12. The Question
Owen stretched his arms as wide as they could go, finding the ability to do so in the California king bed both a comfort and a sadness. If he could move this freely, it meant Paige was no longer next to him. He lifted his head from the pillow, feeling the strain in his shoulders.
He’d been so intent on making sure none of his weight landed on Paige last night that his body ached like he’d gone blow-for-blow against a heavyweight. He groaned as he twisted his back, and it cracked in more than a few places.
Thoroughly exhausted by the exertion, he fell back against the mattress. He exhaled slowly, letting his mind wander to the night before and what it meant. For starters, he realized with something close to felicity that he hadn’t had a single bad dream, let alone a nightmare. To his recollection he hadn’t dreamt at all, but that was a blessing considering the violent images that usually ran rampant through his slumber.
Another weight lifted off his chest as well. He’d been so worried—not just about being gentle with Paige while she healed, but what would happen to her, to him, if she didn’t get the news she’d been given the day before. He wouldn’t allow himself to feel that too deeply the past few weeks, afraid that if he did, he’d wallow and be unable to support her.
Now, though, he released all of that secret fear, let it seep into the mattress. He shuddered as he imagined her thin body—the one he’d had on top of him a good portion of the afternoon—getting frail and brittle as cancer consumed her…
He shook his head, ran his hands through his hair and tried not to think about the way that would have rocked his world.
He didn’t have a shadow of a doubt that he’d fallen for Paige, which didn’t seem like the liability it was even yesterday. She would be around for a while and maybe in more ways than one.
Owen finally sat up. Finding Paige held priority over lingering in bed. He could hear the shower running and— wait . Was she singing? He hopped out of bed with the energy of a teenager and tiptoed towards the bathroom.
You’re my baaaaaaby, baby , she wailed behind the door. Owen stifled a laugh. Paige was so many things—a stunningly beautiful woman, an accomplished physician, a loving sister, daughter, and friend, and certainly not least a passionate lover.
But she was not a good singer, not by a long shot.
He chuckled as he pulled on his discarded clothes. Maybe he’d duck out while she showered and grab them something to eat. His small garden had taken off over the summer—tomatoes, green onions, cilantro—and he had fresh eggs from the hens. A dinner omelet is just what the lovely doctor needed after an afternoon of sex and sleep. His mouth watered, more in response to the image of a naked Paige than to the idea of food, but his stomach rumbled, threatening mutiny if he didn’t satisfy its needs as well.
There would be time to have what he was really hungry for later.
He should probably leave Paige a note in case she got out of the shower and found him gone. He didn’t like the idea of her thinking—even for a minute—that he wasn’t into her now that they’d slept together. It was actually the opposite. And as much as he wanted to prove that to her by joining her in the shower again, he didn’t think his body would handle that kind of play without sustenance first.
Owen went to her desk to try and find something to write a note on. Maybe he’d leave it on the pillow with one of the daisies he’d brought her earlier. She turned him into a sap, and he didn’t mind a bit.
Rifling around for a notepad over the outdated calendar to scrawl on, Owen finally found a stack of what appeared to be scrap pieces of paper previously printed on in the back of the desk drawer. Other than a pen, some staples, and a rusted pair of scissors, that’s all that was in the drawer.
An alarm rang somewhere deep within Owen. It had been so long since he’d heard it, he almost didn’t recognize it.
In his past life, the life he forgot more and more each day he spent with Paige, he would hear the alarm when something bad was about to happen. It would alert him to any danger to himself, his men, or both, and it was never wrong. In fact, Owen contributed his coming home in one piece to that alarm.
He looked down at the empty drawer with only a few fragments of life within—nothing that showed any permanence. He shook his head. That couldn’t be it. So, she didn’t have office supplies just sitting around. That didn’t mean anything.
He’d opened the fridge earlier to more of the same, but he’d expected that. There hadn’t been anything in there besides the staple condiments since he’d started seeing her, so why should there be now? It only meant she didn’t cook anything other than key lime pie, a fact he’d learned without spying on her.
Still, something moved him forward to her closet.
Only two pairs of pants, a dress, and some blouses hung on any of the hangers. Nothing he’d ever seen her wear before. He was frantic, until he found her suitcase. It was still packed, ready to be zipped up and carted off at a moment’s notice with everything he’d ever seen her wear, use, buy.
She did her laundry and put it back in her suitcase. She wasn’t going to unpack.
She was never going to stay.
Owen crumpled the papers in his hands, stress creeping back into his body, starting in his shoulders, moving down to his hands that shook again, this time with rage.
He’d write her a note still, but he wasn’t sure he was coming back. Not today anyway. He was pretty sure how the confrontation would go if he left his emotions unchecked, how his PTSD manifested when he got to fight or flight like he was now. The alarm bells rang like they did on deployment and his throttle reached red.
He went back to the desk, hands trembling, and smoothed out the papers face up.
What the—
They were all applications to hospitals, not a damn one of them in the United States. In fact, not one of them was in a country he hadn’t been sent to bomb at one point or another in his career.
