Maybe It's Real

by North, Isabel

  “Not hard.” Chloe leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “How do you even know about Stephen?”

  He snapped his fingers. “That’s his name. Stephen. Anna might have mentioned him once or twice.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “When were you talking to Anna about me?”

  Fraser gave it some thought. “Last week? Yes, last week.” He lifted and lowered his cup. “Over coffee.”

  Anna and Fraser? No. “You’re not—”

  He laughed. “I should be so lucky. No. She came to check on the site and we hung out. I’m supposed to steer clear of relationships for my first year of recovery. So. Does Owen know you’re in love with him?”

  “What?” Chloe gaped at him. “Where did that come from? No. What?”

  “Didn’t think so. Guess that means you don’t know he’s in love with you?”

  “You were in the same room as us for ten seconds, Fraser! How could you get he’s in love with me from ten seconds?”

  “I have eyeballs. That’s how. The way you two look at each other? It’s pretty obvious.”

  “The way we look at each other?” She scoffed. “What are you even talking about?”

  Fraser sent her a cartoonish smolder.

  “Ew. Don’t do that at me. What’s the matter with you?”

  He shrugged and brought his cup to the table, sitting opposite Chloe. “I call it as I see it.”

  “You are imagining things.”

  “Yeah. I’m the one imagining things. Chlo, for a fake boyfriend, he was throwing off some serious vibes. As for you? You are smitten. Confess already. You love him.”

  “I like him. A lot.” A whole lot.

  Fraser sipped his coffee. “Love him.”

  “It’s possible I’m on the brink of falling for him.”

  “Loooooove him.”

  “My god. I’d forgotten how irritating you are. I don’t know how I could forget, because this level of irritating is—”

  “Looooooove. Him.”

  “Okay, fine! I love him!” Shit.

  She was in love with Owen.

  Fraser leaned back, satisfied. “Makes this a great time for me to tell you that I’m moving out. Now you won’t have to worry about sneaking your fake-not-fake boyfriend out of the house at three in the morning.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking him.”

  “I was there. On the couch. I watched you literally sneak him out. Although I don’t know why you bothered. It’s not like it would have been a big surprise to encounter him over breakfast.”

  “He had to work.”

  “Anyway, I’ll be out of your hair by tomorrow, so you will have your privacy back. I found a room in a shared house. And don’t worry. It’s not a crack house.”

  “Fraser,” she murmured.

  “Too soon to joke about it?”

  She reached across the table and gripped his wrist. “It will always be too soon to joke about what you went through. I should have—

  He pulled out of her grasp. “Woah. You should have what? No. There is no you should have. I shouldn’t have. Me. It was about me, Chloe, not you. I got addicted to the pills. They were my actions. How can you—”

  “Because I’ve seen it happen to other patients. I know how easily it happens. I should have come down to see you, or checked on you more, or, I don’t know. Done something.”

  “Within two days of me telling you I needed help, you had me booked into rehab and you sorted the money so I didn’t have to worry about it until later. Since I got out, you’ve given me a place to stay and helped me find a job. Chloe. You let me cook bacon in your skillet. Bacon.” He ran both hands through his hair. “I had no idea you were feeling some sort of guilt about this.”

  “Then you’re a dumbass. Of course I feel guilt. I’m your sister.”

  “My choices, for good or for bad, are my own. I take responsibility for them. Another way of phrasing it: me getting hooked on pain pills is not your fault. It’s not your business.”

  “But—”

  “No. No buts. Helping me after? Not everyone is lucky enough to have family or friends to rally around them, but I have you. You’re an amazing sister. I bless you for it. You’ve never once judged me for my mistakes, and I know you won’t ever, but I had no idea you were judging yourself. Cut it the hell out. Starting now.”

  Chloe blinked rapidly. “Tell me about this room you’re renting, then. Is it at least in a nice house? Because there’s no rush. I might be in love with Owen, but—”

  “Hah!”

