Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2)

by Zoe Norman

  “Who is she, Owen?” Olivia asks.

  Sure, we can start simple and work our way up from there.

  “Someone I used to know. She’s of no concern, Olivia.”

  “Anyone you tell me is of no concern immediately makes them a big concern. How do you know her?”

  “What does it matter?

  “Did you seriously just say that? Would it matter to you if I just got up from the table without saying a word to you and started talking to some guy at the door? Avoiding you completely?”

  “God, Olivia! I wasn’t ignoring you! I saw her come in and needed to tell her something. We exchanged words and she left. That was it.”

  “So why can’t you tell me what you needed to talk to her about. Or even, just simply who she is? Do you realize how shady that sounds?”

  I take a deep sigh. “I realize it doesn’t look good. I asked her to leave the bar, Liv. I know her from...before and she… We… I knew she would come up to me, so I was trying to eliminate you getting so worked up. Clearly, I failed here—yet again.”

  “The only reason I can think of for you to want some woman to avoid me is because you slept with her. Is that it? Did you fuck her, Owen?”

  God, she’s going to make me say it. “Olivia, you—”

  “Answer the question, Owen. And for God’s sake, don’t make me ask you twice.”

  I run my fingers through my hair, then place my hands on my hips. “Yes.” At hearing the confirmation, Olivia turns her back on me. “It was a huge mistake.”

  No sooner than the words have left my mouth, Olivia whips back around and asks, “Why was she a mistake? Looked to me like you get along fine. What happened that made her a mistake?”

  I can’t do this here—not now. “I think we should go home and finish this conversation,” I say, taking her elbow and looking down the street to find an available cab.

  Olivia yanks her arm out of my grasp as I move her toward a cab that has pulled over. Her sudden shift from being angry to scared is etched across her face. Her eyes dart across my face.

  “Tanner and Laney. They’re—”

  “I’ll take care of it, Olivia. Get in the car.” I’m growing angrier by the minute. I’m angry that Olivia has blown up again, but I’m even angrier with myself. I deserve what’s coming to me, but goddammit, this woman pushes my buttons sometimes.

  While in the cab, I send Tanner a quick text:

  Me: Sorry about tonight. I’m taking Olivia home. I’ll make it up to you and Laney.

  The ride home is eerily quiet. Olivia has been playing with her fingers the short ride back to our apartment and shooting me daggers with her eyes. We enter the building and silently make our way up the stairs. I shut the door to the apartment and direct Olivia to sit on the couch. She looks at me warily, but does as I asked. Then I walk around the coffee table and sit down on it in front of her, holding her knees with my fingers. Olivia wiggles her legs, clearly not wanting me to touch her. Great. Whatever. Fuck it. I stand up and move to the other side of the coffee table before I start to speak.

  “Her name is Stassi. I fucked around with her one time. Just once. And it was a mistake because it happened when you broke up with me.” I let out a deep breath and wait for the aftermath.

  Olivia’s mouth opens, but she says nothing. She wraps an arm around her stomach and looks like she’s going to be sick. Then she clears her throat, like she’s trying to will herself to speak. “You ‘fucked around’ with her?” she asks, using air quotes. “Is that different than having actually fucked her, Owen?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I fucked her. I was drunk and pissed off at you and…she was…there.”

  “She was...there?” She’s incredulous. “Huh. I didn’t realize that you just needed someone to be...there. Well, I’m glad she could oblige.” Olivia’s shoulders slump and she puts her head in her hands.

  “Well, fuck! I’m sorry I disappoint you so much. When you didn’t return my calls or my texts or acknowledge me at all—not once wanting to talk to me—I was under the impression that I would never see you again. I’m not proud of what I did, Olivia. It was incredibly stupid and I cannot tell you that I’m sorry enough. What you and I have is special. You’re not some place for me to get my dick wet when the moment hits.” Olivia’s mouth gapes open at my words. I was a little crude, but I got my point across. “But with her, it was. It was just sex.”

