Healing Hearts (Stealing Hearts Book 2)

by K. Evan Coles

  He’d missed this, yes. Missed Owen and not just for sex. Mark had missed their talks and the give and take and the easy affection that rolled off them both without either having to do a thing.

  He makes me happy.

  Mark bit his lip against a sentiment so...goofy it should have turned his stomach. The sentiment and feeling were true, though, because just being near Owen in this moment made Mark feel more centered than he had in days. Fuck if he didn’t want more, too.

  Mark just had no idea what that meant.

  “Hey,” he said, interrupting Owen’s rant about an episode of Eastsiders that had pissed him off to no end.

  Owen raised an eyebrow. The way he gestured at himself with one hand made Mark laugh. “Dude, still talking.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. My brain kind of got away from me.”

  “Uh-huh.” Owen smiled a little. “What’s up?”

  “This Saturday some friends are taking Lo and me out for our birthday. Come with us.”

  The light in Owen’s expression faded, replaced by the wariness he’d shown when he and Mark had first run into each other beside the food truck.

  “I don’t know.” Owen blew out a long breath and God, he looked so tired. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Mark.”

  “Why not?” Mark frowned. “Keith will be there and you guys seemed to have a good time hanging out.”

  “Keith’s great, and you know I like your sister.” Owen wiped his fingers with a napkin. “What about Alistair?” he asked after a beat.

  Mark blinked. “What about him?”

  “Will he be there?”

  “Oh, no. He’s... Alistair doesn’t know this group of friends.”

  Mark fought off the urge to squirm under Owen’s stare. Alistair had never wanted to meet Lauren or Keith, and had certainly never met any of Mark’s friends from work. The bulk of time he and Mark spent together was focused on pleasing each other, and mundane details about work and life often didn’t fit that paradigm. The only time Alistair’s attention on Mark wavered during their hookups was if they decided to pick up a third. Someone young and hot, with energy to burn.

  Someone like Owen, a little voice in Mark’s head whispered. Imagine how beautiful he’d look spread out under Alistair, just waiting for you to join in.

  A chill worked its way through Mark’s stomach. It was all too easy to imagine such a scene. And goddamn if it wasn’t the last thing he wanted to see. Proof positive that Mark was losing it.

  “Keith’s sister, Alice, is coming and she’ll bring her husband, James,” he said to fill the silence. “I asked a couple of my close friends from the hospital, too, and a couple of Lo’s girlfriends will be there.” He shrugged. “It’s just Lo and me now that our folks are gone, but—”

  “No, hey.” Owen set his hand on Mark’s. “I get it. That sounds like a nice evening. I just... I wanted to know what I’d be walking into if I said yes, that’s all.”

  “I see.” Mark smiled. He flipped his hand up and grasped Owen’s fingers gently. “It’s not going to be a big thing. Just friends and family getting together for dinner.”

  Owen cocked his head. “Wait. I thought your birthday fell on the fourteenth. Saturday is the ninth and Valentine’s Day isn’t until late next week.”

  “Yes, but the fourteenth is a terrible day for restaurant reservations of the non-romance kind.” Mark rolled his eyes. “You try finding something decent on the day, buddy, and you’ll see that the only places free are chain restaurants serving all-you-can-eat pasta.”

  Owen laughed. “Aw. Poor guy.”

  “Eh, it’s fine as long as you plan around the day. Which Lo and I do every year by having Shitty Movie Night on our actual birthday. So next Thursday, we’ll make a bunch of food and watch something awful and basically enjoy the hell out of it.” Mark sipped from his water bottle. “The Valentine’s thing was a much bigger drag when we were kids. So much hearts and flowers and pink. Lo loved it, of course—she’s always been a real girly girl. And I loved that candy was never in short supply. No way I’d ever complain about that.”

  “Do you now as an adult?”

  “Only if the candy comes attached to a stuffed animal, but even then, I’m gonna eat the candy.” Mark winked. “So, dinner on Saturday. Will you come?”