  “Shut up. But he’s not in love with me. Sure, he stayed last night, but it’s not what you think. You’re not ruining my great romance with your annoying presence.” More’s the pity. “My calm, yes. My romance? No.”

  “I still want to move out. I need my own space. I have to take my independence back. I’m grateful to you, and to Anna, and also I’m a grown-ass man with enough pride that I need to start making things happen for myself.”

  Chloe blew out a sigh. “I’m proud of you.”

  Fraser didn’t smile, but his eyes filled with a mix of surprise and fierce affection. He took a gulp of coffee and kicked back in the chair. “So, this room. One of the crew’s housemate moved out and he asked if I knew anyone looking for somewhere…”

  * * * *

  Chloe cared about him.

  This revelation should have made Owen happy. It didn’t.

  Caring for people was integral to Chloe’s character. It was who she was.

  She helped him. She was helping her brother. Every day she got up, went to work, and spent hours helping strangers.

  While the massage had blown Owen’s mind, had broken him apart and put him back together in a new and improved form, Chloe handed out experiences like that for others twenty times a week.

  For Owen it had been a transformational moment.

  For Chloe it had been another body under her hands, another wound-tight person to fix. And, being Chloe, she would care about all of them.

  Owen was greedy. He wanted more from her than anyone else got to have.

  He wanted everything.

  He wanted physical intimacy, more and more and more of what he had three nights ago in her bed, when her skin was soft and warm against him, her limbs sweetly wound around his, the beat of her heart just discernible, if he concentrated, in his own chest.

  He wanted emotional intimacy. He wanted to know her.

  Somewhat terrifyingly, he wanted Chloe to know him.

  He didn’t only want to lose himself in her body.

  He wanted to find himself in her arms.

  And he didn’t have the first clue what to do about it.

  Jim and Owen were in the car, waiting for a potential witness to arrive at his place of work. The copy shop opened at 8:30 a.m. Their witness was an hour late, making Owen fidgety. He chewed on his thumbnail.

  Jim twisted at the waist, putting his shoulders parallel with the window, and glared at Owen. Reaching out, he slapped Owen’s hand away from his mouth.

  Owen jumped in astonishment. “What the hell, Jim?”

  “You’re gonna chew down to the bone if you keep going. I’ve been listening to you gnawing on yourself for forty minutes straight. Quit it. What’s on your mind?”

  Owen gripped the steering wheel, then slumped into the seat with a sigh.

  “Is it Chloe?” Jim asked. “Is it not working out between you two?”

  “No, it’s working out. Better than I ever thought it would.”

  It didn’t feel fake. It hadn’t felt fake for a long time now, and Owen hated not knowing if he was out there on his own, if Chloe felt the same, or if—

  “If it’s working out, why are you eating your hands? Very unattractive habit, by the way. Don’t do that when Chloe’s around.”

  Owen considered him. “I just don’t know if it’s gonna work out long term.”

  “Why not? You guys are great together. Owen, I didn’t even know you could be content, let alone happy. But
since Chloe, you’re a different man.”

  “Easier to work with?”

  “I won’t lie, I don’t miss the snarling. Why isn’t it going to work out? Is it…?” He trailed off into a delicate silence.

  “Is it what?”

  “Are you having problems in the sack?”

  Owen chewed his thumbnail, and scowled when Jim immediately slapped his hand again.

  “No,” Owen barked. “We haven’t done that yet.”

  Jim shook his head in amazement. “You’ve been together for over two months now. What, are you waiting for her to put a ring on it?”

  “Why do you assume I’m the one holding back?”

  “Uh, because I’ve seen how Chloe looks at you.”

  “…yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “…how does she look at me?”

  Jim looked at him.

  Owen choked out a laugh. “Describe it, don’t mime it.”

  Jim laughed. “She’s visibly crazy about you. Anyone who sees you two together would know in a second. It’s you holding back, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s going on? Come on. Think of me as your confessor.”

