Chapter 40
CHAPTER 40
OWEN
I should be in bed, but I can’t sleep. The house is too quiet, and the pounding of my heart is too loud.
Felix is on a fishing trip with some guys from college. I try to call Francie again, but it goes to voicemail. She’s probably working at the hospital.
And I can’t call Wyatt. Not yet.
It’s in moments like these that I realize how small my circle is. Maybe it was growing up in a big family in a small town, but it always felt important to keep things to myself. Our little house was always so busy, and with that came stress. Plus there was the stress of losing Mom. The stress of Dad trying to be a single father to five kids under nine. The stress of trying to minimize everyone else’s stress.
I was just a little boy when my mother died. I barely remember her. There wasn’t much I could do to ease the burden in my house, but I felt it deeply even in first grade. I watched my dad try to hide his tears. I watched Archer try to step up and help out. I watched Dan withdraw into himself. Felix, my twin, was already showing signs of being an easily distractible, happy-go-lucky wild rumpus, creating messes and making everyone laugh.
I figured out pretty quickly that the best way I could help my family was by following the rules and working hard at everything I tried. It made everyone happy. It made life easier.
And it served me well. It meant I made it to state champs in baseball, then snagged the valedictorian spot. It got me through college, then med school, then residency.
Until the day I wasn’t as good as I needed to be.
And somebody died.
I know Eden will be fine.
I know it.
But my body doesn’t.
My body is back in that emergency room three years ago, listening to a mother wail. My body is in a hospital conference room, answering questions about all the choices I made that led to Dylan Anders’s death. My body is sitting across from the chief, hearing her tell me I needed to seek treatment or take a leave of absence.
And I did. I did the therapy. I took the risk management classes. I finished my residency.
I followed the rules, and I succeeded.
And I vowed never to make that kind of mistake again.
Never to let my guard down again.
Never to get distracted again.
I know what I have to do if I want to be the best possible doctor. I know what I need to do to take care of the people I love.
And I love Wyatt. I know that for sure.
But I can’t love her the way she deserves. I can’t do it all. I just can’t.
Back in residency, my therapist told me that I had to learn to notice when I was juggling too many balls. When that happened, I needed to figure out which balls were glass and which balls were plastic. It was okay to let plastic balls drop. They wouldn’t break. She told me to focus on juggling the glass balls and pick up the plastic ones when I had space and time again.
Dylan Anders was a glass ball.
My ability to practice medicine? The thinnest glass. I have to focus on that first.
But Wyatt?
Wyatt is the finest crystal.
And she doesn’t deserve to be juggled at all. Even knowing how careful I need to be with her, I still risk dropping her.
Shattering her.
All I can do now is set her down gently.
The knock at my door is soft, but it may as well be a gunshot for how I jump at the sound.
And standing on my doorstep is the most precious person in my life. The person I would do anything to protect.
“Why didn’t you use the key?” I ask, thinking back to all those nights she slipped into my bed, molding herself around my sleeping body. I can already tell I’m going to be holding those memories close, revisiting them often.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d be here,” she says. She sounds like she’s trying to cajole a frightened dog out from behind a dumpster. There’s a little line etched deep between her eyebrows. She’s trying to take care of me. I’m just one more person in a long line of people Wyatt has stepped up and tried to take care of. “You left without saying anything.”
Right. Just another way my scrambled brain has hurt her.
I hold the door open, and she comes in.
“Sorry,” I say, following her into the living room. “I figured you’d want to stay with Hazel and Eden.”
She whirls around to face me. “Hazel sent us home to get some sleep.” She pauses, studying me. “Eden is doing fine. But Owen…are you?”
“No.” The word is out of my mouth so fast it takes me a moment to process that the voice that said it was mine.
And saying it out loud makes me feel… relief . Because if I’m not okay, I have a good reason for what I’m about to do. Because I can’t be what Wyatt needs. It’s all right there in front of her. I just need to make her see it.
“Okay,” she says slowly, and the admission seems to calm her too. She nods, swallowing hard. “Okay, well, we should talk about that. Or you should talk about it with somebody else. But I’m here for you no matter what. You can tell me anything.”
As I look at her—her hair still mussed, her eyes bloodshot from stress and lack of sleep, her brow furrowed as she tries to solve me like a Rubik’s Cube—it all clicks into place. Wyatt is sitting on my couch, ready to take on whatever mess I throw at her. Ready to fix it. To fix me .
Just like she took care of Hazel. And Eden. And Libby. And that asshole Griffin Stone.
Everyone but herself.
God, she’s so tough. So strong and smart and savvy. It’s time for her to turn that awesome power on herself.
It’s time I let her go.