  Olivia stands up from the couch, grabs a throw pillow, and launches it at me. “Disappoint me? Don’t you dare turn this into me being disappointed. You made a choice. You’re right. I didn’t return your calls, but I also didn’t go and fuck the first dick that came my way. And just so we’re clear, Owen, I did not ‘fuck around’”—again with the air quotes—“or outright fuck anyone while we were apart. I sat on my couch crying most nights and then threw myself into my work. No time for fucking.”

  “And just so you’re clear, Olivia, I was devastated when you left. I was picking up every shift I could. Ran the soles off my sneakers. And when I wasn’t working, I was in the gym trying to busy myself and figure out why, despite my pleading with you, you wouldn’t talk to me. God, Olivia! You even turned me away from your office! I drank way too much, and one time—one fucking time—I really went off the rails and royally fucked it up. I knew I was fucking things up while I was fucking her for God’s sake! I threw up afterwards, I was so disgusted with myself. I saw myself going back down the road to becoming the asshole I was before I met you, and I hated myself for it. Hated myself. You changed me, Olivia. You made me believe that I could be a relationship guy. You taught me what it was like to love again. And I did. I loved you fiercely, and when you gave up on me—when you didn’t believe me…didn’t trust me—I was devastated.” I clear my throat, willing the lump that has formed to dissipate.

  Olivia gives me a thousand-yard stare while tears start to fall down her cheeks and her chin quivers. She walks into to the kitchen, grabs a wine glass, opens the refrigerator door, and pours herself a large glass. Then she takes several sips before putting it down hard on the granite countertop. I cautiously come to stand behind her, my hands rubbing up and down her arms, trying to comfort her. She stiffens under my touch and my heart drops.

  “Owen...no,” she whispers. All the fight has left her.

  I take a step back, sensing that she needs space. She turns around, gives me a sad look, and finishes her glass of wine before placing it in the sink. “I’m going to bed, Owen. I can’t do any more of this tonight. Goodnight.”

  After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I crawl into our bed. Olivia’s back is facing me, and I don’t know if I’ve ever felt lonelier. I know I fucked up big time. I’m not sure how or even if I can make it up to her. I feel like I keep disappointing her.

  When I hesitantly run my hand down her arm, she doesn’t pull away from me, but she doesn't acknowledge me either.

  “Despite what you may think, Olivia, I do love you. Even when we were apart, I never stopped.”

  Silence.

  With a heavy sigh, I lie flat on my back and stare at the ceiling, knowing I’ll be getting little, if any, sleep tonight.

  “I’ll never stop,” I murmur.

  I BARELY REGISTER OWEN’S touch at first, somewhere between sleep and awake. As my body awakens and my brain follows, I realize that he has pulled me to him. He is molded to my back, his hand holding mine, laying it against his cheek. He is kissing the inside of my palm periodically, murmuring something I can’t make out.

  Tossing and turning as I run last night over in my mind, the pain of the evening comes flooding back. I’m still feeling hurt, but I’m missing him more. I don’t have the energy to talk. I know that, if I say anything, I’ll cry. And if I cry, I’ll open conversation that I’m avoiding right now.

  His hand touches my cheek and turns my face toward his. I can’t see him, but I can feel that he is behind me and, I think, leaning up on his elbow. The room is pitch black, my eyes not yet having adju
sted to the darkness. I can smell him as he lowers his face to mine, his aftershave rolling over me like a fog. I feel his lips brush mine . . . softly . . . lightly. I let him kiss me, not returning his kiss at first but eventually giving in, not wanting him to stop. His tongue coaxes my lips apart as he rolls me toward him and onto my back. His arm runs softly down my arm, and my mouth opens to him. This is not a sexual kiss leading to ravenous lovemaking. This is a kiss that’s trying to bring me back to him.

  His tongue laps into me slowly, deliberately, almost pleadingly. He wraps a leg around mine, placing it between my thighs as he continues our slow, wet kiss. His hand cups my face and trails down my neck, my shoulder, and my arm before landing on my stomach. He lifts my T-shirt and slips his hand inside, his fingers tracing small circles on my bare skin.

  I need him closer; he needs me closer. I need the reassurance only he can give me. I know he needs the same from me too. His hand continues to lazily trail up my side, eventually meeting the underside of my breast. I inhale quickly at his touch. He kisses across my belly, nuzzling me.