Jesus effing Christ. This woman wouldn’t only be the death of him, but of herself as well. She wasn’t going to tell him she was leaving, either. Probably not until she got on a plane and he was left there to pick up the pieces of his heart, alone.
Shit.
The door opened behind him. He turned to face her, the fan of papers in front of him.
“Oh,” was all she said. He tried to ignore how damn hot she looked coming out of the shower, body dripping wet, her hair longer than when he’d first met her, falling in front of her eyes. He liked it, but that was no longer important. “What were you doing going through my stuff?” she asked.
Her hands went to her hips, Owen slightly disappointed that her towel remained wrapped around her. For many reasons. It would have been nice for her to be as exposed as he felt in that moment.
“Me? You’re going to throw this on me?” He tried to keep his voice even, but his trembling hands betrayed him. He balled them into fists, kept them pressed to his sides, afraid of this side of himself. It’d been a while since he’d gotten this pissed, but like Bruce Banner, what came next if he didn’t slow his roll was a monster he wouldn’t wish on anyone. “You’ve got a suitcase in your closet you haven’t unpacked yet, despite the fact that you’ve been here a month , papers that tell me you’re all but ready to zip up and ship out, and you’re gonna be mad at me for trying to write you a note about dinner?”
He shook the papers in her face, dangerously close to making contact. He ignored the fear etched on her face, tried to pretend it wasn’t because he scared the shit out of her. But he knew better—he’d been there before and swore he’d never get there again.
Owen took a step back, lowered his hands and put the papers on the bed. He took in a deep breath, sucked it all the way in his lungs and released it just as slowly. When his anger subsided, sadness slid in its place.
“I just want to know what it is we’re doing here,” he sighed. He couldn’t stand to look at Paige’s bottom lip that quivered, but he couldn’t look away, either.
“I thought that was supposed to be my line,” she shot back. She might be scared, might be on the verge of tears, but she wasn’t going to budge an inch, give him anything.
“I’m serious, Paige. What is this?” He gestured his hand between them.
She only shrugged.
“I don’t know. It was fun, isn’t that enough?”
With one use of “was” she’d shifted their relationship into the past.
“Fun? It was more than fun , Paige. I meant what I said yesterday when I told you I’d be there to support you through this. That I’m not going anywhere. Did you mean it? When you said you weren’t either?”
“I meant I’m here for a little bit, at least. Can’t that be enough?” Her voice wavered.
“Sure. For now. But what happens when I fall for you even more than I already have? Am I just supposed to be here waiting at your beck and call every time you parade back through town? Am I supposed to be grateful I get any of you at all?”
Paige looked stunned at his admission. He wished he cared enough to put his own grief aside to support her choices. Wished he could see through the red to what he was doing to her.
“Listen, Owen, I never promised you anything when you and I started this, even before the injury. And I can’t promise you anything now. Don’t you see? I’m a doctor without a practice right now. Who knows where I’ll find one?”
“Did you even try looking here?” he asked her.
“That’s never been my plan, Owen. You know that.”
“So, you aren’t denying that you’re ready to go?”
“I haven’t filled in the applications, have I?” Her arms crossed over her chest, in defiance or fear Owen couldn’t figure out.
“But you’re going to, aren’t you?”
When her gaze dipped to the floor, his heart sank there as well. Paige nodded.
“How can I not? They’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” With her words came the unspoken truth. He wasn’t what she wanted. Not for anything more than a fling.
“Were you even going to tell me you were leaving?” His voice came out in a whisper, all he had left as he sat there watching the end unfold around him, helpless to stop it.
“How cruel do you think I am?” Without her normal brushing of eye makeup Owen could see the pain, the determination in her eyes.
“I’m not going to answer that right now because I think we both know where that would get us. I’ve got to go, Paige. I hope you get what you’re looking for.”
That was the last time he’d tell her that refrain. Something inside him broke, admitting that to himself.
Before she could say anything that would convince him to stay—even his name on her lips would have had him spinning around, running to her, not letting her go until he had to—he snatched his hat and wallet off her bed stand and walked out the door.
It wasn’t until halfway home that his tears came, hot and fierce. He wasn’t so much sad as crushed. And pissed. He’d finally let down his guard, let someone in, and it had backfired like a faulty rifle, leaving the same amount of carnage.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, unable to see the number on the screen. He wiped at his eyes at the same time he answered the call.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, man. I’m calling to see how your afternoon went.”
It was as if the conversation passed through water before reaching his ears. Though the voice sounded familiar, distracted as he was, he couldn’t place it.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Brad. Paige’s brother.” At the mention of Paige, Owen snapped out of his fog and started paying attention. “Paige told me you took her to the hospital. Thanks for that. I was at work and she never left a message. She was probably still pissed about our fight.”
“It went fine. She’s healthy and ready to leave.”
“I know. I can’t believe it’s over, for now, at least… Wait, what do you mean? She’s leaving? Already? She just got the OK from the doc yesterday, right? Besides, I thought the two of you were hanging out?” Brad sounded out of breath.
“Not anymore. I found some applications to teaching hospitals on her desk and she told me now that she’s good to go, she’s heading out.”
“Shit,” Brad muttered so low Owen could barely hear it over the thudding of his feet on the hard ground.