  Owen looked at Mark for a long moment, his eyes bright and intense. Mark recognized that look—he’d seen it the last time they’d been together, before Owen had started pulling this slow fade-out.

  “Can I think about it?” Owen asked. “I’m not saying no. I’m just trying to decide if it’s the right thing.”

  “For whom?”

  “For me.” Owen squeezed Mark’s fingers and the tenderness in his smile made Mark ache in a sweet, scary way. “I like you, Mark, and I want to keep seeing you...like, more seriously than we have. I know boyfriends aren’t your thing though.” Mark heard the air quotes in Owen’s voice. “You want to keep things casual and I respect that, but I’m not sure where that leaves me. I hate even saying that because I know how you feel about love and romance and all that crap.”

  “It’s okay,” Mark murmured. Damn. He didn’t like knowing Owen held himself back, all because Mark had a bug up his ass about relationships. “Is that why you left the other night? Why you’ve been icing me out?”

  “Yeah. I know it’s immature,” Owen said. He quirked a smile at Mark that didn’t hide the sadness in his eyes. “The problem is that knowing you’re out there hooking up makes me feel weird, so...I figured it was time to take care of myself.”

  “Owen is the kind of guy who’ll look for Mr. Right at some point down the line,” Lauren had said, just a few weeks ago when she’d warned Mark about his behavior. Mark hadn’t doubted her. Hearing the yearning in Owen’s voice now, though—seeing it in his gaze—nearly laid him flat.

  Mark was hurting Owen, all without meaning to. Because Owen wanted Mark for more than a night of fun here and there, and that meant he needed more than Mark could ever give him.

  I’ll never be enough. I don’t know how give him what he needs.

  Something very different thrummed across Mark’s heart even as those words echoed through his head. Maybe...maybe Mark was selling himself short. His stomach clenched at the very idea.

  Holy shit. Who am I right now?

  “Of course you should take care of yourself,” Mark said, voice calm despite the feelings storming through him. The line between Owen’s eyebrows told Mark something was showing on his face, however, and he summoned up a smile.

  “I’d love to see you, Owen, and not just for dinner on Saturday, but again afterward. I can’t answer your question about where this”—Mark waved between them—“is going to leave either of us in the end. Because you’re right. Love and all that stuff has never been my thing. But I do like you, very much. And I’d like to think we could figure out a way to make both of us happy, instead of losing touch just because we each think the other wants different things.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible.” Owen dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “But I’d hate to lose touch with you, too.”

  “So don’t.” Mark waited until Owen looked at him again. “Come out for dinner on Saturday and we’ll see how it goes.”

  “I can’t say yes.” Owen’s throat worked. “Not yet. But I promise, I’ll think about it. And...thanks, Mark.” He squeezed Mark’s fingers once more before he stood and slung his bag over his shoulder again. Owen picked up his board and sent another small smile Mark’s way. “Thanks for the talk and the lunch. This was really nice.”

  Mark sat for a while after Owen had disappeared, his gaze on the fountain and thunder on his brow. Owen was slipping away, that much was clear, and he was doing it out of a need to protect himself. Mark knew Owen didn’t want to call things off between them. The real surprise was how badly Mark hoped Owen would change his mind about walking away.

  He spent the rest of the week ignoring everything that didn’t have t
o do with the job. He buried himself in patients and charts, and took on extra shifts that worked him until his eyes practically crossed from fatigue. Then Mark’d go home and sleep off his shift, and get up to do it all over again.

  What are we doing for your birthday? Alistair messaged on Friday night, just after Mark had slumped onto his couch. I’ve got a lead on a trip for this weekend if you’re interested.

  Mark stared at his phone. He knew Alistair expected a response. He knew he needed to get up off his ass and go to bed, too, or he’d fall asleep right where he sat. But Alistair would call if he didn’t hear back and Mark was too fucking tired for flirting.

  What did you have in mind? he wrote back.

  You and me and the tantric massage at the place in Newfane we went to last year. I feel like getting starkers.