  His movements are slow and methodical. He isn’t pushing his luck, but it’s not because he doesn’t want to. I can tell that by his touch. It’s because he doesn’t want to push me where I don’t want to go. It’s a level of respect. Other than my mouth, I haven’t touched him yet, and neither of us has uttered a word. He’s taking me—and I need it.

  I need him closer; he needs me closer. I need the reassurance only he can give me. I know he needs the same from me too. His hand continues to lazily trail up my side, eventually meeting the underside of my breast. I inhale quickly at his touch. He kisses across my belly, nuzzling me.

  I need him to show me that he wants me, that I’m the one he needs, that I’m the one who turns him on, and owns his heart.

  He shifts his body and I feel him over me. I slowly slip off my shirt without lifting off the bed. I still can’t see his face well, but I know he’s staring at my body. Gooseflesh starts to rise all over me. I suddenly feel a single finger resting at my hip. It trails lightly over my body, to my belly button, and up the center of my abdomen. He shifts again and I feel his warm breath at my lower belly. He places a soft, wet kiss over my stomach and then up my body, following where his finger was. His breath tickles the skin under my breast. He kisses just under its soft swell, up the underside to my nipple, where he slowly suckles me, pulling the hardened peak into his mouth. I inhale a breath, but there is still no sound in the room. My body bows as I respond to his mouth on me.

  His tongue draws tight circles around my nipple before he takes it into his mouth once again. His other hand skims my other breast, taking it in his hand and kneading it tenderly. His thumb brushes across the nipple that has not yet had the pleasure of his mouth, and I groan as he moves over me and uses his tongue to repeat his actions on this side, lapping in soft, tender circles.

  He trails a hand down my body and skimming my belly to cover my mound over my sleep shorts. I gasp again as he slides his finger down over the center seam. Instead of letting his fingers move to where I desperately want them, he runs his hand down my leg, raking his short fingernails up my thigh, past my hip, and along my side. He leans up and captures my lips, his tongue lapping at me, drinking me in.

  As he slides himself on top of me, I relax my legs, letting them fall apart so he can settle there. He’s hard—I can feel him pressing against me. With a slight move of my hips, he’d be rubbing me in a way that could potentially get me off, but I don’t want that. I want him to do what he’s doing. One of my legs wraps around his calf and I rub my foot up and down. He’s propped on his elbows on either side of my face, and he’s kissing me softly, sweetly, reverently. His lips start to move to my jaw, my neck. He moves his hand down my side, the touch so light that it sends shivers over my body. He slides his hand along my leg, his hand resting behind my knee, pulling me so I roll on top of him.

  I am astride him, looking down, and I can see his face now in the moonlight. He looks sad. I feel sad. The sole purpose of this act is to reconnect and find our union again. I lean forward again, his arms sliding up my bare back as my breasts brush his chest. When you’re this close to someone physically, it assists in creating an emotional bond as well, and I desperately want to kiss him. I press my lips to his, my tongue slipping into his mouth, and now ready to feel him, I rub myself against his length, my back bowing as I glide back and forth. I’m soaking wet and the friction is borderline uncomfortable, but not enough to keep me from continuing. Owen groans as his hands run down my back and into my sleep shorts, stroking my ass under the fabric.

  Owen rolls me back over again, his thumbs hooking into the elastic band of my shorts, pulling them down and off my body before ridding himself of his boxers and settling back down between my open thighs. His eyes find mine as he arches his hips forward slightly, his hardened length rubbing against my wetness, and finding me without the use of his hands. We take a moment to stare at each other, an evening’s worth of apologies passing between us. I’ve never had this with someone, this unique ability to communicate without words, and I feel an entire conversation pass between us as he pulls back slightly and pushes himself in further, never losing my gaze.

