Chapter Two

Owen

I’M SURPRISED YOU NOTICED.

Her voice rang in his ears, waking him up in the middle of the night.

He opened his eyes and could see the red blinking lights of the alarm clock on her side. It was close to three in the morning, but that wasn’t what his mind processed. No. Instead of waking up to her cuddled into him like she usually did and he’d complained about in the past, she was lying away from him. Close to the edge of her side of the bed.

When did that start?

Her hand was under her cheek, her dark caramel-colored hair slightly covered her face, and long dark lashes fanned her cheeks. He swallowed hard as if seeing her for the first time in a very long time.

That’s when he thought about the first time he laid eyes on her. God, it felt like it was just yesterday.

He remembered standing at the doorway of his dorm room, throwing a plush basketball into a hoop his roommate, Bryan, had put up on the far wall, laughing at some shit he had said, all while feeling like anything was possible. A second later, his heart stopped and re-adjusted in his chest the second he looked out into the hallway.

His eyes were pinned to the pretty pixie-like creature walking toward him in sweet blue denim shorts and a sexy off-the-shoulder black top. Her hair was in a loose braid, her cheeks flushed as she carried a big box while chatting to a friend next to her.

Without thought or hesitation, before she passed him, he stood in front of her and offered his help. When her eyes met his, he felt like he’d been struck down with a cartoon cupid arrow right in the fucking chest. God, her eyes! He loved her eyes.

They had been inseparable from that moment on. Hardly ever sleeping away from one another, especially not after they got married.

I’m surprised you noticed.

Her voice chimed through his head again in a tone that made his stomach roll and his heart ache. It was her tone. God, that damn tone in her voice.

Defeated.

Was it because he’d had to cancel their date? He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. The ceiling fan’s soft whirling too loud in his ears, making it impossible for him to shut his mind off, he turned again and faced the closet.

Hanging there was his black suit. The one she liked him to wear. Her favorite, she’d told him once, grinning, slightly drunk and so fucking beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. The only pain greater would be not to look. His suit was freshly dry-cleaned. Hanging over it was a dark hunter-green dress. New from the look of the tags still hanging off it. Hunter green. His favorite color. She’d bought a new dress for their date. How long ago? He tried to think about her mentioning going shopping, but he couldn’t remember.

All he could seem to remember was her talking about gymnastics, ballet lessons, what crazy stunts Simone was up to, and PTA meetings.

She used to share every bit of her day.

When had she stopped sharing?

Or had he stopped listening?

I’m surprised you noticed.

He turned again to look at her, watching her face twist slightly, a tear falling from the corner of her shut eyes, and his heart stopped. What could she be dreaming about to make her cry? Instinctively, he moved into her, pulling her body close to him, loving the way she felt next to him and how easily she molded into his body, wrapping her leg over his thigh. He breathed in the scent of her hair and tried to remember the last time he’d held her close. He closed his eyes in pain, not able to bring it up.

I’m surprised you noticed.

She wanted to take the girls to Santa Barbara, to a house that was a mess and needed work, over staying here. Instead of staying in their home?

What is going on?

He opened his eyes when she shifted and looked up at him, her eyes still foggy with sleep as she breathed in. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. He opened his mouth to ask what she was sorry about when she sat up and looked at the alarm.

“Why are you up?” she asked in a raspy whisper, clearing her throat from sleep.

“I see you,” he blurted out without thinking, and she held her body still, the sleep in her eyes clearing away.

“Owen—”

“I do,” he quickly told her, knowing in his gut he was lying. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! When had he stopped looking at her? Seeing her? Appreciating her?

A dreadful silence fell between them until she broke their stare and looked in front of her.

“No. You don’t.” She called him on it, and it reminded him of the woman he had fallen in love with. She had never taken any of his shit before. Why had she started? When had she started? He had no idea. But she didn’t used to. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

Yet, he found he couldn’t stop himself from lying. “I do… I see you …”

“It happens.” She shrugged. Those two words in that fucking tone again. He didn’t take his eyes off her. He heard her sniffle, her eyes suddenly glassy before she sighed. “You should sleep. Your day’s pretty heavy tomorrow.”

“Nadia,” his voice rasped, but she ignored him and settled back into bed.

Her back turned to him, her light-golden skin bare to him. He tucked his much larger frame into her body and held his breath, afraid she would push him away.

But she didn’t.

She never pushed him away.

Not once.

But he had.

Suddenly, all the times he had joked about her cuddling into him in bed, commenting how hot he would get, walking away from her as she held him close at work events or family things bombarded his memory.

One after another, memories of him walking away or pushing her aside hit him, like waves crashing onto the shore.

He held her tighter, and her hands went to his wrists. “Owen—”

“I can get Vivian,” he spoke into her hair.

“What?” She stilled in his arms and turned to look at him. God, she is beautiful. When had he stopped really appreciating her and started taking her for granted?