Owen stopped the half-sprint, half-march to his house.
“What? What is it?” he asked.
“I’m the one who slipped those under her door. She and I got into a major fight about Julia, about me not believing in her…”
“In Julia?” Owen interrupted. This was the first he was hearing about any fight. It put into stark relief how little he actually knew about Paige and her family.
“No, Paige. I told her she was an idiot for trying to travel and see the world while she was sick, and I dunno, I feel like I pushed her away, partly because I was sick of her trying to tell me Julia and I don’t fit. I didn’t want to hear it anymore, so I lashed out, made her feel like she was the idiot instead of me. The list of applications was me overcompensating and trying to make amends. I don’t want her to go, either, man. I’m sorry if it fucked things up for you.”
Owen whistled, shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It had screwed things up for him, but Paige was Paige. Even without her brother’s help, she’d have found the applications herself.
“It’s fine, man. I get it. She wasn’t planning on staying anyway. The job apps aren’t the thing that shoved her out the door. I just didn’t want to see it, I guess.”
“Tell me about it,” Brad said, his voice thick with annoyance.
“What’s goin’ down on your end?” Owen asked. “You mentioned something about Julia? Paige not liking her?”
“Yeah, that’s as old as time, but there’s a whole lot more to it recently. Hey, you up for a beer? I was gonna call my buddy, Steve and see if he wants to meet up at Cowboy Joe’s if you want to join. I can fill you both in while I drown my sorrows.”
“Both those ideas sound good to me. Heading over now?”
“I am. I can pick you up if you want a ride.”
Owen thought about it. He could always head over with Brad now and worst case, even if Uber hadn’t made it to his corner of north and rural, he could always huff it the three miles home. The walk might even be good for him to clear his head.
“Sounds good. I’ll wait out front.”
He hung up the phone, the sting of irony as he found a friend, only to have him be the brother of the only woman he’d ever fallen for, a fresh wound. Insult added to injury since the said woman had, coincidentally, left him living next door to her family. That meant he’d always be reminded of her, and worse yet, see her when she came back to visit every so often.
What dumb, shit luck.
After a quick shower and new flannel and jeans, Owen felt better, a mood that only continued to improve when Brad’s truck pulled down his drive.
They drove in comfortable conversation to the bar. At Cowboy Joe’s, Steve waved them down with shots in his hands, and Owen almost forgot about the reason they were there. He’d needed this.
“Hey, man, good to see you again,” Steve said, shoving one of the small glasses of unknown amber liquid into Owen’s outstretched hand.
“You, too.” Owen meant it, too. He’d only met the guy once, but Owen liked what he did know about him. Kind until he needed not to be, simple tastes until he needed to show up otherwise, strong as hell physically but still the first one to throw down truths not in the least macho or caveman in nature.
Steve handed the third shot to Brad, tossed his back in one swig, coming up all smiles. Owen followed, never more grateful for the shit that passed as alcohol in the service. It made downing the brown-colored piss Steve gave him easy to stomach without so much as a grimace. He wouldn’t mind a lager to wash it down with, though.
“How the hell you two drink that shit is beyond me,” Brad said. Brad turned red and coughed like a kid who just took his first puff from an unfiltered cig. Owen grinned at Brad, an affection for him building in his chest. This guy was unapologetically himself.
“What’re you drinking?” Owen asked. “Next round’s on me.”
“Not that crap,” Brad coughed out. “Amber. Dos Equis.”
“He’s full of shit,” Steve said. “He wants some fufu drink like a lemon drop. He’s our sensitive palate.”
Brad just shrugged his shoulders in agreement.
“Lemon drop and an amber. You, Steve?”
“Hell, I’ll do the same. Too many more of those,” he said, pointing to the empty glasses stacked on the table, “and I’m not going to work tomorrow.”
“Don’t you own the shop?” Owen asked.
“Yeah, but if I leave the kids in charge too long they start getting lazy or think they can run the show without me, so… I like to surprise ’em by showing up at different times every day. Keeps ’em on their toes.”
Owen laughed and headed to the bar.
“Three ambers and three lemon drops,” he told the bartender.
When in Rome. The bartender looked back at their table, probably wondering who’d ordered the shots. Surely not the same guys throwing back bottom-of-the-well American whiskey a second ago.
Owen paid and walked back with the three beers cupped in one hand, the shots in the other.
Steve whistled as Owen handed over the drinks to each guy.
“Not my first rodeo,” Owen quipped.
“No, I’d imagine it ain’t.” Steve chuckled, patting Owen on the back. “Glad you could join us.”
“Thanks for the invite. I needed this.” He gestured to his beer, which he took a long pull from, downing nearly a third of it in one breath.
“You and this guy both,” Steve said, slapping Brad on the knee just as he took a drink from his beer, spilling some of it on his lap. Brad glared at Steve, who only smiled like the whole thing was hilariously funny. It helped Owen take the edge off his own fury and humiliation from today. He’d needed a distraction, and this fit the bill.
“Yeah, so pick up where you left off earlier. What happened between you and Paige? And you and Julia?” Owen asked Brad.
Steve whistled, shaking his head.