After we’re done choking down food, Sloane ruffles Noah’s head.
“Babe, why don’t you go play in the treehouse? It’s pretty lonely since you’ve moved.”
Noah smiles, finishes his milk, then disappears outside.
I’m waiting for Sloane to broach the subject, but the silence makes me think she’s too chicken to tell Lachlan. She keeps glancing in his direction as she scoops leftovers into plastic containers as he throws the empty Chinese food boxes in the trash. I stare at them in silence, wiping down the table.
I feel like one of those really lonely, messed-up characters in a movie that’s standing outside in the pouring rain, peering in through a window of the home where he used to live, longing to have my old life back. Not long ago, Sloane and I worked well together in silence.
After I learned Drew had been arrested and will be sent to complete some sort of assessment at a mental facility rather than being made someone’s bitch in prison, I snapped. It’s strange though because it wasn’t in the way I expected. I didn’t break anything, especially that cop’s face for being so goddamn stupid. I didn’t yell or scream. I calmly walked to the fridge, grabbed a beer, and began to drink. I haven’t stopped yet.
The elephant in the room is choking me, and since no one spared my fucking feelings with this news, I’ll tell Lachlan my damn self. Tossing the cloth into the empty sink, I clear my throat and turn around. Lachlan’s brows lift. “That douchebag cop was here today. Drew was arrested.”
Lachlan glances to Sloane for validation. “Seriously?”
Sloane nods and, after placing the rest of the food in the fridge, she wipes her hands on a dish towel. “Yeah, Officer Hudson came by earlier to inform us.”
“Don’t you mean Nash?” I sound like a child, but I don’t fucking care. Something about that guy and how close he sat next to my wife on my couch really pisses me off. Maybe I’m being territorial. Even with all of the problems Sloane and I are having, I still have an overwhelming need to protect her.
“Owen, please. He was concerned and came here to tell us both, but you weren’t here.”
“So, that’s it, then?” Lachlan slides onto a bar stool at the kitchen island and lowers his head into his hands. “It’s over now. They got him.”
I snort, which earns me a disapproving scowl from Sloane. “No. It’s not over. Drew, the master manipulator, conned his way out of prison. Just like I knew he was going to!”
Lachlan’s head pops up, eyes narrowed in my direction. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Sloane sits next to Lachlan on a bar stool. “The judge doesn’t think Drew would be mentally fit to stand trial, so he has been ordered to complete a thirty-day assessment in a state mental hospital. After that, he’ll go before the judge again to determine if he can stand trial.”
“How can this even be possible?”
I push off the counter and saunter toward them. “I’ll tell you how it’s fucking possible. Because this is what psychopaths do. If you two would have listened to me for one minute instead of writing off anything I have to say because you think I’m damaged, then this would have never happened.”
“Owen.” Lachlan cocks his head to the side like I’m the irrational one. “You were talking about taking care of him yourself. Bringing a murderer to justice in your own way wasn’t an option. There were too many things wrong with the path you wanted to take. We did what we had to, and now we’ll just have to wait and see what happens. But Drew will pay.”
“Are you even hearing yourself? You did what you had to? You didn’t have to run to the cops and give Drew the option for an easy way out. You could have considered my way.”
Sloane stands from the stool. “What are you even saying, Owen? You wanted to kill Drew. You wanted to take a life. I understand the anger toward him, I really do, but come on, Owen. That’s not you. You’re not a murderer.”
“You don’t know what kind of person I am anymore.”
“Yes, I do! You’re the same man I fell in love with. The good parts in you just got buried in all of this mess.”
I’m not a good man. I wish she would see that and let her hopes and dreams die just like mine did. “The good parts didn’t get buried, they were burned alive.”
The back door closes, and Sloane jumps at the sound.
“It’s started to rain.” Noah shrugs and grabs his iPad off the counter then jumps onto the couch to play.
“I should get him home before the rain picks up. We’re supposed to have a big storm tonight. Can we please just put this to the side for now? We can talk about this again once we have more information after Drew’s assessment. Yes, he’s crazy, but he’s not smart enough to fool doctors into letting him walk a free man. Have a little faith.” Lachlan leans over and kisses Sloane on the forehead.
What the fuck is happening? Since when are they best friends?
Sloane leads Lachlan and Noah to the door. After they’re gone, she shifts to face me still in the kitchen. On cue, thunder roars from over our heads. How fitting.
“I’m going to bed.” She begins shuffling up the stairs.
“Sloane.”
She pauses, keeping her back to me. I want to assure her it’s going to be okay. I want to be the one to make her feel better. I want her to tell me it’s insane for thinking I walked in on something earlier today. I want to apologize for telling her she already lost me. I want to tell her to fight for me.
I’m still here.
My mind reels with everything I need her to know. As I stare at the back of her head, red hair piled on top of her head, fallen strands of silk, I have no right to say any of that. I can’t give her false hope because I know I can’t be the Owen she once knew. Too much has happened now.
“Good night.”
Her head turns slightly, enough for her to catch my eyes with hers. In the brief flash of time, I see forgiveness and love. Then she blinks, and it’s gone, replaced with tears.
