8. Zoe
CHAPTER 8
Zoe
D espite the workday being a great one, I can feel the length of it in my bones.
I made incredible progress with several of my patients today, and they put in the work to have breakthroughs of their own, but it’s definitely worn me out.
But no matter how long the day is, walking out of my office to see Owen waiting for me sparks me with energy I didn’t know I had in reserve. He looks gorgeous as ever in a simple pair of slacks and a black T-shirt, his beautiful ink decorating his arms and neck. Just the sight of him sends warm shivers along my skin.
I can't stop thinking about the gala last week, and how we haven't revisited any sort of physical intimacy since.
Conversational wise, there's been plenty of growth and bonding, my affections for him only deepening now that we get to have these conversations in person.
And yet, even though I see him throughout the day, and he escorts me home at night, he still sends me a text when he gets back to the apartment he’s renting for the duration of his assignment. I thought for sure he would’ve grown tired of the constant communication and forced proximity between us, but it seems it's had the opposite effect on both of us.
“Good day?” Owen asks as he follows me through the hallway toward the break room, helping me gather Gregory’s dishes and food.
“One of those days that’s been incredibly productive and completely exhausting at the same time, but in a good way, you know?” I answer, propping open the back door.
We set the dishes down, and take our places leaning against the opened doorway while we wait.
“I get that,” he says, eyes on the black and white cat stepping out of the wooded area and moving across the parking lot toward us.
“Hello to you too,” I say to Gregory as he pads over to me, giving me two brushes against my ankle before he glares up at Owen, then dives immediately into his food.
“I put two extra treats in that bowl today, cat,” Owen says, returning Gregory’s irritated look.
I chuckle. “I keep telling you he took weeks to warm up to me too. You’ll get there.”
“I’m determined,” he says, and his tone is so serious it makes me laugh.
He smiles at me, but the smile falls the second Gregory is finished, the cat dutifully winding through my ankles again before ignoring Owen completely and then sprinting back toward the woods.
Owen shakes his head, helping me clean up the dishes and lock the back door, heading out the front entrance and locking it too.
Relief barrels through me as we head toward our cars parked next to each other, noticing my letter-free windshield, and the complete lack of activity we've seen in the last week. My hopes are high that Spencer has found better judgment, but it’s hard to know for sure.
“At least the long day isn’t topped off with another letter,” I say, motioning to my car.
“For sure,” he says. “I have days like that at the club sometimes too,” he continues, opening my car door for me as I slide inside. “Days where the checklist is long but ticking off every mark has me feeling accomplished, if not wrung dry.”
I smile up at him from where I sit behind the wheel. “And what about when you're playing bodyguard? I feel like that would wear you out more than your nightclub.”
Owen shakes his head, leaning slightly to catch my eyes. “There are several ways I’ve thought about you wearing me out, Kitten, and none of them have to do with protecting you.”
A warm shiver of delight dances over my skin, and I smile brightly up at him. “Nice to know I’m not an exhausting job.”
“Never.” Owen winks at me. “I'm going to follow you home,” he says, like he does every night. “I'll wait until the garage door closes and then I'll text you when I get back to my place.”
I nod, and he gently shuts my door.
I’m distracted the entire drive home, my heart racing with memories of what he did to me in the stairwell, and how sweet he's been all week, bringing me my favorite iced coffee, checking in on me between clients to see if I need anything, not to mention his actual job which has made me feel so safe.
I know our texting relationship has only added to the depth of my feelings growing deeper every day, and I know there are complications, professional boundaries that we’ve upheld in my office, but outside? We've definitely blurred those lines.
And I want to keep blurring them.
I’m always professional when I’m Dr. Casson, as I should be, but Owen brings out another side of me, a wilder one. And I love that side of myself. I love that he makes me feel safe enough to let go of all the control I hold onto so tightly in my career and allow him to take care of me. It’s freeing, addicting even.
That’s it.
I’ve made up my mind.
When I get home, I won't close my garage door. That signal will be clear enough for Owen to follow me inside. A thrill of anticipation blazes down my spine at the decision, and I’m grinning from ear to ear as I pull onto my street and turn into my driveway.
I’ll invite Owen inside and then?—
Something is all over my front porch. It’s barely visible by the muted glow of the porch light, but it stops my train of thought.
