by Zoe York
Maybe we weren’t as important to each other as I thought we were.
With each turn through her ever darkening thoughts, she whirled from angry to sad to fine, Definitely Fine, to lost, and then back to angry.
She didn’t want to be angry at Owen. That wasn’t fair.
But it wasn’t fair to her heart to stay with someone who could never be a part of her future the way she wanted them to be.
Hands shaking, she text Jenna.
Kerry: SOS. Are you free tonight?
Jenna: What do you need?
Kerry: Booze? Ice cream? Tissues?
Jenna: Oh no. I’m on it.
Jenna showed up twenty minutes later with two pints of Ben & Jerrys and a bottle of Crown Royal. “I’m yours for the night. Let’s get drunk and watch the Ghostbusters remake. Kate McKinnon makes everything better.”
Kerry burst into tears.
From her purse, Jenna yanked a box of tissues. “Maybe I should have started with these. What happened?”
In halting, sniff-interrupted half-sentences, Kerry gave her the Coles Notes version. Jenna listened, and when Kerry finally finished, she poured them each a drink, and grabbed a couple of spoons.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to break up with him. I have to. It’s the only option.”
“Are you sure?”
Kerry wanted the answer to be different, but she was certain. “If anything, this cements it as the inevitable end to our relationship. He didn’t tell me he couldn’t have kids. We didn’t have the communication we should have, maybe because we both knew, deep down, that if we did, we wouldn’t be together. But I know now, more than ever, that I definitely do want kids, so… this is it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. He’s a great guy.”
“There are other fish in the pond.”
“Yep.” Kerry shoved a big spoonful of Cherry Garcia in her mouth. She wasn’t interested in going fishing any time soon, though.
She did it the next day. She thought about doing it by text, but he deserved better than that, so she drove past his house to make sure he was home and alone, and then called him from her car a block away.
“Hello?”
“It’s me.”
“Hello, you. I miss you. Want to come over?”
Oh God. “I can’t.”
“Damn.”
“Owen—”
“I was thinking—”
“Owen, stop.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I need you to listen to me.” Her voice was shaking. “Please. Just listen to me.”
“You’ve got my attention, sweetheart.”
No pet names. Not now. “I need to take some time to myself. It’s not you, it’s me, and I’ve thought about it. I promise I’ve thought about it, and I’m sorry. But I can’t come over, or hang out, or have you to my place. I need space, and I need you to respect that.”
“Kerry.” His voice cracked as he said her name and she couldn’t handle that.
She whispered that she had to go, and she hung up the call. It wasn’t her finest hour. It was sad and desperate and weak, and she couldn’t do any better than that. I’m so sorry, Owen.
She sat sobbing in her car until her fingertips got cold, then she started the engine again. When she drove past his place, his car was gone. Steeling herself, she headed for the highway, and drove north, with no destination in mind. She just needed to not be in Pine Harbour.
It was dark by the time she got back to her apartment. She let herself in and flopped on the couch.
His knock came an hour later. She recognized his footsteps on the stairs, the heavy weight of them. He knocked twice, then waited. And then he knocked again. Would people notice if he stood out there for too long?
Go away.
At the third knock, she got up and walked to the door.
“I know you’re there,” he said. “Come on, Kerry.”
She opened the door, and he filled the frame, his head hanging a bit. In his hand was one of her sweatshirts. “You left this at my place.”
She stared at the hoodie in his hands. It was an excuse, because he needed one. Because she’d broken his heart and he needed more of an answer as to why, but he couldn’t just straight up ask her for it.
And so he’d brought her something.
Hell, he could have hung on to it. That’s what she would have done. Selfishly kept the thing that smelled like him.
She held out her hand. “Thanks.”
He didn’t let go of the hoodie. “Can we talk?”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said dully. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“I don’t understand.” There was that crack in his voice again.
“I’m sorry.” Tears were flowing freely now. Fork. And it was cold outside.
“I’m not mad at you, Kerry. Please let me come in, just so I can understand. Is that okay?”