After she disappears upstairs, the tub water turns on, so I do what feels best these days, I grab a beer from the fridge and head outside to drink in the rain. The treehouse offers a little bit of shelter from the storm rolling in. I put the beer in the front pocket of my sweater and climb the ladder to the platform.
Sitting on the wooden boards fifteen feet in the air, I take long pulls on the bottle, wishing I had brought two with me.
Sawyer yelled at me when she first learned how high this treehouse would actually be. She thought it would be too dangerous for Noah and he would fall out of it or something. I tried to reassure her I designed it especially for him and she didn’t need to worry. I’ve always been somewhat of a natural handyman. I had to learn how to fix things myself at a young age since I’d been the man of the house. When this treehouse was finished, I was so proud of it. I did mostly everything on my own, except for the few times Sloane’s father came over to help. The one thing I love the best about it is the window that I made overlooking the tree line at the rear of the yard.
Raindrops bead into bubbles on the ledge with the trees swinging rhythmically in the background, and I’m more relaxed now than I have been in a long time.
The ladder creaks, and, for a moment, I shrug it off as the wind, but then Sloane comes into view, hair wet and dripping, cheeks flushed, probably from the bath water.
She says nothing as she shuffles across the floor and scoots to sit next to me with her back to the wall. She removes a bag from across her chest, and bottles clink together as she sets the bag on the floor. Opening the top, she takes out a beer and passes it to me. After I take it, she gets one out for herself.
I’ve only seen her drink beer a few times, and when she does, it’s usually a Corona. Yet, here she sits, taking sips next to me in the rain-filled silence of the night.
“I want us to still be together in all of this.”
Her words echo around us, replaying over and over in my mind, and, for the life of me, I wish I could give her that.
THIR
TEEN
Sloane
“I’m so glad you were able to meet with me this morning before you opened Revamped.” My mom reaches her tanned hand over the table and squeezes mine. “Your father and I missed you so much, baby girl.”
I take a sip of my coffee, relishing the effects of caffeine, and place it back on the saucer. With the lack of sleep I’ve been getting, my coffee intake has become more of a necessity than a treat these days. “I’ve missed you both, too. So, tell me all about the trip. You had fun? Was the food edible, or did Dad get sick from it like the last time?”
She chuckles as she pours milk into her tea. “Thankfully, the food was great. It was a lovely trip. I sunbathed while your father golfed. Honestly, though, I don’t want to talk about it. I feel terrible enough taking your honeymoon from you. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to hear about you. How are Noah and Owen? I wish they could have come to breakfast with us.”
So much has happened since I last spoke to my parents. They have no idea Owen quit his job, and Noah moved into a new house with Lachlan and spoke for the first time since the accident to name Drew as the shooter. My head spins just thinking about filling her in on everything. I don’t want to keep anything from her, and I’m sure she’ll be able to tell I’m lying, but I can’t bring myself to unload all this crap right away.
“First of all, you did not steal my trip from me. We both know the reasons why Owen and I couldn’t make it, and I’m glad your money didn’t get wasted. Please don’t feel bad about it, Mom.”
Her head tilts to the side, and she sucks in her bottom lip, eyes brimming with tears. I know if I don’t change the subject, breakfast will just turn into a sob-fest.
“And the boys really miss you, they do. Lachlan brought Noah to visit with his aunt and uncle. Owen’s just busy with work. We’ll have you and dad over soon. They’re all doing well. Noah is actually starting school next month. He spoke finally.”
My mom’s eyes continue to glisten with the news of Noah. She always thought of him as a grandson, buying him gifts for holidays and birthdays.
“I’m so happy to hear that, Sloane. I was so worried for that little boy. He was left in good hands, though.”
The waiter appears with our meals, and I’m thankful for the interruption. After placing my plate on the table, he smiles down at me. “Anything else I can get for you, Miss? More coffee?”
“Um, sure. Thank you.”
As he pours, he barely breaks eye contact with me. “Will that be all?”
I peek over to my mom who bites her lips to keep from smiling. “Yeah, we’re good. Thanks.”
He takes a quick glance at my mom, then back to me. “Enjoy your meal.”
When he’s out of earshot, my mom leans toward me. “Well, if you weren’t a happily married woman, I would tell you to get that boy’s phone number.”
“Okay, you did not just say that, Mom.”
“What? He’s really cute and obviously already in love with you.”
Typical mother thinks their child is the best thing to grace this planet. I love my mom, more than the world, but she really has no filter when it comes to speaking her mind. My personality is a bit more reserved than hers. Apparently, I take after my grandmother, because my father is outspoken as well, whereas I hold my tongue more often than I should.
“Anyway, where were we before the waiter asked for your hand in marriage?”
I chew my food and silently shake my head. “You’re unbelievable. You think every guy is in love with me.”
She drops her fork and places her hand over her heart. “My dear, that’s because they are. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, a successful business owner. I’ll tell you, Owen is lucky he scooped you up when he did.”
My smile falls from my mouth instantly as a breath catches in my throat.
“Sloane? What is it? What’s wrong?”
