Chapter Twenty-Three
Owen
I’m stuck.
Emotionally, professionally, existentially. Really covering all the bases here.
I don’t know what to do now. I haven’t heard from Remy since the big meeting, although according to my email notifications, they just signed the paperwork, which means that Remy and I are officially not working together anymore. I got copied on the message half an hour ago.
Long enough for me to reread the message six separate times like the wording might magically change.
I’m also physically stuck because my oversized mutt is lying on top of my chest.
“This sucks,” I tell the ceiling.
Shutout’s chest heaves with a sympathetic sigh. I’m hit with a blast of his awful breath. Honestly, at this point, I’ll take emotional support in whatever form it arrives.
I wrap an arm around my dog. My mother’s most recent texts have gone unanswered. She reached out after my suspension, but I haven’t even read through her messages. I don’t know what to say.
This is how small my life has become: I have a team of decent guys who I’ve disappointed; my mom, who I can’t protect; the woman I have now realized that I love, who hasn’t said a word to me since that godawful meeting; and my dog.
Which turns out to be a surprisingly effective method of psychological warfare.
“At least I’ve got you, buddy,” I mumble into Shutout’s neck.
My dog lifts his head. His ears twitch. I know that look. Someone’s at the door.
I shout, “No!” at the same moment that Shutout launches himself at the door, wagging his tail and barking. At least I was able to shift him so that he didn’t stomp on my balls in the process.
My dog’s nonsensical capering and throaty howls drown out anything I might say. It’s probably just the mailman or something. I’m not expecting a package, much less visitors. They’ll go away soon enough.
But a full thirty seconds pass with Shutout going ballistic until, through the chaos, I hear someone knocking.
“One sec!” I call, though I’m painfully aware that any attempt to shout down Shutout is futile. I hip-check him aside and open the door.
Remy Callahan is the last person I expect to see. But there she is, dressed in one of her softer, more casual outfits. For one disorienting second, I genuinely think I might be hallucinating her.
“Hi.” Her smile is small, but at least it reaches her eyes. “Can I come in?”
The fact that she’s asking politely instead of yelling at me already feels weirdly hopeful.
Grabbing Shutout’s collar, I swing out of the way, opening her path into my house.
My throat closes up at the sight of her.
I can think of only one reason she’d come here, even if I don’t want to admit it to myself.
Remy’s breaking up with me. She’s not the type to ghost; she’s going to deliver the killing blow gently. After what she said in the meeting yesterday, she’s going to wash her hands of me. A completely reasonable choice, honestly. I don’t blame her for that.
She stops to pet Shutout, who greets her like she’s his favorite person on Earth. Me, too, buddy, I think.
“Can we…?” She gestures to the sofa. I don’t have a lot of extra seating in the living room, so we both walk to the couch.
The last time we were both on this couch, I was holding her in my arms, and the world felt right for once.
Now, my legs are numb as I drop onto the cushions.
As she’s done so many times, Remy puts as much distance between us as possible, although this time, Shutout fills the gap.
We’re both painfully aware of how dangerous being close to each other feels.
He heaves himself onto the sofa and collapses with his ass on my lap and his head resting on Remy’s thighs.
She smiles and pets his ears, drawing a lengthy sigh from his lungs.
“Remy.” I fold my hands and rest my elbows on my knees. “I just…”
She waits. God, she’s so fucking patient and good, I don’t deserve her. She knows it. I know it. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that things could be different. I’d give just about anything to rewind the last forty-eight hours.
“I’m really sorry.” I roll my shoulders toward my ears. “I’m sorry I messed up. I’m sorry that I hit that asshole. I’m sorry that I risked both of our careers in that fight, but when he went for you, I…” I trail off. None of the words feel big enough for the damage I caused.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain.”
“No,” I tell her. “I do. I know that this is it, that I’ve used up my chances, but I need to tell you this. When the people I love are in danger, I lose it.”
Remy’s hands still on Shutout’s ears. He whines in protest. “Love?”
The surprise in her voice cuts straight through me.
“I thought that was obvious. And yes, love. I love you, Remy.” The truth settles into the room with terrifying ease once it’s finally out loud. I uncurl my fists and stare down at my palms. “I love you enough to know that you deserve better than a guy who loses control.”
