this to make you feel better. Sloane, you know how I feel about you, how I’ve felt about you for a really long time. And I get you aren’t on the same page, but just know, that when I look at you, all I see is perfection.”

She doesn’t say anything at first, and in the silence that surrounds us, I can’t help but wonder if she can hear my heart, which is pounding out a hard rhythm in my chest. I’ve never made my crush on Sloane a secret, not to her or our friends, but I’ve never been this open and honest with her about it either.

And I’m really not sure how she’s going to react to it.

We stare at each other, neither of us saying a word. Eventually though, she smiles softly, her fingers brushing the hair back from my forehead.

“How is it you are still single?” she whispers, almost as though she’s talking to herself.

Now it’s me laughing. “Really?” I ask, brow raised. “You really need me to answer that after that speech?”