Stud by Siskind, Kelly (19)

Nineteen

Owen

I hated being late. I found it rude and wasteful and generally made a point of watching the clock. But mornings the past couple weeks had been too sweet.

I’d slept at Ainsley’s a bunch of nights, and she’d crashed at mine the rest. Each morning I’d tell myself to get up and get dressed, but she’d move in her sleep, snuggling up closer, and I couldn’t let her go. I’d stroke her hair instead, tracing the smooth slope of her shoulder, mapping the three freckles set in a line. She’d shift and stretch. My touches would get more demanding until we were rocking together in an endless erotic dance.

Me and my girl.

My remaining time had been spent in my garage, building my inventory for Ellen’s new shop. Volunteering had been put on hold, all my energy focused on producing the best work I could. Now I was late.

Not that it mattered when meeting Tessa. Her form of punctual was to arrive at meetings fifteen minutes past schedule. She claimed it set people off kilter, gave her an advantage.

Always a strategy with her.

This afternoon she was sitting in the coffee shop window, waiting on me. She’d traded her usual gray shark-suit for a red sweater and pearls. Her blunt blond hair and bangs framed her contemplative face as she sipped her coffee—likely the strongest they had, no cream or sugar.

It was odd, catching her in a candid moment. I could almost picture us eight years ago, a couple of kids who thought we knew what it would take to build a marriage. So naïve. So much lost time. I assessed how I felt, watching her. My anger bubbled below the surface, always there. Disappointment rang true, too, as did sadness. A heavy weariness that we’d wound up here.

Dragging a hand through my hair, I pushed through the doors and approached her table. “Tessa.”

She pressed her hand to her throat. “Owen, you surprised me.”

I shrugged off my jacket, rolled up my long sleeves, and settled onto the wooden chair opposite her. An espresso machine shushed and whirred as the line shuffled forward—business types on their handhelds, oblivious to the world. Tessa nudged a cup toward me. “Still take yours with milk and one sugar?”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

Her tight smile showed signs of discomfort. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d sat like this, no raised voices. No lawyers trying to keep the peace. Her attention drifted to my forearm. “Did you get in a fight with a grizzly?”

I glanced at the scratches and huffed out a laugh. “More like a fight with a rough wood plank.”

“Does that mean you’re pursuing your woodworking?”

“Trying to.” Except I had no idea how much more money I’d spend on our divorce.

Gritting my teeth, I bit the words off before they could escape. I focused on my coffee, the warmth of it in my hand. I remembered the warmth of Ainsley in my arms this morning. I couldn’t lose my cool today. There was too much at stake. I also couldn’t do this small talk as though the woman before me wasn’t trying to ruin my life.

I rested my weight on the small round table. “The reason I wanted to talk was I never said I was sorry.”

Hope, similar to her expression the last day I’d barged into her office, colored her cheeks. “I’m listening.”

It should be easy, to lay it out there, explain my struggles all those years ago, but I was suddenly burning up, the low hanging ceiling lamps casting too much heat. I tugged at my crewneck. “I wasn’t happy in D.C. Never liked it. I moved there for you and thought I could make it work, but I felt like a fish out of water.” The memories spilled over, all the frustrations from back then welling up. “My job wore on me. I missed Nana and Emmett. Most of my friends were friends of convenience—or they were yours. I think I shut down on you, and that’s maybe why you started working so much. I’m sure there’s more I did to piss you off, reasons for our slow decline, but I’m realizing now I hold some of the blame. So…”

I buried the fact that she’d turned Caroline against me. I put her recent game—firing her lawyer to toy with me—out of my head. I focused on what we once had, on the hurt I might have caused, and I said a genuine, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, a small sad movement. “I knew you weren’t happy. Not like we were in college. I got caught up in the politics at work, and you’d pulled away. I didn’t know how to talk to you. Then you spent all your time on that Habitat project. And I…” Her lips flattened as she trailed off. Hurt sunk into her glossed eyes. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“We got married young, Tess. We were kids.”

“But I was too driven. I worked hard because coming home to you was depressing at times, but it was also an excuse. I’ve been so determined to make partner. I couldn’t see much past that goal.”

“You’re also good at what you do.” Ruthless. The best of the best.

She studied her red nails. “I am.”

Acoustic tunes floated on the coffee-scented air. We sipped our drinks, the tension between us less acute. “It’s been a rough year.”

Her voice grew quiet. “I don’t think you know how hard.”

