Page 36 of Tides Of Your Love (Riviera Shores #3)

Rio

OWEN CRASHED INTO MY life like a storm—wild and unpredictable, stirring up everything I wanted, everything I was, everything I’d given up on. I used to think that for me, love would end up being something quiet, soft, drama-free.

But loving him wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t easy.

It was a thunderstorm. Electric, bombastic, a deluge of feelings, desires, and need.

With him, I didn’t just breathe—I drowned in the air we shared, in the way he looked at me, in the way he touched me. I didn’t just love—I burned with it, felt it in my bones, in my blood, in the ache of letting go. I didn’t just live—I came alive, more than I ever had before.

And I would love him forever.

Even if it ended. Even if it shattered me.

If he left, there’d be a hollow space inside me, so deep I knew it’d never fully close. But I wouldn’t regret him. I couldn’t.

Because the pain of losing him wouldn’t erase the depth of living through this love .

I didn’t feel like explaining that to anyone, especially not my brother, who texted me about mundane things like our mom’s plumber, as if we didn’t have anything else to discuss.

Fit me perfectly to keep it at that level.

Ruby understood—sort of. She didn’t quite get the part about the gaping wound in your heart.

But thankfully, I knew that Daphne—who had been the one to metaphorically kick my ass into realizing it—did.

A few days after our night out, I came in from the garage, where I had been making a batch of calendula lip balm and filming the process for my YouTube channel. The scent still clung to me as I walked into the house and found Owen and Walter deep in conversation about football.

American football.

They were comparing players—debating quarterback stats and game strategies. I leaned against the counter, listening for a moment, enjoying that they seemed to be on good terms with each other. That wasn’t always the case.

“You’re both wrong,” I said, smirking as I joined them. “If you want real strategy, soccer has it beat. You don’t get time-outs or a dozen coaches yelling plays into your ear. It’s all about reading the field yourself, adapting on the spot.”

Walter chuckled. “And yet, most Americans don’t care.”

“They should,” I shot back, making Owen laugh as he placed a clean coffee cup on a shelf.

“You heard her,” he said to Walter.

Just then his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it from his back pocket, his expression shifting the moment he saw the name. “I have to take this,” he said, already walking away, pressing the phone to his ear. He moved through the living room and out the French doors to the backyard.

My heart lurched.

I didn’t know why. I could only guess that this was the call I knew would come eventually. But the minute he disappeared, I felt the air shift, like something had been set in motion that I couldn’t stop.

Walter kept talking about how every game—whether it was football, soccer, basketball, or Scrabble—needed a solid strategy. But my mind was outside, where Owen was pacing the backyard.

When he returned a few minutes later, his expression was unreadable. He shut the French doors behind him and walked straight into the kitchen.

“That was Alden, my coach,” he said. His gaze landed on me first before drifting to Walter. “He wants me to come in for checkups, talk about options.”

Come in for checkups. Like it was just a quick drive to the next town. As if it didn’t involve a flight across the Atlantic to another continent, a completely different time zone where his day would be my night.

“So, you’re going back?” Walter asked before I could find words.

I knew this was coming but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to utter a word if I opened my mouth to speak now.

“For checkups and discussions,” Owen repeated.

“They’ll be glad to see your knee is much better,” Walter said. “So how much time do we have before you and your frittatas and that expensive car disappear?”

Owen’s expression faltered, caught off-guard by the jab .

“I don’t know, Walter,” he said, his voice sharper now. “All I know is they want to talk to me. And they own my contract.”

“Sure. Egoville is calling. A full stadium waiting to sing Wonder Boy’s praises,” Walter muttered.

I gasped. The knife was rusty, and he twisted it, no doubt.

“Walter, that’s not fair. You know he’s right,” I forced myself to say.

Owen let out a short, humorless laugh. “No, no, it’s okay. He’s finally saying what he’s been boiling to say for a long time. Right, Grandpa?”

I could see it—the way Owen braced himself, the cloud that descended on his face. He wasn’t going to let that slide.

“First of all, if I don’t show up for medical tests or whatever they want, they can hit me with a massive penalty and even take legal action for breach of contract.

