Page 20 of Owl’s Cherished Mate

“You have to stop letting me do this,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Stay past closing. You have a life. You probably have somewhere to be.”

I didn’t have anywhere to be. I had an empty apartment with at best a book waiting on me to read it.

“It’s not a problem,” I said.

She gave me a look—half grateful, half suspicious, like she was trying to figure out my angle. I didn’t have one. That was the part she couldn’t seem to wrap her head around.

“Right, well thanks for not kicking me out,” she said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I considered it, but the books would’ve missed you.”

She laughed, and the sound did something to my chest I was getting used to but still couldn’t name yet.

“See you tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’ll be here.”

I walked her to the door and unlocked it for her.

“Bye,” she said, slipping out.

“Bye.”

I watched her pull out of the lot before I closed the door. My owl felt settled. He liked that exchange between us more than he should.

For the first time, I didn’t argue with him about something.

9

BONNIE

Lawson’s phone was on his bed, and the house was empty.

I found it when I got home from the library—sitting faceup on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed.

He’d left it behind on purpose.

My stomach folded in on itself as I picked it up and stared at the home screen. No new messages. No missed calls. Just the time—7:48 PM—and a stupid wallpaper photo.

He knew about the tracking app. Of course he did. He was fourteen, not stupid. And this was his answer—walk out the door and leave the one thing I used to find him sitting on his bed like a middle finger.

I set his phone on the kitchen counter and pulled mine out of my pocket. The tracking app was useless now—the blue dot blinked from our house because his phone was here with me.

How was I going to find him now?

I could call the police, except what would I say? My fourteen-year-old brother left the house without his phone? They’d tell me to wait. Kids do this sometimes. They’d tell me he’ll come home soon.

Darren’s address came to mind, and I grabbed my keys, but I stopped at the front door. If I showed up there again, I’d only make things worse. Last time, Lawson didn’t speak to me for two days. This time would be worse. I could feel it.

I exhaled a puff of air.

Waiting for him to come home on his own was my only option.

The hours crawled. I tried to study, opening up my notebook and going over the latest section of notes I’d taken, but closed it after ten minutes because the words were swimming and my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing under the table. I tried to eat. I even heated up some leftover soup, but after two spoonfuls, I dumped it down the drain because eating made me feel like I might vomit. So, I cleaned the kitchen. I wiped down the counters, did the dishes, scrubbed the sink, and swept the floor. When I ran out of things to clean, I stood at the living room window and watched the street.