Our Alternate Ending

by Katie Fox

  He kissed. He caressed. He explored.

  He was giving me forever the only way he knew how—the only way he possibly could—by branding himself on my skin, locking himself within my heart, and threading himself around every fiber of my being.

  He was imprinting himself forever on my soul.

  Owen laced our fingers together, and as we both panted through the intensity of the moment, he dropped his forehead to mine, holding my eyes as a single tear slipped from the corner of his. It rolled down his cheek where it fell to my lips, and I was overwhelmed by how much emotion one single drop could contain. Owen had always been the perfect definition of strong. He didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve for the world to see, but right then he was exposing it for me.

  “If there is anything I’ve done right in my life, Elle, it is losing my heart to you.”

  At his words, I shattered—in the best possible way.

  The next morning, I awoke to the sun’s rays shining through Owen’s bedroom window. I was curled against his chest, our arms wrapped tightly around each other, and as I tilted my head back to catch a glimpse of his face, he dipped his chin forward at the same time, staring down at me and smiling softly.

  “Morning, beautiful.”

  I scooted myself up so I was closer to his lips and pressed a kiss to his mouth. And another. And another. “Morning, handsome.” Returning to my previous position, I smoothed my fingers lazily up and down his biceps. “I’m not ready to go back to work tomorrow. Think my boss would get mad if I called in sick?”

  He chuckled, and as I took comfort in the sound and his warmth, he nuzzled himself into my neck. “Not if he calls in sick with you.”

  A pregnant pause thickened the air as he said the words, and we both knew why. Owen was sick. It was a reality that at times was easily forgotten, especially when we were wrapped up and lost in each other, but it always had a way of reminding us, like it did then.

  We lay still and after a few minutes of awkward silence, Owen reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes drifted closed, and a pained look soared across his face, contorting his expression in a way that caused my stomach to lurch uneasily. It was the same look I’d seen him wear before when he was experiencing one of his migraines. Of course, at the time, that’s all I thought they were. Now that I knew the truth, the reason he experienced them, it made my heart beat at a rhythm that was anything but steady.

  “What’s wrong? Another migraine?” The worry in my tone was evident even to my own ears.

  Keeping his eyes shut, Owen nodded softly and sighed. “Yeah.”

  My heart squeezed at his confirmation, and I sat myself up, bringing the sheet with me and holding it against my bare chest. “Where is your medicine? I’ll go get it for you.”

  “No…no, it’s okay. You stay here.” Pushing up on his elbows, he kissed my lips and rolled off the side of the bed. He quickly pulled his boxers and jeans on and leaned in, cupping my face and trailing his thumb down my cheek, kissing me for a second time. “I love you. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay. I love you, too.” Watching as he disappeared out of the room, I frowned, my stomach a swirling pit of anxiety.

  How was I supposed to do this? How was I supposed to become his strength when I barely had the strength to keep myself together?

  You’ll figure it out, Elle. You’ll figure it out because you love him and you’re not going to allow him to go through this alone.

  He needed me.

  Lying back and shifting onto my side, I hugged his pillow and breathed deeply, the scent of his cologne filling my lungs, and as I let the air out on a controlled exhale, it did nothing to alleviate the tightness constricting my chest. Staring mindlessly at the ceiling, my fingers fidgeting with the sheet still fisted in my hand, I listened as the sound of water flowing from the faucet in the kitchen reached my ears. I closed my eyes, struggling to keep my thoughts in the now as I waited for Owen to return.

  Only he didn’t return.

  The piercing sound of glass shattering ricocheted around the walls of the condo, and I shot up, my heart surging against my ribs as I swung my legs off the bed.

  “Owen!”

  Scooping his shirt up from the floor, where it lay from the night before, I quickly slipped it over my head and hurried out of his bedroom. A loud crash followed by bone-chilling silence sent my already racing heart into overdrive, and I broke out into a sprint down the hall, flinging my body around the door that led into the kitchen.