Sobbing, she stepped back, and he moved into the apartment, gently closing the door behind him.
“Is this because I had a vasectomy?”
She shook her head no, then nodded it yes. “It’s complicated. I don’t—I’m not mad at you, either. I just…”
Everything she knew she needed to say to him clogged in her throat. He handed her a tissue, and she dried her eyes. But she couldn’t look up at him. She stared at his boots instead. You’re a wonderful man. You are a wonderful father. I would love to make babies with someone like you—with you, in fact, but you don’t want that. You really, really don’t want that. You made a permanent decision to make sure that never happened to you again, and I had no idea.
And then the worst thought of all. Maybe we weren’t as important to each other as I thought we were.
“This is all on me. You were clear about the bounds, and I knew what I was getting into.” She sounded robotic, but that was better than weepy. “At some point, we would have to go our separate ways. That’s all. It’s better for it to happen now.”
“It doesn’t feel better.” He leaned back against the wall, bending his knee, and more of him came into her line of sight. She could almost see his face, and oh God, she didn’t want to have to look at him. But she couldn’t not, either, so she raised her head.
What a mistake that was.
The tortured, twisted look of sadness he gave her was almost enough to make her drop to her knees and beg his forgiveness. She would get over wanting babies.
Except she wouldn’t. She could put it off for a while, but not forever, and then she would resent him.
He searched her face and finally nodded, like he saw all of that. He might not like it, but he saw her. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” she whispered. She needed him to get out of there before the tears came back. “You’re a wonderful—”
He caught her around the waist, holding on tight, and for another split second, she thought she might give in. Oh, how she wanted him to stay. To let him hold her for as long as he wanted, no strings attached. But she wanted more from Owen than he would ever be able to give her, through no fault of his own.
“Love makes us stupid,” she said, hugging him tight. “But that’s okay. I’m grateful for everything we’ve had.”
His body shook, then he took her face in his hands and kissed her hard on the mouth. He kissed her with his whole body, and deep down she knew.
It would be their last kiss.
It had to be.
Owen called in sick for the first time in a decade. That was a mistake, because someone—probably Dani—immediately texted Becca to make sure he was taking care of himself, and she forwarded the message, warning him she was about to show up on his doorstep.
“Dad?” she called as she stepped into the living room.
He raised his hand from his prone position on the couch. In it was his phone. “I replied to you and told you I was fine.”
“I ignored you a
nd came over anyway. What’s wrong?” She appeared above him, Charlie asleep in a baby wrap on her chest.
“Nothing.”
“Is it the flu? Don’t breathe on me.”
“You came over here, and no, it’s not the flu.” He frowned. “Do I look like I’m having respiratory problems?”
“You look like you’re having attitude problems,” she replied crisply. “So I’m here to help with that.”
“Go away.”
“That’s nice.”
“I say it with love.” Sighing, he swung his feet around so he could sit up. Sit, slump. It was all the same.
“What’s going on?”
He had to swallow hard around the lump in his throat to admit the truth. “I hurt Kerry. We broke up.”
“What did you do?”
He shook his head. No way was he detailing that to his daughter, no matter how grown up she suddenly was. She stood there for a minute, then disappeared into the kitchen. Slowly, he followed. “What are you doing?”
She was rummaging through the pantry cupboard. “You’ve moved things.”
“What are you looking for?”
“You need some oatmeal.”
His chest pulled tight. “Oh, it’s, uh…” He gestured to the bottom shelf. “Baking stuff.”
He couldn’t tell her not to make him oatmeal, that it reminded him of making Kerry cookies, of feeding them to her.
Of making love, and then it all going sideways.
So he let his daughter make him a bowl of porridge. He ate it, fair comeuppance after eighteen years of forcing her to do the same. She sat across from him until Charlie woke up, then they went for a walk.
Becca didn’t ask him again for details. She didn’t complain when he delivered her to the apartment where she lived, and told her he was going to keep walking on his own.
