“Lonely,” she finished for him.
His eyebrows drew together. “I was going to say quiet. But it’s interesting thatyousaid lonely.”
She should have been embarrassed to have her deepest feelings revealed, but she wasn’t. Not with Owen. His face was open and his eyes accepting. “I was lonely—except for when I was reading. Then I had dozens of friends to go on adventures with. I know, I’m such a nerd.”
He chuckled. “You wear it well.”
She took that as a compliment. “What about you?”
“I was raised in a big city, but my family was dirt-floor poor. I hated it. I hated wearing my brother’s shirts, hated not having Twinkies in my lunch like all the other kids. Hated being different.” A steel look of determination glinted in his eyes, daring Bree to contradict him—to tell him he should have been more mature. Or that he should look at how far he’d come and be proud of himself. Or be thankful to have siblings when she had none.
“I can’t say I enjoyed wearing Goodwill dresses and sleeping on a mattress with holes in it because we didn’t have money to replace it.” She reached the end of the pews and faced him, her hands clasped in front of her.
The steel melted away and his defenses came down. He nodded once, as if accepting her into some sort of club. She hadn’t done anything to earn entrance except be honest about her feelings, and yet she had revealed a part of herself that she usually kept hidden, and that took courage. “I left my parents’ house the day I graduated and I haven’t been back.”
“Do they know you’re a big star?”
One cheek lifted and his eye crinkled, almost closing. “They’re too proud to ask for money and too poor to come to a game. Mom calls every few months, but there isn’t much to say—we live in different worlds now. She has enough to worry about with my sister.”
“Your sister?”
He sighed heavily. “She got pregnant at sixteen and there was a big deal about who the father was, and then she got pregnant again at seventeen with someone else. So they’re raising her kids and still trying to raise her.”
“That’s tough.”
“It sucks. I stay away because the press would laugh over them, and while they aren’t the best parents in the world, they aren’t bad people.” He tucked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked back on his heels.
“And your nickname?” she prompted. “How’d you get that?”
“I-I don’t hang out with the guys on the team. People have this picture of a football team and think we’re all best friends and hang out at each other’s houses. While that’s true for a few of the guys, it’s not for all of us.”
His words carried a heavy case of regret. She shoved his shoulder. “Am I your only friend?”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s Kyle.”
“So I’m your only girlfriend.” As soon as the words were out, she wished she had them on a fishing line and could reel them right back in. “Notgirlfriendgirlfriend—just friend that’s of the female persuasion.”
His cheeks spread. He picked her up and hugged her. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”
She smacked his arm hard and kicked her dangling feet. “Don’t call me cute.” She spoke much louder than a whisper.
He laughed, the sound bouncing off aged tile and empty seats.
The priest appeared in his black robes and three chin moles and shooed them out. “This is the Lord’s church,” he scolded them, which only made Owen laugh harder. Bree slinked out of the building.
Owen was still holding his sides when they landed in the car.
“What is wrong with you?” She poked him. “We just got kicked out of church! Do you know what the penalty for that is?”
He composed his face, barely holding it together. “What?”
Bree searched her vast memory for the answer. “Purgatory?”
He scoffed.
She went to poke him again. He grabbed her hand, and electricity shot up her arm. She stared at their hands. His touch was like walking into a warm waterfall.
His gaze deepened and his hand brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “What are you doing to me, Bree?”