Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Daisy
“That one.” I point to the third picture in the line of six in front of me. “That’s him.”
I’d know his face anywhere. I see it every time I close my eyes. Hell, I see his charming smile whenever I’m not distracted by Owen.
And distract me, he has.
Instead of making me call my family, Owen took my phone away and served me breakfast in bed before insisting we spend time outside while the weather was still good.
Waiting for us on the patio table were various games from our childhood and a one-thousand-piece puzzle of four-leaf clovers.
There was a blanket for each of us to keep warm on the sunny, yet crisp October morning.
We played Battleship, Connect Four, and Monopoly.
He beat me at Battleship and I was the Connect Four champion.
Monopoly was simply too tedious. There was no end in sight, so we gave up.
That damn puzzle got the best of both of us.
Every piece looked the same. After five minutes, we looked at each other and burst out in a fit of laughter.
The day was perfect.
Because of Owen.
He knew I was anxious about our impending visit from the authorities, and he made sure I was too busy to worry about it. He hasn’t left my side since a knock on the door announced the two agents working on my case arrived.
I’ve answered their questions about my first connection with Wesley on the dating app, planning our date and then everything from the day of my fall.
They’ve asked if anything felt off and I was embarrassed to admit it didn’t.
Two minutes ago, they brought out a book of photos and I found Wesley’s face staring back at me on page three.
“You’re sure, Ms. McKinnon?” the shorter of the two female agents asks.
“Yes, I’m certain. That’s Wesley. Well, the man who said his name was Wesley.”
“Thank you,” the taller of the two says. “This is what we need to move forward. Please be rest assured we have a team working diligently on this case.”
“That’s good to hear. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“No, this was the piece we needed. We’ve been in touch with the dating app, and they provided us with his archived profile. I assure you the pieces are falling together. You just confirmed we’re looking in the right places.”
“I’ve got contacts at the Massachusetts State Police who may provide more information,” Owen says.
“We’ll look into it. Text me your contacts and we’ll be in touch.”
They stand, and Owen walks them to the door. The three of them are deep in conversation, and I let them have it. The more we talk about my fall, the more my anxiety attempts to suffocate me.
Trying not to hyperventilate, I rush to the kitchen to get a glass of water and guzzle it down, only to fill it up again.
Once my second glass is down and my lungs fill with air again, I lean against the kitchen counter to catch my breath and take in the scattered snapshots on Owen’s refrigerator.
There’s a picture of him and his little sister Olivia on their horses at his family’s property and one of the two of them with their parents.
The photo of his horse, Blue, makes me smile.
He named her after the character of the same name from the movie Old School.
Owen Swift can’t even be serious when naming his horse.
Something on the side of the fridge catches my eye. The edge of a picture protrudes between the appliance and the wall, instinctively I reach out to examine it. My breath flees again, but for an entirely different reason than just moments ago.
Sliding it out from underneath the magnet keeping it in place, I hold in my fingers the black and white snapshots of Owen and me from the photo booth at Mia’s sister, Rebecca’s wedding.
There are four pictures. In the first we have goofy faces, in the second we’re comically serious, in the next we're staring at each other, and in the last our lips are locked. In the bottom right corner, he’s written the time.
12:12
For no apparent reason, other than every five minutes I fall harder for the man whose kitchen I’m standing in, my eyes fill with tears. He not only kept our memory on his fridge for the last ten years, but he noted the time. Because, well... that’s our thing.
The night of Rebecca’s wedding was the second time we hooked up. Back when there was nothing but fun involved. No feelings and certainly no hearts. It was easy back then.
“There you are,” he says, rounding the corner into the kitchen. “Whatcha got there?”
I drop my hand trying to hide what I’ve found, but as soon as his perfect face comes into view, my first tear falls. I meet him in the middle of the room, wrapping my arms around his middle. I bury my face in the cotton covering his chest.
“I know this is a lot, but I got you, baby. I got you.”
He thinks I’m upset that my attempted murderer is out in the wild and not behind bars.
And maybe everything has caught up with me and made me more emotional, but this is about the latest bit of evidence that what’s going on between the two of us means as much to him as he’s declared on more than one occasion.
I shake my head, letting him know his assumption is wrong and making an even bigger mess of his shirt.
“Daisy, talk to me. What is it?”
Trying to lighten the mood, I pull his T-shirt over his head, then make a show of wiping my face and nose on it. “Thanks.”
“You’re such a little shit. Now that you have me shirtless, tell me what this is about.”
Holding the strip of four photos between us, I don’t speak, waiting for his reaction.
His mouth lifts at the corners, and his eyes sparkle. “That was a good night. Why are you crying? Because I kept our pictures? You upset you haven’t had me on your fridge to stare at all these years?”
“You kept it all this time.”
“I did.”
He doesn’t make excuses. He isn’t upset that I’ve found his hidden keepsake. He’s not embarrassed in the least.
“Thank you.”
He tucks my hair behind my ear before pressing me so close that the pictures rest over the four-leaf clover above his heart.
“Don’t thank me, baby. I need the reminders to keep me going. Waiting for you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
Lifting onto the toes of my uninjured foot, I kiss him softly. “Thank you for waiting, Owen.”
“I’m stuck, remember? I’m not going anywhere without you,” he says against my lips. Reminding me of his confessions in New York.
My fingers tremble over his bare chest. I’m relieved he’s kissing me back and grateful my lips are one of the few parts of my face that came out unscathed.
The kiss intensifies, and in the blink of an eye, his hands are on my hips.
He lifts me and sets me on the counter, sliding between my legs.
The lash of his tongue is a balm to my fragile heart, and the scrape of his teeth as he pulls on my bottom lip, is the passion I so desperately need to distract me from the last forty-eight hours.
I’m completely lost in this man.
In this kiss.
In this moment.
I could stay right here, right now, for the rest of my days. But much too soon he cups my face in his hands, causing me to flinch from the pain of his calloused thumbs rubbing over the injuries that litter my face.
His hands drop back to my hips. “Shit, baby. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“You’re not ready. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know you won’t hurt me. I’m fine. I’m ready.”
Shaking his head, he picks me up and sets me back on my feet. “I’m not.”
“What?”
“I would never forgive myself if I hurt you. Besides, we need to talk.”
He laces his fingers between mine and guides me to the family room and his overstuffed couch. Once I’m comfortable, he spills his guts.
He confesses to gathering my brothers in the backyard last night and telling them the truth about what happened to me.
He explains why. It’s only then I hear Owen and my brother’s theory about the connection between my fall and the cut fence at the ranch.
Who knew there were minerals on the neighboring properties?
And I am still trying to wrap my head around Chad and Wesley being related.
It’s a clusterfuck.
It’s terrifying.
But here with Owen, I feel safe.
Because he’s stuck. And he’s waiting for me.
Now, I need to figure out why I continue to make him wait, because I don’t want to wait anymore.