  “I’m not Catholic.”

  “Think of me as your arresting officer.”

  “I want my lawyer.”

  “How about you think of me as your friend?” Jim’s voice held a not-so-subtle challenge.

  “Okay.”

  Owen couldn’t keep pretending to himself, anyway. They were friends. Worse, they were buddies.

  Jim was a great partner, a good guy, and a buddy. All evidence pointed to the fact he was also a great husband. Who better to talk to about this?

  Owen braced himself and vocalized something he’d barely allowed himself to think of for the last three years. “I don’t know what went wrong.”

  “Talk to her,” Jim said promptly. “Communication is key.”

  “In my marriage.”

  “Oh. Ah. Are you not over your wife?”

  “I’m over May.”

  Getting over her was one of the hardest things Owen had ever done. The hard part being that it was, in the end, easier than it should have been. This, more than anything, had shown Owen how very far apart they’d grown.

  He still missed her. God, he missed her.

  May had been his best friend. After he’d gotten over his anger at the divorce that she hadn’t seen fit to warn him about, after he’d grieved her and moved past the shock of having her taken from him, first by fate and then by herself, Owen had come to accept that he would always miss her. He accepted it. He treasured it.

  He’d met May when he was eighteen. She’d been his best friend before she was his wife, and even though he hadn’t noticed it happening, somehow they’d slipped back into the role of friends rather than spouses.

  What ate away at him wasn’t grief or anger. It was confusion. Lack of understanding.

  He didn’t know why it had happened, and he never would.

  “I don’t know what went wrong,” he said to Jim. “If it was something I did. Or didn’t do. I like Chloe, a whole hell of a lot.” He more than liked her. “I don’t want to repeat my mistakes with her, but I’m doomed to it if I don’t know what went wrong. That isn’t fair to Chloe.”

  He couldn’t in all good conscience progress their relationship until he knew how he’d failed in his previous one.

  In other words, he was stuck.

  “Is asking your ex-wife out of the question?” Jim said. “You two not on speaking terms?”

  “She died.”

  Jim stiffened. “She died? I’m so sorry. I thought you were divorced!”

  “Hmm.” Owen gave an unamused laugh. “Almost. This is where it gets complicated. She was divorcing me. I found out two days after she died in a road traffic accident.”

  “That’ll mess you up. And you didn’t know? Didn’t see the divorce coming?”

  “Nope. I had no idea. Looking back, I realize we’d grown apart, but I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “You don’t even know why she was divorcing you?”

  “I’m pretty sure she was leaving me for the man she was having an affair with.” He cut his eyes to Jim. “My partner.”

  “Nooooooo.” Jim looked at him uncomfortably, then fumbled for his cell phone.

  “If you show me that photo of you and Karin again,” Owen said, “I’ll take your fucking phone off you, and delete every photo on it. You two are solid. I get it. I have seen the pair of you together in real life. I am aware of your unshakable bond.”

  Jim laid the phone back on the dash with exaggerated care, then leaned away from it, hands up.

  “I don’t know why May would even contemplate having an affair, let alone decide to divorce me. I gotta think I was at least in part to blame.”

  “And the reason you’re holding back from Chloe is because you think that, if you don’t know how you screwed it up with May, you’ll risk screwing it up with Chloe?”

  Owen sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Dude.” Jim stared at him as if he was a moron. “You are absolutely going to screw things up. Chloe, another woman, doesn’t matter. You. Will. Fuck. Up. That’s what relationships are about, what marriage is about. Sticking with someone because, no matter how much they piss you off, you can’t imagine life without them.”

  They were both silent for a few minutes, pondering this.

  Jim said, “Isn’t there anyone else you can ask what May might have been thinking? Anyone she might have talked to? What about her parents?”