I couldn’t tell if that was a dig at my supposed cheating or our never-ending divorce. Either way, I didn’t like being partly responsible for a woman’s sadness. I never wanted us to end up like this. “I’m sorry, Tess. Sorry I couldn’t make it work. Sorry I hurt you. Sorry for all the things that brought us here.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’ve made it all harder. It’s the fighter in me.”

I wouldn’t bet against her in a ring. “They don’t call you the Sleeper for nothing.”

She grinned at that. “I do kind of love that nickname.” She lay her hand on the table, palm up. If I wasn’t mistaken, her fingers trembled slightly. “What do you say we start over? Find our feet and try to move forward.”

God, I liked the sound of that. Waving our white flags and surrendering our animosity.

I accepted her offering, placing my hand on hers and giving it a squeeze. What I didn’t expect was for her to place her other hand on top of mine, too. For her to slide her fingers over my knuckles and trace the scratches on my forearm. “I’ve missed you so much.” Her whispered confession held such longing. The type of angst spoken by a lover. “So much.”

I froze. The hairs on the back of my neck stirred. I stared at her roving hand unsure where our wires had gotten crossed. Wires that needed untangling. I gave her another friendly squeeze, then twisted my arm and pulled my hand away. “We’re talking about the divorce, right? Signing the papers and moving forward with our lives.”

She winced as if I’d slapped her. “What did you say?”

“The divorce, Tessa. Selling our house and ending this standoff.”

Her neck went blotchy as she scanned the mahogany walls as though she’d forgotten where she was. “Is that what this was all about? You offering fake apologies to end us?”

Just when I thought we were getting somewhere. “What else could this be?”

“I swear to God, I’ve never been this oblivious in a courtroom. But you”—her jaw flexed—“you affect me, Owen. Always have. You lured me here with false promises, all for what? To get hitched to your latest whore?”

Anger blasted through me, and I nearly tossed our flimsy table across the room. “Don’t you dare talk about my girlfriend like you know her. And this wasn’t a ruse. I am sorry. I fucked up. We both fucked up. This was me trying to admit my failure.”

“To finalize our divorce.”

“Jesus. Yes. To finalize our divorce.” Patrons glanced our way, and I lowered my voice to an angry hiss. “Did you really think we could fall back in love after everything that’s happened? The lies you’ve spread?”

Her brown eyes narrowed. “I was ready to forgive you your indiscretion, but I see clearly now. I won’t make that mistake again, and you’re right. It’s time we both move on with our lives. We’ll sell the house. I’ll sign the papers. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Relief should have bowled me over, but venom bled through her tone. Vindictiveness. I offered a curt nod. “It’s the best for both of us.”

She scraped her chair back, plucked her purse from the window ledge, and smoothed her hands down her jeans. “It’s the best for you, Owen. Everything is always about what’s best for you. I wonder if your girlfriend knows what she’s in for, how selfish you are.”

Steel glinted in her pointed stare, then she strutted out the door, taking the oxygen in the room with her. I sat, cemented in place.

She’d agreed to the divorce, said she’d sign the papers. She could go back on her word, but that wasn’t Tessa’s style, and she’d never, not once, promised to come to an agreement. Still, worry pooled in my gut. Turning her down just now had hurt her. Her embarrassment had been palpable, and when Tessa felt wronged, Tessa lashed out. But she’d already done her worst. Caroline’s text couldn’t even ruin what Ainsley and I had.

Riled up and agitated, I headed home and sanded the coffee table I’d been working on within an inch of its life. I measured pieces for the black walnut stools I’d be building. Normally the steady labor cleared my mind. Today was a lost cause.

Ainsley’s cute texting didn’t even help. When I messaged her that Tessa had agreed to the divorce, she filled my phone with an alphabet of emojis, each more ridiculous than the last. Her silly humor didn’t make a dent in my dark mood. I begged out of our usual evening plans, explaining the whole thing had left me drained.

I drove to Emmett’s instead, soccer bag in my truck, hoping a hard run on the field would do me good. I’d ignored my brother the past couple weeks, or maybe he’d been ignoring me, but there was no answer.

I stood at his door, mulling over my options. I could go for a run on my own, but I’d end up chasing the uncomfortable dread I couldn’t shake. Calling Ainsley and seeking her company would be the best kind of distraction, but she’d want to talk about my meeting. I needed to settle my mind before filling her in. My worry would only stress her out, when I was likely brooding for nothing. Instead I dragged my sorry ass to The Blue Door, hoping Cameron was tending bar.

My favorite thing about the dimly lit wine bar was its come-as-you-are vibe. I’d been here in dress clothes and in my shabby jeans from the Habitat build. Tonight I wore running sweats and a thermal long-sleeve, and I didn’t give a damn.