I can’t tell her my marriage is falling apart along with the rest of my life in a very public restaurant. I inhale deeply, buying a few seconds as I drink more coffee. Eventually, I clear my throat. “Just a bit of a rough patch lately. That’s all.”
Her hand returns to mine, and I’m taken back to my childhood when I was upset as a little girl. She’d fix everything with her kind, soothing words then we would bake something full of chocolate. If only sweets could fix my life right now. “Sloane, baby, you have all been through so much, and I’m not just talking about the last few months. I’ve sat back and watched you handle everything in life with grace and courage. You’re an amazingly strong woman, and I have every faith you will get through this, too.”
Swallowing the lump burning the middle of my throat, I try to push past the hopelessness. “What if we don’t get through it?”
She sits up straighter, her chin rising slightly. “Whatever happens, you still have your father and me. We love you and will help you through anything, and you know that. But Sloane, my love, you’re not a quitter. You’ve never given up on anything in your life, and I don’t think you’re going to start now. Not when it counts the most.”
I continue to poke at my food, lost in my mother’s wisdom.
“Have you and Owen considered grief counseling or even couples counseling?” She shifts in her seat and lowers her voice. “When you father and I miscarried your younger sister all those years ago, it nearly tore us apart. But we knew we had you to consider, and we also knew we still loved each other. Even after a terrible tragedy, our love was still there. It was just buried by levels of grief and guilt and blame. We took the time and invested back into our marriage and it really worked. Counseling saved our family and made us stronger than ever. It might be helpful for you and Owen after what you both went through. I don’t know the details of your marriage, and I don’t mean to pry, but maybe Owen has survivor’s guilt or post-traumatic stress disorder?”
She’d never spoken with me about her miscarriage. I knew the overview of what happened, though. Every year on October 24th she quietly spends the day by herself. My father tried to explain it a little bit when I was younger so I knew to leave my mom be on that day. As open as our relationship is, she never brought it up before today.
She may have a point. I did some research on PTSD right after the accident when a nurse in the hospital handed me some pamphlets, and I’ve tried my hardest to make things at home easy for him. Maybe what he’s actually dealing with is survivor’s guilt. Could he really feel guilty for being the one to walk away from that night? I know he loved his sister, but would he trade places with her if he could?
Yeah, he would. That’s who he is. How have I not seen this before?
Mom and I finish our breakfast, a small flutter of hope stirring inside of me.
My marriage may be salvageable after all.
The bell over the door jingles as two more customers enter Revamped. I smile to myself knowing Sawyer would have loved to see how busy the shop is getting. Although, the amount of traffic coming in is a bit strange. I’m beginning to think someone put my name on the stall of a bathroom somewhere because I honestly cannot think of another way to explain the sudden popularity.
I cash out the fifth customer this hour and lean back to appreciate the sight of my busy store. Sales have always been decent, but today has been exceptionally good. It’s nearly two in the afternoon now, and I just realized I haven’t eaten lunch.
Staring at my cell phone next to the notepad behind the counter, I debate on whether or not to snap a picture of the store and text it to Owen. Would he even care to know the store is doing this well? He hasn’t visited Revamped once since the accident.
I hate viewing our life in this manner. It’s all divided into how it was before the accident versus how it is now.
Another customer steps up to the register and settles three items on the counter; an apple themed kitchen organizer and two small picture frames. At this rate, I’ll run out of things to sell by the end of the week.
My mom offered to stay and help after she tagged along
to see the new items I’ve made in her absence. After much convincing on my end, she left with me promising to call her later this week.
My parents have always been my biggest supporters. I planned on taking a loan from the bank for starting costs and the lease. My father wasn’t hearing any of that, though, so we made a business deal. I have the first five years to pay him back for the loan, without interest. He didn’t want the money at all until I wouldn’t agree to accept the offer any other way. Once we settled that I would make monthly payments to him, he made sure I still had enough income for my personal mortgage and living expenses.
The bell jingles its song again as another person enters the store. This time the face is familiar and she walks straight to me behind the counter.
“Hi!” The barista from Chloe’s Café beams while holding up a coffee cup and a small bag. “Chloe sent me over with fuel for you.”
Even though I can’t see the café from inside my shop, I glance toward it, and a smile touches my lips. She really is like the aunt I never had.
“That was so thoughtful of her.” I take the bag and place it behind the counter and sip the coffee right away. Scalding hot, just how I like it. “Oh God, that’s so good. Thank you for bringing it by.”
“No problem, I was just leaving work anyway.” She glances around the store, mild curiosity written on her face. I don’t think she’s been in here before. I love when newcomers walk in. It’s like seeing them enter another world. There are almost too many diverse crafts in here for two eyes to take in at once.
“It’s Imogen, right?”
Her gaze flickers back to me with a bit of confusion in her irises.
“Your name tag,” I explain, pointing to her shirt.
She looks down to where I’m pointing and touches the small, rectangular plate. “Right. Yeah. Everyone calls me Immy for short.”
“I’m Sloane. Can’t really shorten that.”
She grins as she places her purse on the counter and unties her café apron, bunching it in her hand. “Chloe talks about you and Sawyer all the time.”
Edges of Gone (The Gone Series Book 2) Page 10