I park in the driveway, not bothering to pull into my slowly opening garage. Owen parks in the street and meets me as I'm walking toward my front porch, but he gently tugs on my wrist, drawing me back.
“What the hell?” The words leave me on a gasped breath as we draw closer, realizing that all of my beloved potted hydrangeas have been smashed .
Not knocked over by some wild animal, or even an accidental trip-up from a delivery person. My flower pots have been picked up and thrown against my house, the evidence clear with the ceramic that's shattered on the ground, the soil clinging to the siding of my home, the flowers ripped to shreds.
And sitting in the middle of all the destruction? A letter.
My skin tightens, fear dousing me like ice-cold water.
Adrenaline floods my veins, my fingers trembling and tingling at the tips as I move to pick up the letter and to start cleaning up the mess.
Owen wraps an arm around my shoulders, ushering me back through the garage, closing it behind him as we enter my home. He disarms the alarm he installed two weeks ago before guiding us into my kitchen.
“Stay here,” he says in an authoritative tone as he situates me on one of my bar stools. “The alarm wasn't triggered, but I'm going to do a perimeter check just in case. I'll be right back, okay?”
I can only nod. My entire body is trembling now, my heart clenching at the sheer violence taken against my flowers.
Owen is back in a few minutes, his eyes sharp as he pulls out his phone.
“The house is totally secure,” he assures me while looking at his phone and swiping on the screen.
He brings up the app we both share, the one connected to the security system he installed. He clicks on the front porch camera view, dragging the time back a couple hours until he spots the culprit.
I gasp when I see Spencer looking directly into the camera and opening his mouth?—
Owen pauses the clip, shifting the phone out of view as he looks down at me. “Just like we talked about when I installed this, Zoe,” he says in a gentle tone. “You’re under no obligation to check these feeds or watch any of this. That's my job. You have full access to everything because this is your home and I want you to have full transparency, but my job is to protect you. If seeing things like this is going to do you more harm than good, then I want you to trust me. I can watch this and make a plan. You don’t have to put yourself through it.”
I close my eyes and sigh, doing my best to get a grip on my emotions that are spiraling out of control. “I don't want to see it,” I admit, peeking open my eyes. “Does that make me a coward?”
“Of course not,” he says. “You shouldn't have to see or deal with any of this.”
“I just know my mind,” I say, shaking my head. “I'll fixate on it, if I see it. Just like the letters I've read. I'll fixate on it and catastrophize and create all sorts of bad scenarios before I have to actively counteract them…it's a whole process. I own it, it's my flaw, but if I don't have to feed the chaos, I don't want to.”
“You don't have to,” he assures me, sliding his hand along my cheek to cup it. The touch is comforting when I feel so jagged right now. “This is what I'm here for,” he says.
I swallow hard, the idea of him checking the cameras and then leaving opens a pit in my stomach.
“Can you stay?” I ask, cringing slightly. I’m desperate for him to stay for an entirely different reason than the ways I'd fantasized driving home.
My thoughts are already shifting against me, drawing up scenarios where Spencer comes back, not satisfied with only destroying my flowers.
Owen's shoulders sag. “I was just about to ask you if you'd let me,” he says. “Why don't you draw yourself a nice hot bath and try to relax? I'll clean up the porch and analyze the footage and the letter. I'll be here the whole time. I promise, you're safe.”
I blow out a breath, nodding as I slide off the bar stool, pausing just before I’m about to pass him. I give in to my instincts and wrap my arms around him, an innocent and grateful hug to express my gratitude. He envelops me in his embrace, his comforting scent wrapping around me right alongside his powerful muscles.
“Thank you,” I say. “I really appreciate you being here. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I head toward the stairs that lead me to my bedroom, but pause and look back at him.
“You don't have to clean up the porch,” I add. “I can handle it tomorrow. I'm just grateful you're here.”
“I don't mind,” he says, looking up at me from the bottom of the stairs. “You just go relax. I'll handle everything else.”
I smile down at him, heart filling with so much gratitude and admiration, I don't know what to do with myself. I linger on the stairs, gazing down at him for a few moments than is probably acceptable, but he never shies away, just reassuringly smiles up at me.
I somehow manage to break my stare and make it to my bedroom, filling up the tub in my bathroom while shedding clothes before I sink into the delightfully hot water.