  Mark’s chest ached. Last weekend, he and Owen had been talking about a trip to the very same bed and breakfast. Before things between them had gone sideways and before Mark had lost track of which way was up. Owen hadn’t ended things yet, but the radio silence continued, and Mark fucking hated it more than words could say.

  With a sigh, Mark turned his attention back to his phone. I have plans Saturday. Can we talk next week?

  Absolutely. I’ll find someone else to debauch at the B&B in the meantime.

  The winking emoji at the end of Alistair’s message made Mark snort, and that felt really good. At least someone in his life was still acting like himself. Alistair moving on to the next warm body was what Mark had expected. That was how things between them worked. Their times together were light and fun, just the way Mark liked things to be with any man he spent time with. They’d been that way with Owen from the first night they’d met.

  So why didn’t light and fun work with Owen now?

  Mark frowned. He closed his eyes and settled a little deeper into the couch cushions, arms crossed over his chest. He needed to talk to Owen. Like, really talk more about what was going on in Owen’s head and how Mark could fix things because...well, he wanted them fixed.

  You know what’s going on in his head.

  Yeah, he did. Owen wasn’t asking Mark for a ring or a promise or a house in the burbs. He wasn’t asking Mark for a goddamned thing. But Mark knew Owen wanted more. More than easy sex and laughs, and wondering when Mark would decide he wanted something new and Owen could fuck off. Owen wanted a tomorrow with Mark, and then tomorrows after that.

  Mark still didn’t know how the intricacies of that might work, but he thought...no, he knew he was okay with delivering on those tomorrows. He wanted to try, anyway. He didn’t want to lose Owen as a lover or friend, and if he could keep that from happening, he would.

  His phone’s chime caught his ear and as Mark blinked at the dark room around him, he understood he’d dozed off, not only because his clock app told him it was after three in the morning but also because his body ached from being slumped in one position for so long. Pleasure bloomed in Mark when he saw he’d also received a message from Owen.

  Are we casual or formal for dinner tomorrow night?

  Casual, Mark wrote back immediately, a smile on his face. Poca Luce again, at 7. Why are you still awake?

  He hauled himself to his feet with a heartfelt groan. Sleeping while sitting up never did him any favors.

  Been misspending my youth at bars in Assembly Row, duh, Owen replied. Why are *you* still awake?

  Mark sighed around another grin. His eyelids felt as though they were carved from stone and he so needed his bed. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then stripped down to his shorts before he sat on the mattress and sent another message.

  Long shift. Sleeping now. Talk tomorrow.

  Working til 4.

  Mark frowned. Grab a drink before dinner?

  Okay, Owen replied after what seemed a very long time. Meet you at the flower shop on Hanover.

  “Okay,” Mark murmured, and said as much in a message before he flopped down and passed the hell back out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Naturally, Owen ran late on Saturday. Rather than being annoyed this time, Mark felt strangely calm as he stared at the displays of red and pink blossoms in the flower shop’s windows. Getting Owen to meet him at all seemed like hard-won victory and fuck if Mark would let his Type A reluctance to chill distract him from what he wanted, which was to talk things out with Owen.

  Mark still wasn’t sure what he’d say, of course. How to tell Owen he’d missed him, far more than he’d thought possible. That the idea of Owen disappearing from Mark’s life left him hollow. That he knew there had to be a way to make this thing between them work, even if the idea of trying scared the absolute shit out of him.

  He moved to check his phone again, but a cacophony of car horns and squealing tires caught his ear. Mark looked toward Haymarket in the direction of the commotion, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary, from what he could see. And still no sign of Owen.

  He’s probably still on the train. He’d message if he changed his mind.

  Then again...maybe Owen wouldn’t message. Maybe he’d stand Mark up, despite their brief exchange the night before, because he was done with Mark and his whole attitude toward relationships.