I exhaled at the sight of Cameron’s inked arms and slick pompadour. “Double Scotch on the rocks.”

“This becoming your new drink?”

“It’s been a wild couple months.” I slid onto a barstool. The place was quiet, a handful of tables full, typical for a Thursday. A cool blast of air shot through the entrance as a few men hurried in. Cameron dropped my drink in front of me, and I knocked back a healthy swallow.

“That rough?” he asked.

“Not sure if today was good or bad, just glad it’s over.”

“Sounds intriguing.”

I shrugged, effectively ending the conversation. There wasn’t much for me to process besides needing to unwind. I was getting my divorce. Tessa misguidedly hoped there was a chance we could mend our fences and try again. It would never happen. Even if I weren’t in love with Ainsley, there was no spark of affection I could fan for my ex.

Cameron filled a few orders while I nursed my drink. The heat of it burned my throat and chest, incinerating thoughts of Tessa and her diabolical games as it slid down. My muscles loosened. My mind uncoiled. It really had been a rough year. Or the best if I counted the Habitat build and meeting Ainsley, the girl with the beach-glass eyes and wicked sense of humor who turned my world right-side up.

I couldn’t count how many times I’d wanted to pull her close and whisper I love you. I’d watched her face for signs she felt the same, but Ainsley was still coming around to the notion of us spending all our nights and mornings together, to her vegan food next to my “gross” deli meat in my fridge. At times she’d worry her lip when lost in thought, a sign I’d taken to mean:

What if this backfires in my face?

Cameron wiped a spot on the bar, then replenished a bowl of pretzels, sneaking glances my way. I readied myself for prying questions, but he said, “You heard from Emmett recently?”

Maybe I wasn’t the one who needed to talk. “Barely. When I text him, I get a curt reply. Went by tonight but no one answered.”

“So it’s not just me…” He spoke softly, as though to himself.

It activated my Brother the Manwhore Radar. “You ignored my advice, didn’t you?”

He kept rubbing the same spot. “It had been a while since I’d dated. I thought having some fun would do me good.”

“But you got in too deep?”

He scoped the bar, letting his gaze drag over the half-full tables. “Guilty.”

One word filled with regret.

I hated my brother sometimes. “Don’t take it personally. Emmett’s only interested in casual.”

Cameron gripped his cloth, his confusion and hurt plain as day. “That’s just it—it wasn’t casual. It was only, like, six weeks, and yeah, it was fun at first, but things got intense fast. The way I felt about…feel about him—I’ve never had that before. And he was right there with me. I’m sure of it. Then he disappeared. Slipped out of bed one night while I was sleeping. No goodbye. No note. He won’t return any texts or calls.” He rolled out his shoulders. “Is that normal for him? When you warned me not to date him, is that what you meant?”

Definitely not normal. “Emmett’s flings usually last a month or so, but he’s always made sure his partners are on the same page, and he’s clear about where they stand when things end.” Slipping out in the middle of the night was definitely not his MO. It meant something was up, and my frustration with him morphed into worry.

“That’s what I thought.” Cameron’s forehead compressed, deep furrows framing his pained eyes. “I think he’s freaking out. Just not sure how to help him.”

If the tortured look on Cameron’s face was any indication, my brother may be falling in love. It also meant Emmett was probably spiraling, unsure how to deal with that kind of emotion. “I’ll talk with him. See what I can find out.”

“Thanks, man.” He nodded a bunch. “Thanks a lot.”

He retreated to work the bar, and I focused on my drink, on Emmett and me and all we’d endured. Our mother’s abandonment had left its mark on us, all right. He was terrified of gaining affection, only to risk losing it. My damaged pendulum swung the other way. I craved permanence. I let my marriage linger years too long, afraid to be afloat. Now I had Ainsley. I was sure she was different. We were different. But if things changed, if she didn’t want kids or we fell apart the way couples sometimes did, unable to find their way back, I wouldn’t let it fester this time. I’d honor myself, not settle.

Emmett needed to learn how to hold onto the special people in his life, a lesson I’d have to drill into him, and I needed to remember how to let go.

If my instincts were right, though, I wouldn’t be letting Ainsley loose anytime soon. Already, I regretted putting her off tonight. I could pull up her name on my phone, type I love you, and hit Send. Finally release the words I’d been holding hostage. Drive to her house and growl them as I came all over her creamy skin.

I’d loved marking her with my come. The act had felt intimate, in an odd way. Dirty yet binding. But there was no point texting or showing up at her place tonight. I’d let my day settle. See her tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Finalize my divorce. Maybe get married again…one day. Relaxing for the first time in hours, I finished my Scotch.