After sitting for a few minutes, unable to unravel the anxiety tightening my chest, I turn on a quick meditation from one of my favorite apps on my phone, focusing on my breathing techniques as I listen to the guided meditation, allowing it and the hot water to ground me in the present.
I'm safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.
The silent mantra is easier to cling to knowing Owen is downstairs, making the statement true. The certainty settles in me, and I'm finally able to open my eyes and breathe normally as I hop out of the bath and dry off.
I linger in my closet for a few moments, debating if I should get dressed again. The exhaustion from the day and what I came home to dictates the answer for me. I grab a pair of pajama pants and my coziest long sleeve shirt, sliding into the set before I dry my hair. I don't bother redoing my makeup. Somehow, I don't think Owen cares what I look like outside of my business clothes and makeup, and there’s a comfort in that as I head down the stairs.
I find Owen in the kitchen, filling two bowls with freshly popped popcorn, and two glasses with black cherry soda water next to it.
“I figured you'd want a snack,” he says without even looking at me, somehow sensing my presence before I even made a sound. He glances at me. “This okay?” He motions to the snack he's prepared.
I swear my heart flutters at the sweet gesture, at the way he knows it's my favorite nighttime treat.
“More than okay,” I say, wondering how the hell I got so lucky.
He gathers everything on a wooden tray I keep handy in my kitchen, hefting it up and motioning through the open layout to my living room. “Netflix?”
My smile deepens as I follow him into the living room, him placing our treats on the coffee table in front of my couch before he makes himself at home.
And damn he looks so good on my couch, one arm sprawled over the back as he looks up at me.
I settle in next to him, smiling after I grab a handful of popcorn. “Can I just say it means the world to me that you're acting so normal right now?” I ask. “Acting like you're here because of a simple Netflix and chill night, not because of what just happened.”
“Does it help if I tell you that if you ever asked me for a Netflix and chill night, I’d be here in an instant?”
“Yes,” I say before crunching on my popcorn.
He grabs his own handful. “Well then, invite me.”
I chuckle softly. “Owen, would you like to do a Netflix and chill night with me?”
He scrunches up his nose, his eyes bright. “I don't know if I can. I have a pretty demanding client, I'm not sure if I can get away.” His full, rich laugh follows the statement, and I playfully shove against his muscled chest.
“I am not demanding,” I protest, but he captures my second shove with one arm, tucking me against him as he smiles down at me.
“Of course you're not,” he says sarcastically, teasing me further, his actions doing everything to lighten the mood and chase all the fearful tension out of my body.
I make no move to pull away, instead lean against his side as I reach for the remote. “What are we watching? True crime, reality, or a movie?”
“Let's watch that reality show you were telling me about,” he says, and there's something so incredibly sexy about him making the decision for me—a profound sense of relief in him not saying whatever you want and making me choose.
I'm all for choosing sometimes, but on a day like today? When decision fatigue is a real and heavy thing? There's something so fucking wonderful about not having to make a choice, no matter how small it may be.
I queue up the show, and we lean back, sipping our drinks and munching on the popcorn throughout the first couple episodes.
“I can see what you were saying about this,” Owen says after the third episode. “It's definitely a vacation for your mind, but damn some of these people are cringe.”
We both laugh, having already watched a couple of episodes through our fingers because of the secondhand embarrassment of all of the couples on TV vying for marriage on the reality show. It's guiltless entertainment, and one of my favorite pastimes. And I love that he's digging into it too.
Somewhere between the sixth and seventh episode my head hangs heavy against his muscular chest, his arm tucked around me warm and comforting....
I open my eyes, the sense of weightlessness jostling me slightly as I shift in Owen's arms. I blink a few times, my eyes heavy with sleep. He's carrying me up the stairs and into my bedroom, gently laying me on my bed and folding the covers around me.
My eyes are already closing as my head hits the pillow, this deep sense of comfort and safety wrapping around me like the warm blankets settling over me. I feel him pull away and reach out to catch his arm.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, my eyes still closed as I feel myself sliding backward into sleep. “Please.”
“Okay,” Owen whispers, and it's only a few moments before he climbs in on the other side of the bed.
I instinctively shift toward him, snuggling up next to his powerful body, inhaling his scent and allowing his warmth to send me straight back to sleep.