“I agree.” As I strain to hear, I can’t bear to face her.
I curse under my breath and press my palm to my forehead.
“Here’s the thing.” Remy takes a deep breath. She sounds like a little kid standing at the edge of the high dive for the first time, psyched up to jump but not quite ready to take the plunge.
“Have you watched the footage of that fight?” she asks.
“Yeah. I… Yeah, it was ugly. I’m not proud of it.”
“You snapped, Owen. You completely lost control.” Hearing it said out loud makes the shame hit all over again. “And I appreciate that you were worried about me, I really do, but the way you reacted did nothing to make me safer. I don’t think you’d do anything to hurt me—”
“Never.” I don’t mean to interrupt, but the word rips out of me. The thought of hurting her makes me feel physically sick.
“But you could react in a way that could get me hurt. You need to deal with that. In a moment of crisis, when the people you care about are in trouble, you need to learn to think before you react.”
I nod. I’m bogged down by shame, and under that is the fear that I’ve turned into my father. That fear lives under my skin now. Constant. Waiting. That I’m a monster, like him. That I’ll hurt people the way he hurt my mother.
The way he hurt me. A little boy half his size.
Remy resumes stroking Shutout’s ears. “When I said that I think you’ll be better off working with someone else from my firm, I meant it. Your new PR guy, John, is really good at what he does. I think you’ll like him. He’s very even-keeled, very easygoing.”
I don’t want John, I could scream, I want you. Only you.
“I think you’ll be better off with someone who doesn’t activate your protective instincts. John won’t just be working on your image. He’ll be helping you. I hope that, whatever else happens, you’ll give him and his suggestions a chance.”
Anything. I’d do anything she asked of me.
“So, there’s that. For your future, for your career, for your own peace of mind, I hope you’ll be open to that work.”
“Yeah. I will.”
Remy lifts her head. “Do you mean that?”
Like my answer actually matters to her. I force myself to turn my head.
The judgment I was expecting to see in her is absent.
As always, she’s open and direct and so fucking perfect that the very sight of her threatens to crack me open.
“Yeah. I do. I hate not being in control of myself.” Because whether Remy and I survive this or not, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life scared of myself.
It takes me a few seconds to get the rest of my thought out, but this is Remy. I can still trust her with anything. “It scares me. Makes me worry that I’m, you know. Broken. That people are right to be careful around me.”
Like maybe there’s something fundamentally wrong inside me that hard work can’t fix.
Remy watches me in silence for what feels like a very long time. I ruined things this time around, but someday, I want to be the kind of man she could trust with her heart. I want to be able to trust myself.
“You said that I should be with someone who can control himself,” she says at last. “Part of me is still hoping that you can be that guy.”
Her words rattle around in my skull. They don’t make sense to me, even if I understand each of them on their own.
“I really like you, Owen. More than like, actually. Somewhere over these past few months, I fell in love with you, too. That’s the other reason I wanted to step down.
This dynamic?” She gestures back and forth between the two of us.
“It hasn’t been healthy. If we’re going to give this a shot, we need to be able to communicate more openly.
No more approach-avoidance. No more dubious ethics. ”
The tiny smile she gives me afterward feels fragile enough that I want to protect it with my entire body. Everything inside me goes completely still. I move my mouth, but no sound comes out. What is happening? Is there a gas leak? Am I dreaming?
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to try,” she admits.
“What?” I shout the word so loud that Shutout sits up. “Remy, are you kidding?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “You aren’t always vocal about your feelings, you know? And I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about the other stuff. The therapy and everything. It’s non-negotiable for me, but I’m not a fan of ultimatums, and I didn’t want to—”
And somehow that doesn’t feel controlling. It feels like somebody believes I can actually get better.
It’s Shutout’s turn to be dislodged by my sudden movements.
I scoop him out of the way and deposit him safely on the floor before wrapping my arms around Remy.
She presses her mouth to mine, and she tastes so sweet that I groan into her mouth.
Relief crashes through me so hard it almost hurts.
She grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me closer still.
I shift my hold on her, urging her into my lap.