  Owen shook his head. “No. You and Chloe are the only people I’ve told about the divorce, and you are the only one who knows that the affair was with my ex-partner. I can’t start calling up May’s friends and asking them, three years later. What if she didn’t discuss it with anyone? I need to know, Jim, but not at the expense of May’s privacy, of her memory. I won’t do that to her. There’s no one I can ask without exposing her to gossip or judgment.” His stomach twisted. “Ah, shit.”

  Rob.

  They locked eyes.

  “Don’t say it,” Owen warned him.

  He could ask his ex-partner, Rob. He sure as hell would have some insight into May’s state of mind before she died that Owen wasn’t aware of.

  “I won’t say it,” Jim said. “I’m thinking it. But I won’t say it.”

  They were silent for another few minutes.

  “You’ll let me know how it goes when you ask him, right?” Jim said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “I want to meet her,” Janet said out of the blue.

  Owen and Bruce were watching a documentary on deep-sea fishing that Owen had zoned out on five minutes after it started.

  At Janet’s sudden pronouncement, Owen immediately regretted that he’d stayed for dinner.

  He’d dropped in after his shift to see if Janet needed anything done over the weekend, and she’d convinced him to stay. It was lasagna; obviously, Owen had grabbed a plate and joined them at the table.

  After dinner, he’d pushed Bruce’s wheelchair to the living room and got him settled in front of the television while Janet cleared the kitchen and packed up the leftovers for Owen to take with him, ignoring his protests.

  That had been his moment to leave, and he’d missed it.

  “Who?” he asked, hoping that Janet wasn’t going to say what he thought she was going to say.

  “Angelina Jolie,” Janet replied smartly. “I have a massive lady crush. But as her people won’t return my calls, I’ll settle for meeting your girlfriend.”

  Owen glanced at Bruce, who shrugged.

  Janet perched on the edge of the couch, her slim body stiff with determination. “I’d like to get together before the wedding, which, since the wedding is two weeks away, means sooner rather than later.”

  “Uh, I don’t think I’ll be able to swing that.” Two weeks, really? So soon? And after the wedding, when he no longer needed a fake girlfriend…what th
en? “I’m kinda busy at work.”

  “I’m sure you are, but that doesn’t matter. I don’t want to get together with you. I want to get together with Chloe. Give me her number. We’ll meet for coffee.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “It’s sharing a beverage with a woman who’s important in my son’s life. It’s a fabulous idea.”

  “I’ll talk to her about it,” Owen hedged.

  “Or you could give me her number, and I’ll talk to her about it.”

  “Let the boy do this in his own time, Jan. He’ll introduce her when he’s good and ready. If that’s not until the wedding, that’s his business.”

  Janet narrowed her eyes at Owen.

  It took effort, but Owen held her steely gaze.

  “You made her up, didn’t you?” Janet said. “You made this Chloe person up to put me off finding you a plus-one, and you’re going to ‘break up’ days before the wedding and ruin the seating arrangements.”

  “She’s real.”

  “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

  Still not breaking the staredown, Owen slipped his phone from his pocket, swiped it, and turned the screen to face Janet.

  She took it from him. “Oh, Owen, you’re smiling,” she said when she saw the photo—Chloe with both arms around his neck, up on tiptoe with her body pressed to his, laughing into his face as he smiled at her. “Bruce, look. He’s smiling.” Janet hopped up and skipped across to Bruce’s wheelchair, Owen’s phone in hand.

  Owen frowned. “I smile all the time.”

  They both snorted.

  “She’s very pretty,” Janet said. “And she seems to like you a lot.”

  “Yeah.” Owen fought the urge to put his head in his hands. This had felt like a great plan once, hadn’t it?

  Didn’t feel good right now.

  He felt like a liar.

  “It’s casual, though,” he added. “We’re more like friends.” That, at least, wasn’t a lie.

  Janet returned his phone. “I don’t see casual in that photo. I see a real connection.” She paused before asking, “Is it serious, Owen?”

  Yes.

  “Jan!” Bruce came to his rescue. “In his own time.”

  “Ugh. My god. Fine. Aaaaand now he’s running away.”