FIFA could sanction me, which means I’d be banned from signing with any team anywhere in the world.

” He took a step forward. “But more importantly, I worked hard for every chance I ever got,” he said, his voice gruff but firm.

“Nothing came easy to me, even when it looked like it. I thought that would make you proud. I’m sorry I don’t have all the answers.

I’m sorry my dad’s a dickhead for leaving you here after I disappointed you by leaving, too.

I’m sorry my profession requires me to be on another continent.

But I asked you to come with me, more than once, and you turned me down. So I’m glad you had Rio. Still do.”

Walter’s lips pressed into a tight line. Then, slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood .

“Let me tell you one thing,” he said. “And I know this because my wife and friends died before me.” He met Owen’s gaze. “It’s easier to leave than to be left behind.”

Then, with a pointed movement, he reached up and turned off his hearing aid.

Discussion over.

I reached out, my fingers brushing Owen’s shoulder.

He moved away. “Can I talk to you upstairs?” he asked, already walking.

The knot in my chest tightened. “Be up in a moment.”

Walter waved a hand dismissively at me, tapping his hearing aid to remind me this was the end of the conversation.

Owen was on his balcony, leaning on the railing, staring into the distance.

Like years ago, I leaned my back against the closed door.

“I don’t think it’s going to amount to anything,” he said finally, stepping back inside. “I don’t know anything at this point but I can’t see them preferring me over someone younger.”

I nodded.

“I haven’t trained in a long while. They won’t risk the time it’d take to get me rolling again.”

I pressed my lips further.

He frowned. “Why aren’t you responding?”

“This is me, responding.” I pushed off the door but didn’t move much further.

“I need to know what you’re thinking, Rio.”

My gaze snagged on something I hadn’t truly registered before. Or maybe I had, but I hadn’t let it sink in .

“You only brought one suitcase.”

Somehow, even with just a few shirts, jeans, and shoes, he always looked effortlessly put-together. I’d never paid much attention to fashion, but now, it hit differently.

“When I came here, I didn’t know ...” He exhaled, stepping closer. “That I’d fall in love with you. That maybe I always have been.”

The air shifted, thickened.

My throat tightened. My pulse hammered.

“I love you, Rio.”

I reached for him, my fingers skimming his jaw. His stubble was rough beneath my touch. He closed his eyes, leaning into it for a brief second before his arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him.

“I love you, too, Owen.”

The words slipped from my lips—undeniable, unstoppable. I didn’t even falter or stutter. They rushed out like they’d been waiting for years.

Owen kissed me—hard, desperate, like he had to feel the words, taste them, believe them with every inch of his body.

And God, I meant them. I meant them so much it hurt.

His hands chafed up my back, my arms wound around his neck, and we stood there, tangled together, pouring everything we said and everything we couldn’t say into each other.

“I love you,” he rasped against my lips. Then, quieter, more tentative—“I don’t think it’ll take long. Me being there. But if it does ...”

I froze.

He didn’t finish the sentence .

Part of me wanted to blurt out I’ll come with you, I’d follow you anywhere.

God, I wanted to fold myself into that hope like it could be enough.

But this wasn’t about what I wanted in the moment.

And it wasn’t like I could abandon my life just like that—or that he was asking me to. This was bigger than us.

This was his future, his career, his shot—and he needed to be sure about it for himself. And I needed to believe he still wanted me after that—after he knew who he was on the other side of it.

“However long it takes,” I whispered, worried I’d stutter if I spoke up. “You have to see it through.”

Owen held me tighter, his gaze searching mine.

“This is your moment, Owen. You’ve worked so hard for it. You deserve to chase it with your whole heart, find out what’s next—for you . And I’ll be right here, cheering you on. Every step.”

His jaw tensed, his gaze dropped before lifting to meet mine again. With a slow nod, he whispered, “I know.”

But in those blue eyes, I saw the ache, the hesitation, the silent question he wasn’t asking out loud. What if going means losing you?

I reached up and kissed him, slow and sure, infusing every unspoken promise into the touch of my lips.