  My eyes close involuntarily, something he wouldn’t allow if we could see each other better, but I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of the emotion in this lovemaking. He slides in and out of me, and I give a huff of breath every time he is fully sheathed in me. My hands roam his shoulders, his chest, as my legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer

  After several moments, I feel his hand slide over my side as he leans, urging me to roll on top of him. As I settle myself, he sits up, pushing himself so deep in me that I gasp. It is the loudest noise we’ve made since this began. He adjusts his position so he doesn’t need to support himself, my arms around his neck, his face buried in my hair.

  We rock together, our moans becoming more insistent with every passing moment. His hands find my ass as he urges my movements along and I can feel his heart racing as his chest presses against mine. I run my fingers into his hair, gripping it tight, and pulling his head back so I can press my lips against his. The intensity of the emotion passing between us is only matched by the intensity of our lovemaking and our impending climax. I can feel him growing in me, swelling, as his breathing picks up, but he isn’t the only one showing his tells and I start to rhythmically clench around him as I near the finish line.

  He reaches around me, pressing a hand to the small of my back, pushing harder against me. He undulates his hips against me in an agonizing rhythm. I envelop myself around him, pressing my breasts against his hard chest and trying to find the pressure that seems to be missing, to get me off. I’m getting so frustrated. He must notice too because he moves back slightly and places a hand between our bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive clit, and begins to rub in a circular motion. A few touches are all I need before I feel my orgasm arrive, and I throw my head back in a silent scream.

  As I come, he whispers, “I love you. I love you. I love you,” quietly into my ear.

  As I grip him inside me, he finds his own release and pours himself into me, jerking and grunting as I milk every drop from him with my clenching inner walls.

  “I love you,” he says again as we both pant loudly, finding our breath.

  He’s holding me so tightly that it almost hurts, but I don’t dare tell him that. The act is over but the emotions are still running high and so instead of moving, I stay on his lap, remaining connected at this intimate level. He keeps uttering, “I love you”, in my ear and I unexpectedly start to cry. The culmination of the nights angst, the extended quiet and then the powerful love making, makes me feel overwhelmed with emotion. I lay my head on his shoulder and kiss the base of his neck, and then his ear. His hands are restlessly stroking my back, which I know from past experience is his anxiety about me crying. I pause in my kisses on his ear to murmur against it, “I love you.”

  His bod
y tenses and his stroking stops for a second, but then it resumes, his other arm coming back around my body, squeezing me to him. I pull back and hold his dear face in my hands. We need to stop doing this to ourselves. Neither of us is benefiting from the pain these discussions bring us. I know I need to change the way I react to things from his past coming into our present. It’s not his fault that he has a past. It’s not his fault that he lives geographically where his past happened. I know I’ll get there eventually, but in the moment, the only way I know to respond to hurt is to be angry. It’s a learned behavior from the aftermath of Jay and it’s clearly not working for me in a healthy relationship.

  I pull his face to mine and I whisper against his mouth, “I’m terrified I’ll lose you, you’ll leave me, you’ll find better...or”—I kiss him again, using the move to avoid eye contact with him, this part feeling painful for some reason—“return to someone better.”

  Jay returned to what he thought was better, and he only had the one option. Owen has so many options. Maybe, at the end of the day, this is what scares me so badly. This is why his past undoes me so completely. It’s a threat, another option—his other options.

  He pulls back from me. His eyes are full of understanding, relief, and almost sadness in the pale moonlight. He gets it.

  He cups the side of my face and wipes away a fat tear that has rolled down my cheek. “Baby? Look at me.”

  I pull up my head and look at him through wet eyelashes.

  “That night? When we talked for hours on the plane from New York to Seattle? You had my heart even then. When you came into my life, everyone else ceased to exist. My entire world changed the moment I buckled myself in for that flight. And it’s been the ride of my life ever since. You are it for me, Olivia.”

  He shifts on the bed so he’s looking directly at me.

  “Listen very carefully to me. I love you. I need you, and there will never be anyone else. I’ve found what I didn’t know I was even looking for in you. When I’ve found my other half, why would I need to continue looking? I want you and only you—forever and always. I may be the guy who’s out there saving people every day from burning buildings, but you save my life every single day. You give me life. You give me confidence and strength I didn’t know I had. And more importantly than all of that, you give me your love, which I know, without hesitation, I would die without.”