  I halted.

  My heart stopped.

  “Owen!”

  Oh God. No. Please no...

  The clock on the wall ticked away the seconds, the sound of it the only thing to be heard over the dread and confusion regulating the beats of my heart. I had been sitting in the emergency room for nearly twenty minutes, and other than the words “possible seizure” spoken by the paramedic on the ride there, I was a complete stranger to Owen’s current state and condition. Tears brimmed my eyes, blurring the scene around me: the patients who were advised to have a seat with their less than serious ailments and the bustle of doctors and nurses as they filtered in and out of doors with clipboards in hand. The last time I'd been in an emergency room had been three years previous when my father was sick. I’d hated it then and I hated it now.

  My knee bounced uncontrollably, and sitting still in a plastic chair that was far from comfortable, waiting for news they probably wouldn’t give me, had me rising to my feet. I paced the floor, not even sure my lungs were filling with air, but they had to be because I was still breathing.

  Somehow, I was still breathing.

  I glanced around, searching for Millie. I'd called her the second the paramedics had arrived, but I'd been too upset to really get my words out clearly. She’d assured me she was on her way. I needed her here desperately because I couldn’t do this on my own.

  “Owen Caldwell.”

  The sound of a distraught feminine voice echoed loudly in my ears, and I spun around, watching as a woman of average height and a petite build rushed to the front of the nurse’s check-in desk, a man who I assumed was her husband quickly on her heels. Her light brown hair was the same color as Owen’s, and her next words confirmed what I’d already suspected.

  “He’s my son. He was brought in by ambulance twenty minutes ago. Can someone please tell me if he’s okay?”

  I don’t know why, but the tears streamed faster as I stood there listening to the mother of the man I was in love with—the mother I’d never had an opportunity to formally meet—cry out her panic and fear. The rest of their conversation became muddled behind my own emotion, but when she turned around and her green eyes met mine, red and lined with sorrow, I lost any ability to keep it together.

  “You’re Elle, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice low as she walked over to me without hesitation. “Elle Callihan? You’re my Owen’s Elle.”

  Owen’s Elle.

  I wanted to smile at those words and how they made my heart flutter with their meaning, but the current situation didn’t allow for even a shred of happiness. She was right, though. I was his. I’d always be his. My response became stuck behind the painful lump in my throat, and all I managed was a small nod.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Choking on a breath of air that resulted in a sob, she pulled me into her arms, and I immediately melted into her embrace, crying into her shoulder. “Thank you so much for being there with him.”

  Millie arrived seconds later, and as I pulled back from Mrs. Caldwell’s arms, I fell right into Millie's. She held me tightly, whispering words I couldn't make out, and then guided me over to the row of unoccupied seats where we all sat.

  We sat for what seemed like hours, and I was relieved they were all there. Not much was said between the four of us. I think there was too much fear swimming in our stomachs to really think coherently, much less give a voice to our worried thoughts. It wasn't until I walked over to the vending machine to get us all a coffee that Mrs. Caldwell f
ollowed and stood beside me.

  “Elle. I know we haven't really had the opportunity to meet, and I hate that it is here of all places, but I want you to know how truly grateful both my husband and I are. We owe you all of our gratitude.”

  I shook my head. They didn't owe me anything. “Please, Mrs. Caldwell. All I've done is what anyone would do for the person they love.”

  Her eyes were full of unshed tears, and I couldn’t get over how much Owen looked like her. “I’m sure you know this, but when Owen first found out about his diagnosis, he cut us off. He thought by pushing us out of his life he was somehow saving us from heartbreak—that it would be easier for us to handle the fact that we were losing our baby boy if we weren't around to witness it firsthand.” Her bottom lip trembled, and she pulled in a shuddering breath. “I'll be the first to tell you he was wrong, but that's my Owen. He's always been one to put others before himself, and that's exactly what he was doing. He was thinking more about how it would affect us than it would him.” She let out a sigh and continued. “And I know what you must be thinking. How could we just let him push us away, right?”

