It even smells good in here. But looks mean shit, obviously. Owen’s house is perfect for a family, but he’s obviously not.
He takes his phone out of his pocket, sets it on the island counter, and mumbles something about having to use the bathroom. Taking the leftovers, I go to the fridge and find a place to fit them in.
His phone rings and I look over my shoulder to see who’s calling. It’s Logan, and I’m sure he’s wondering if Owen made it home okay. I silence the call and then get a big glass of water for Owen.
I care more than I should, but I’m also a little curious to look around the rest of the house. Crossing through the kitchen, I set the water down on a glass coffee table in the living room. I gather my hair up in a ponytail and pull a hair tie off my wrist as I look around.
There’s a two-story foyer right when you walk in through the front door, with a formal dining room on one side and another room, set up as an office, on the other. Things are neat and tidy, and I can’t get over how impressive and flawless the decorating is.
“You can go,” Owen slurs, coming out of the bathroom. “And I’m sorry.”
“It’s…it’s…it’s nothing I shouldn’t have expected,” I sigh.
“It’s not, though,” he starts, eyes looking heavy.
“Sit down.” I motion to the couch. “I got you some water. And Logan called, probably to make sure you’re not drowning in your own vomit or something.”
Looking dejected, Owen nods and plops down onto the couch. I take a lingering look at him and then leave, not saying another word. My heart is in my throat, and I wish I could cough it up, getting rid of it once and for all. That thing has let me down over and over again.
I’m smart. Rational. I can see both sides to every story and am able to look at arguments with an unbiased opinion. It’s what makes me a good lawyer. I get my clients as well as those we’re opposing, giving me a leg up on whatever case I’m working.
Is it sad to say I miss it? That I’m craving a good argument in front of a judge? I need a win in life right now, because I’m feeling like the biggest loser. And not in a good way.Chapter 16Charlie“Sorry, sweetpea,” I tell Tulip, who’s pathetically meowing by the bedroom door. “You can’t go out there. We’re both stuck in here.”
I open my laptop, set on watching a movie and passing out. I just got back from taking Owen home, and his big truck is parked out in front of the house. It’s only a matter of time before someone asks me about it, and I’ll have to reiterate my story about how Owen is still the same carefree—or careless—boy he was back when we were together.
Not even ten minutes into the movie, someone knocks on the door.
“You decent?” Carly asks.
“Yes,” I tell her. She opens the door, and one of the dogs dashes in before she can grab her. Tulip limps under the bed and my heart about falls out of my chest. Fuck, we need to get out of here. Maybe I’ll rent a room in the only bed and breakfast in Eastwood. It would still be cheaper to live there for a month and a half than it would be to rent my NYC apartment for a week.
“Sorry,” she says, shoving the dog into the hall. “Owen is here.”
“What?”
“He’s at the door, asking for you.”
“Owen?” I repeat. He was borderline passed out when I left. There’s no way he pulled himself together to get here already. And I have his truck. “Are you sure?”
“I think so.”
Shaking my head, I close my laptop and get up. Carly opens the door, ready for the dogs this time. We both make it out without further traumatizing my poor cat. Someone is in the foyer downstairs, and from behind, he does look like Owen. But the second he turns, I know it’s Logan.
“Hey.”
“Logan…hey. What are you doing here?” I go down the last steps.
“I was hoping to talk for a minute.”
“Uh, sure. Is everything okay?”
“I’m hoping it will be.” He gives me a smile, and I motion to the porch.
“Is Owen—”
“He’s sleeping, but he’s fine.”
“Good.” I step onto the porch and close the door behind us. “I see he’s the same as ever.”
“He’s not. Danielle is pregnant,” Logan tells me.
“Oh, wow. Congrats. That’s exciting!”
“No one else knows yet. She had a miscarriage a few months ago, so we’re not sharing the news until she gets an ultrasound this time. Owen knows, though.”
“That’s why he drank all her drinks.”
Logan nods. “Danielle is a fan of booze. The first thing my mom would have asked if she saw her not drinking was if she was pregnant. They know we’ve been trying since she lost the last baby.”