  Mark didn’t notice he’d started pacing until he nearly walked into a couple headed in the opposite direction. By then the wail of sirens had broken through his tangled thoughts, and when he glanced toward the noises this time, he saw that traffic on the streets around the building that housed the Boston Public Market appeared to be at a standstill. Red and blue flashing lights were clustered toward the top of Hanover Street, a sure sign that whatever was happening involved both police and EMS.

  Those streets were busy with the weekend fish and farm markets, and the narrow lanes were heavily trafficked with every mode of transportation imaginable, including horse-drawn tourist carriages and bike-powered pedicabs. Collisions were not uncommon. Particularly when pedestrians and drivers alike could be careless at crosswalks. Or distracted. Just like Owen had been the weekend before.

  Fuck.

  The only thing that kept Mark from tearing over Cross Street immediately was the prospect of being run down by a car himself. He was on the move the moment the traffic signal changed, weaving around the pedestrians, the February air extra cold in his lungs. He caught a break at the next intersection and dashed across Surface Road before the crowds around the market stalls slowed him down again.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the winter temperatures filtered through Mark as he pushed past people, trying his utmost to be gentle. He murmured apologies to those he displaced around him, and it seemed an age before he reached the top of the street. The crowd grew even thicker there and Mark had to rise up on his toes to peer over the heads of the curious onlookers who’d gathered.

  His stomach plummeted when he saw at least two figures on the ground surrounded by EMTs and cops, as well as several clusters of personnel by the open doors of two parked ambulances.

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  Moving toward the front of the crowd on numb legs, Mark stared at the scene around him. A bicycle lay twisted in front of a car stopped on Congress Street, and a huge dent marred the car’s hood. An EMT carrying a red backboard crossed Mark’s line of vision, moving toward a figure on the ground that lay very, very still.

  “Sir, you can’t get through here. I’m gonna have to ask you to step back.”

  Mark stared into the weathered face of the officer directing him around the scene, and while the cop was all business with his deep voice and bristling moustache, his brown eyes were kind.

  “I’m a nurse,” Mark said, his voice so hoarse he almost didn’t recognize it. His shirt was drenched with sweat under his coat, despite the cold weather, and his heart hammered in his throat. “I can help. And I may know someone involved in the accident.”

  “You do? What makes you say that?” The cop put a hand on Mark’s elbow and waved at another officer standing nearby. “Murphy, cover me while I talk
to this gentleman.”

  “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  Mark followed the sergeant out of the crowd, his head spinning with anxiety. All he could make of the second figure on the ground was a pair of legs clad in dark trousers, and everywhere else Mark’s moved his eyes, he found movement and color and too much information to process.

  “What makes you think you know one of the victims?” the cop asked again.

  “We were meeting in the North End,” Mark said. “He was coming from work and he uses a longboard and the Orange Line, but now I can’t reach him and his phone is going straight to voicemail.”

  He blinked at a gap that opened in the knot of EMTs and cops near one of the ambulances, and a familiar shock of white-blonde hair instantly caught Mark’s eye.

  “Hell.” He pointed with a shaky hand. “There, in the rig. I think that’s him.”

  He headed for the ambulance, the cop following close behind, but couldn’t truly see the figure seated in the back of the wagon until the EMT treating him stepped back. Mark’s breath caught as he got a clear look at a bruised and bloodied face he definitely knew, as well as a set of dark eyes hazed by pain.

  “Owen!”

  Mark squeezed past the EMT, uncaring of the mess around him or the blood on Owen’s face. Owen was ashy pale, his lips almost gray, and while there were abrasions around his right eye, the bleeding seemed to be limited to his nose.

  “Mark.” Owen’s voice was strained and he swiped at his nose with an already bloodstained cotton pad. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “Why are you apologizing for bleeding?” Mark took the gauze when he noticed Owen’s hands were shaking. “What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

  “M’okay,” Owen muttered. He clenched his hands in his lap and closed his eyes when Mark took him by the chin with one hand.

  “Are you a doc?” the EMT asked.

  “CNP,” Mark murmured. Carefully, he pressed the bridge of Owen’s nose with his fingertips. “This doesn’t look broken.”