  The question must’ve been rhetorical because she didn’t allow me a chance to respond.

  “Several times we showed up at his home and at work. We tried calling him. All attempts he avoided. Until one day we realized that if this was what he truly wanted then we'd respect that. As much as it killed us inside, we'd respect his wishes.” Her face broke, raw emotion contorting her features, and I blinked back tears. “It's not easy being a parent, Elle. It's especially not easy being a parent when your child is given less than a year to live and they've made every effort to cut you out of their lives. I’ve cried myself to sleep every night since that moment, worried sick that my baby was suffering alone. So, you can imagine how happy I was when he showed up at our door a little over four weeks ago, and I’d learned he hadn’t been alone. It was like a miracle. He told me all about this amazing woman he'd met. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Skin the shade of ivory and a smile that could brighten even the darkest of nights. He told me how she’d stumbled through his office with a broken heel and coffee on her blouse, and how from the moment he saw her, he knew what it meant to fall quickly and hopelessly in love. It wasn't until he'd finished talking that I realized my son had found a miracle of his own. Only his miracle…she had a name. Elle Callihan.”

  My fingers curled into my palms, and I shook my head, fighting the tears that were trying to break free. It was no use. The dam broke and all the love I had for Owen released itself at once, creating wet tracks down my cheeks. “I love him so much, and I’m so scared.” As I cried out my fears, Mrs. Caldwell pulled me into her arms, and I buried myself into her warmth. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose him.”

  As I stepped around the door to Owen’s hospital room, I kept my eyes closed, afraid to open them. I didn’t want to see him like this. Not when he had been laughing and smiling and whispering in my ear less than twelve hours ago. The sound of his heart monitor beeped a slow, steady beat, and as much as I knew this was going to tear me apart, I convinced myself to look at him. He needed me. He needed me right now more than ever, and I wanted to be there for him.

  It was time to be his strength.

  My tear-laced lashes swept up, and the sight of him lying still and unconscious had me stumbling backward and my hand coming up to control the strangled cry that burst free.

  Oh, Owen.

  Anguished tears filled my eyes as my gaze drifted over his bed, his blue and white hospital gown, and the network of wires traveling from his body to the endless medical equipment surrounding him. This wasn’t fair. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs to anyone who would listen. He didn’t belong here. He deserved to be living his life because he had so much life left to live.

  Unable to be away from him for a second longer, I padded over to his bed, my knees weak and my feet heavy in their steps. I sat down beside him, reaching out with a shaking hand to cup his cheek. The stubble on his jaw prickled the skin of my palm, and I stroked my thumb over his cheekbone, sniffing back a new round of tears. “Hey.”

  His usual “Hey” reply didn’t come, and I inhaled against the intense pain slicing across my chest in its absence. Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth to try to steady it, I moved closer, leaning in and pressing a featherlight kiss to his forehead. I stayed there for a moment, not ready to pull away from him, and struggled to find the right words to say in what would be a one-sided conversation. “The doctors said you experienced a seizure, a result of the tumor. I guess it’s pretty common. They also said it was a good thing we got you to the hospital as soon as we did, and while they were able to do everything they needed to on their end, the rest is up to you now.” I continued to smooth my fingers over his face, fighting the tears that seemed to be in constant supply. “I need you to wake up for me,” I whispered, and even though he wasn't awake to see it, I managed to crack a watery smile just for him. “I need you to open those beautiful green eyes and look at me, Owen. Please. God, I’ll do anything for you to just open those eyes and look at me again, look at me the same way you've always looked at me…like I'm the only thing you’ve ever wanted to see.”

  Sadness moved through me in agonizing waves, and I gave in to my hurt, collapsing against him. Jagged tears rolled down my face as I hugged his chest and buried my ear into the calm of his heartbeat, trying to find some sort of solace in his shallow breaths and the warmth of his body.

