I’ve killed my best friend.
Nineteen
Jolie
“I think everyone needs to go home,” Doctor Gladstone says as he walks into the patient room, blood on his scrubs. “I don’t need all of you yelling at my nurses and having to pull me out of surgery because you’re angry.”
“We aren’t leaving until Heaven is off the table,” Owen says, red faced.
“I’m trying to make sure he doesn’t go to fucking heaven, Owen. You and your crew need to fucking leave. I’ll call you when the surgery is over.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re going, Owen. The rest of us will stay,” Jaxon says, rubbing Quinn’s stomach. Rubbing his wife’s stomach seems to be calming him instead of flipping the fuck out like I know he wants to do.
“Jaxon—”
“I’m serious. Go. I’ll call you with an update and the rest of us will behave, Doctor Gladstone.”
“I did this,” Owen leans in and whispers to Jaxon. “I have to be here.”
“You didn’t do this on purpose, Owen. A lot of events led up to this. It’s okay. But being here isn’t what is best for you or Heaven. Gladstone needs to be focused, and you are not allowing him to be.”
“Come on, Owen.” I grab his hand and stand. “Let’s go home and get some rest.”
“But I did this.” Owen rubs his hands over his mouth and a sob slips out. “I hurt him. My best friend. I hurt him. He might die. I need to be here.”
“That’s why I think it’s best if you aren’t,” Jaxon says. “Plus, you promised him muffins. Heaven isn’t going to die when he knows there is food waiting for him.”
“Come on.” I’m going to make him the biggest drink he has ever seen, and I want us to wake up tomorrow ready to take on the world. We will come back here, and Heaven will be fine.
It’s my turn to hold Owen.
Owen debates for a minute, and Doctor Gladstone turns around and hurries through the double doors, vanishing. “Okay. Okay,” he repeats, slapping his hands on his thighs, finally taking my hand. “Please, let me know how he is. Please,” he says one last time to Jaxon and a muscle jumps in Jaxon’s cheek as he thinks about his answer.
“Yeah, you know I will,” Jaxon says.
“Thank you.” Owen starts to leave without me, dropping my hand as he heads toward the exit. He stands outside for a second and falls against a concrete beams.
I give everyone one last grim smile, forcing it to my face, and leave. I cross my arms, passing rows of black leather chairs that look like they need to be replaced. The lights are brighter since the sun has set and the night sky has fallen. The double doors open, and I get the view of a very handsome, very broken, devastated man that I’ve fallen in love with.
“Let’s go home.”
“I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to see what I did. I just… I don’t know what I want.”
“Okay, then let’s stay at the hotel across the street.” I take his hand, not giving him a choice, and start walking. I expect a tug, some form of protest, but he’s right next to me. His feet slightly drag along the concrete causing a slight scratch.
The walk is silent and heavy. I can’t imagine how much guilt he feels. I know he was blinded by rage, guilt, and a tsunami filled of horrible visions of the past slammed against him. Owen wasn’t Owen anymore.
He was the man who had lost everything and was about to lose everything all over again. Heaven was in the way.
I know the last thing he wants to talk about is Heaven, so instead, I let the silence speak for itself. What’s there to say? Nothing, we can do nothing. Not until Heaven makes it out of surgery.
When we get to the street, I look right and left to make sure there are no cars coming while Owen looks toward the ground. He takes a step forward, not bothering to look for traffic. Headlights speed down the road, and I grip his hand and yank him back. The car buzzes by, and the driver honks.
I can’t breathe. He nearly killed himself. “What was that? What was that, Owen? What the hell?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t think.”