Chapter 8 Owen #2
My hands curled into fists against my thighs.
The anger came slow, the way it always did with me, building in my chest like pressure behind a closed door.
Marcus hadn't always been like this. I remembered how he'd looked at her in the early years, how he'd driven up every weekend, how Grace's whole face used to change when she talked about him.
But somewhere along the way, that version of Marcus had disappeared.
He started taking her for granted while she rearranged her life to fit into the spaces he left.
But this was something else. This was cruelty dressed up as indifference.
"He's engaged to Emma now." Grace's voice cracked on the name. "I saw it on Instagram. Three weeks after he left me, he proposed to someone else. And I'm here, pregnant with his baby, and I can't even tell him because he's erased me so completely I don't exist anymore."
I didn't say anything. What was there to say? Sorry wouldn't help. It'll be okay would be a lie. Anything I could offer felt inadequate against the weight of what she was carrying.
So I just stayed. Sat on the bathroom floor with her, shoulder pressed against the wall, and let the silence hold us both.
After a while, Grace took a shaky breath.
"I'm scared, Owen." The admission came out small. Vulnerable. Nothing like the competent, capable woman who ran a B&B. "I'm scared and I don't know what I'm doing and I don't have anyone to help me figure it out."
"You have me."
The words came out before I could second-guess them.
Grace looked at me. Her eyes were wet, her face blotchy, her hair still damp from where I'd gathered it back.
"Owen…" She shook her head. "You don't have to do this. This isn't your problem."
"You're right. It's not my problem." I held her gaze. "It's my friend's problem. And that makes it mine too."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then something in her crumpled, and she was crying. Not the controlled tears of someone trying to hold it together. Real crying, the kind that shakes your whole body, that comes from a place so deep you can't stop it once it starts.
I pulled her close. Let her cry against my shoulder, one hand cradling the back of her head the way I'd done the night Marcus left.
A familiar instinct, automatic and steady, even as something tight and helpless settled in my chest. I couldn't fix this.
Couldn't take it away. All I could do was hold her and stay.
She smelled like cinnamon and soap and fear.
"He blocked my number," she said again, muffled against my shirt. "Eleven years, and he blocked my number."
"I know."
"I can't do this alone."
"You're not going to." I tightened my arms around her. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Eventually, the tears stopped.
Grace pulled back, wiping her face with the heels of her hands, trying to compose herself. I helped her stand, guided her out of the bathroom, and into the kitchen. Got her a glass of water. Found a clean dish towel for her to dry her face.
The breakfast service had somehow continued without us. I could hear Elena in the dining room, covering for Grace's absence with the easy competence of someone who'd been doing this for years. Mrs. Patterson's voice floated through the doorway, complimenting the scones.
Grace sat at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around her water glass, staring at nothing. She looked wrung out. Emptied. But also somehow lighter, like confessing the secret had lifted some of the weight she'd been carrying.
"What do you need?" I asked, sitting across from her.
"I don't know." She laughed, but it was hollow. "I don't even know where to start."
"Doctor's appointment. That's first."
"I know. I've been putting it off."
"We'll make one this week. I'll drive you if you want."
Grace looked up at me. "You don't have to do that. Drive me, I mean. I can handle it."
"I know you can." I took a sip of coffee that had gone cold. "But you shouldn't have to."
She was quiet for a moment. Her thumb traced the rim of her water glass.
"Sixteen years," she said finally. "And I still don't understand you."
"What's to understand?"
"You just lost Sarah. You're dealing with your own stuff. And here you are, offering to drive me to doctor's appointments." She shook her head. "Most people would've stopped showing up by now."
I thought about that. About the summer I was fifteen, when my father died, and my whole world cracked open.
She showed up with a box of cinnamon rolls and sat with me while I stared at nothing.
She didn't try to make me talk. Didn't tell me it would get easier.
We sat shoulder to shoulder until the silence felt less like drowning.
She probably didn't even remember. It was one afternoon out of thousands. But I'd never forgotten.
"You sat with me once," I said. "After my dad. You didn't have to, but you did it anyway."
Grace's brow furrowed. "Owen, that was—"
"Sixteen years ago. I know." I shrugged. "Some things you don't forget."
Grace's eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears back. "I don't deserve you."
"Don't say that."
"It's true."
"It's not." I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine. "You deserve someone who shows up. Everyone does. I'm just glad I get to be that person for you."
She stared at our hands for a long moment. Then she turned hers over, laced her fingers through mine, and squeezed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Always."
We sat like that for a while. The kitchen was quiet around us, the morning light streaming through the windows, the sounds of breakfast service continuing in the other room.
Somewhere deep in my chest, a voice whispered: Is this enough? Will this ever be enough?
I pushed it away. This wasn't about me. This wasn't about what I wanted or what I needed or the hollow space that Sarah had left behind. This was about Grace, and what she was facing, and being the friend she needed me to be.
That was enough. It had to be enough.
I helped her to her feet, and we went back to work.
The B&B didn't stop just because Grace's life was falling apart. That was one of the cruel things about running a business. The world kept turning, no matter what was happening in your personal life.
Something had shifted between us that morning. I felt it, even if I couldn't name it. A new weight. A new closeness. The kind of intimacy that came from seeing someone at their lowest and staying anyway.
I was just being a friend.
That was the line. And I stayed on my side of it.