  “You told me that wanting and loving me was the most selfish thing you'd ever done, and I didn't understand it at the time, but I do now. I understand because, you see, my love for you is just as selfish. I should be lying here telling you that if you want and need to go, you should—you should so you don't have to hurt and suffer anymore, but the truth is, I don't want you to go.” Grief clogged my throat. “I don't want you to go because these last three months we’ve spent together haven’t been enough, not nearly enough. I want more. I need more because I'm not ready to live without you, Owen.”

  I took a deep trembling breath, my heart squeezing so tightly I felt as though I couldn’t breathe, and I repeated the words over and over, hoping whoever had the power to grant wishes and perform miracles was listening—was hearing my cries and my pleas. I may have been his miracle, but he was mine, and right now we both needed one.

  Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me yet. I’m not ready to live this life without you.

  Time passed as I lay there, and I wasn’t sure how much because falling in love with Owen taught me that time was simply a number. It didn’t hold value when it came to the things that truly mattered, so I stopped counting. I became sublimely blind to the clock in the room and instead focused on the sound of his heart beating beneath my ear. If these were the last moments we had together then I was going to cherish them.

  I was going to cherish him, forever.

  With tears streaming down my face, I gathered every ounce of strength I could find and pushed myself up, bringing my face to his and kissing him softly. I choked back another sob, whispering against his lips. “I’m going to give us an alternate ending. I promise.”

  Two years later...

  SITTING AT THE end of the pier, I stared out at the water, watching as it glistened and danced under the rays of the waning sun. The sky was painted in vibrant shades of purple and orange—gold swashes streaked throughout its colorful canvas. It looked as breathtaking and beautiful as it had that day. Almost two years had passed since Owen held me tightly in his arms, pointing to the spot where the ocean met the sky and whispering in my ear that I’d been right—he was more than convinced that was where heaven existed and that that’s where he’d be, forever watching over me.

  Forever.

  He’d once thought he couldn’t give me forever, but he’d been wrong. That day we both realized that no matter where he was, here or there, he’d forever be with me.

  He’d forever be in my heart.

  Closing
my eyes, the corners of them stinging with what I knew was the formation of tears, I inhaled deeply, trying to swallow down the rush of unexpected emotion and dull the ache pulsing in my chest. Crying randomly was something I’d find myself doing often, especially lately, seeing as all my dreams were finally coming true.

  And I owed it all to him—to Owen.

  He’d never stopped pushing me. He’d never stopped believing in me. He was the reason I was even sitting there now with a physical copy of my first ever book in my hands. He was the reason why I couldn’t open it and read the pages without tears filling my eyes. He was the constant whisper in my heart that made me believe in myself.

  He was still my everything.

  “We did it,” I whispered, my chin quivering as I reached up to swipe away the wetness soaking my cheeks before quickly drying my hands on my shorts. My fingers smoothed over the matte cover, the title—Our Alternate Ending—that couldn’t be any more fitting, and the typewriter and ink splotches that I thought added a completely unique touch. “We did it.”

  The words lingered in the air, and a set of large hands ghosted down my arms, curling themselves around my waist.

  “No. This was all you.”

  The deep, familiar voice that made my heart flutter drifted over my shoulder, and I gave my head a little shake as if to convince myself it wasn't merely a figment of my imagination. A heady warmth swept down my chest as I twisted around, meeting a set of dark green eyes that looked far more beautiful under the setting sun. Soft lips immediately captured mine, melding together in a slow and sensual kiss. The tips of my toes curled, and as our connection broke, I smiled.

  “I never doubted you, Elle.” Owen’s thumb brushed along the corner of my mouth in that tender way that always sent a shiver racing the length of my spine. “Not for one second, baby.”

  As if needing physical reassurance, I took his face in my hands and traced the tips of my fingers along the lines of his features—his strong jaw, the lower curve and cupid’s bow of his lips, his sculpted cheekbones. He was there, he was whole, and he was alive. He was living proof miracles can and do exist.