“I can get Vivian. She finishes about five thirty. I’ll leave my office at five,” he repeated, but the torn expression didn’t lessen.

“Do you remember what happened last time you tried to do that?” she asked calmly, and he fought from wincing.

“I won’t be late,” he vowed; and he wouldn’t. He only had a tummy tuck in the morning and paperwork scheduled after. He could leave early and work in his car while he waited for his girl.

“You sure? I think I can bribe Becca into missing ballet,” she offered.

“With what?” He smirked.

“Shopkins.” she shared, and he frowned.

“What?”

“Or Splashlings.”

“Shopkins and Splashlings? What are those?” he asked smiling, but his smile faltered when the weariness returned to her eyes. He hated that. He hated realizing how much he had missed out on. How much he really didn’t know his girls.

“It’s what Becca is into. Shopkins are these tiny little plastic figurines. Splashlings are like these little water creatures, mermaids and stuff.”

“What does Vivian like?”

“Tsum tsums.”

“What the hell?” he couldn’t help whisper and chuckle silently. He noticed her hand moving to his chest. She loved when he laughed. She liked the way his chest shook, and he loved her touching him.

“What happened to Barbies and Legos and pogs?”

“I doubt kids nowadays know what pogs are. Or marbles,” she commented, smiling softly. He suddenly had a strong urge to kiss his wife.

But instead of just kissing her, he hesitated.

Will she let me?

When was the last time he had kissed her? Really kissed her? Taken her in his arms and reminded her how she belonged to him. For that matter, when was the last time he’d made hot, passionate love to her? So hot and vigorous that it left them both breathless and sated? His body warmed over at the thought of their bodies together. His fingertips trailed her bare shoulder to the tips of her fingers.

“I like this camisole. Is it new?” he asked, taking in what she was wearing. A blue-jewel-toned silk top. He lifted the comforter. His mouth went dry when he saw her wearing matching short shorts. Her legs had always driven him crazy. And right now, they were definitely getting him worked up. Soft, smooth, and fucking long. Lightly tanned skin from the California sun and her always being in the pool.

“No.”

“Oh…”

“You bought them.” The blanket immediately fell from his hands and he whipped his head up to look at her. “Anniversary gift,” she shared, and he swallowed. “Though, I guess I was right in assuming it was Monique, and not you, who picked it out.”

“Baby…” He had no words. Sure, he had excuses. Back-to-back surgeries and post-ops. So he had asked his assistant to go buy something so he wouldn’t forget. But it didn’t matter. He should have made the time.

“Good night,” she whispered; her lips slightly trembled before she pressed them together. She turned away, making his stomach flip.

Fuck. Shit. Motherfucking crap!

“Baby—”

“It’s fine.” She snapped her back to him. When he put his hand on her shoulder, her body stiffened beneath his touch. Something he didn’t like. Silence bled into the room, and he took his hand away and turned onto his back, his hands at his waist.

“Do you really want to go to Santa Barbara?” he asked out loud, despite the fact he was fucking terrified of her answer.

“I think I should.”

“Is it …” He had so many questions, but before he could ask, she continued.

“The girls can come home on weekends if you don’t have hospital stuff going on, or if you want, you and I can switch so you can spend time up there.” The way she was saying that didn’t sit well with him. Why would she stay behind? Why wouldn’t they spend time together?

“Are you leaving me?” Uttering the words literally cut him from the inside out, and the silence that clung in the air left him feeling like he was bleeding out.

“I… No.” He heard her sharp intake of air as her arms shifted, holding the pillow tighter. “I’m not sure. We’re… well... I’m….” She sighed. “Something is not right here, Owen,” she finally said, and his heart felt like it was a second away from jumping out of his chest.

“Between us,” he surmised and watched her head nod against her pillow. It wasn’t lost on him that she didn’t turn to look at him. “We can fix it.”

“I… I just need some time. I need to clear my head…”

“Clear your head?” He started to panic and grow agitated. What does she need to clear out? Is she clearing me out of there?

She turned around. “Keep your voice down,” she hissed, pressing her lips together.

“Clear your head of what? Huh?”

“Do you know what my days consist of?”

“Do you know what mine do?” he defensively asked, because if he was honest, he had no clue about hers.

“Yes. I do, actually. I totally do.” And he knew she did. He flipped to his side trying to rein in the anger and how out of control his life suddenly felt.

“Whatever. Go.”

“Really mature, Owen,” she whispered in that damn defeated tone and then sighed. “Don’t worry about the girls’ ride situation. I’ll call my mom about tomorrow—”

“I said I’d get her, I got her,” he clipped, pulling his pillow between his face and arm, looking at her dress against his suit. He’d broken a date and she was acting like he had broken a promise. Haven’t you? A small voice in his head whispered, and he held his body even tighter.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Never turning to touch him throughout the night.

Never trying to talk to him.

But then again, neither did he.

He knew because he didn’t sleep one wink after their talk.