But the next morning she showed up at the house again. She made him oatmeal again. And deep inside him, something tore loose.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the end of the week, he was sick of himself. Sick of lying on the couch and being miserable. So he had a shower, shaved his damn face, and went to work. They weren’t expecting him. Dani was on her fourth shift as fill-in supervisor, and the white board had never looked better.
“Hey boss,” she called out from his office. “Are you here to fill in for Quinn?”
“She sick?” He shoved his hand into his hair. “I didn’t know. I just came in.”
“Minor injury while at the hospital. She cut her hand. The docs patched her up, and Matt’s dropped her at home, and is on his way back alone. All the paperwork’s been completed, don’t worry. You want to spell me off, then?” Dani was already tying her long dark hair into a bun.
He stopped her. “Could I…” He hooked his thumb toward the ambulance bay. “Do you mind?”
“Be my guest.” She grinned. “I’m fixing the holiday schedule.”
“Nothing wrong with it the way it was,” he grouched.
“I know. But now it’s even better.”
She was probably right.
He was sitting on a bench at the back of the garage when Matt returned. “You’ve got me for the rest of the shift, bud.”
“Partners ride again,” the other man said. “You want to drive?”
“You know it.” He hadn’t brought himself any coffee, so they loaded up and headed to Mac’s, and it was as they exited the diner, takeaway in hand, that their first call came in. A home birth support in Lion’s Head.
What were the fucking chances. He braced himself for impact and flipped on the lights.
Matt reported to dispatch that they were on their way, then glanced sideways. “So much for a quiet shift, boss.”
He didn’t know the half of it. Either Owen was about to come face to face with the woman he loved, or her best friend and colleague, who almost certainly knew he’d broken Kerry’s heart.
The road was clear, and they made it across the peninsula in excellent time. But when they pulled up in front of the address, a low rise apartment building, they didn’t even need to get out of the ambulance. Well, Owen didn’t at least.
Kerry was waiting with a heavily pregnant young woman, not much older than Becca, at the curb.
He killed the lights as Matt hopped out. By the time he got the back doors open and their stretcher out, she was already giving Matt the rundown.
“Jenna’s at another birth, and Alyssa here is in active labour but we’ve got some time.” Kerry said as Owen approached, barely sparing him a split-second glance. “So we’re going for the transport. I’ll follow you guys. No rush.” She handed Matt her card, like Owen didn’t have her number memorized. “If I lose you, can you text me when you get her to the hospital? Sometimes the patient handoff gets sketchy.” She squeezed the young woman’s hand. “But these guys are great. You’re in the best of hands. I’ll see you soon.”
Owen ignored the way his heart hammered in his chest and let the job take over. Matt would ride in the back with the patient. They got her belted onto the stretcher, then raised it up and into the back. Matt climbed up, Owen closed the doors behind him—and then, for a brief moment, he was alone with Kerry.
She gave him a cool nod and turned, heading to her car.
Pain seared through his veins, and nineteen years of professionalism got his legs moving in the right direction instead of sprinting after her.
“All right, Alyssa,” he called back. “You keep an eye on Matt back there and let me know if he starts to get a little woozy from the drive, okay?”
She laughed, then gasped as a contraction started. “Sorry,” Owen heard her say. “They hurt.”
That wasn’t anything to be sorry for, and Matt told her as much. He kept her distracted the whole way, telling her about some of the other births he’d attended, and then the arrival of his own baby earlier in the year.
In the couple of years since they’d been partners, Matt had only improved as a paramedic. He was great with her.
Which meant Owen only had to concentrate on two things: driving, and not getting too far ahead of Kerry. He listened to her, and didn’t bother to put the siren on, just the lights, but people still got out of the way for him and then slid right back onto the road in front of her, having no idea she was following the ambulance.
When that happened, he cut the gas a bit, making sure she could still see him.
By the time they arrived at the hospital, Matt and Alyssa were best friends, and Kerry managed to find them at the ambulance entrance before they even went inside. It was the best possible transfer given the circumstances. Owen and Matt got Alyssa upstairs to L&D, by-passing Emerg completely, and Kerry got her registered, resuming primary care.
So they were free to go. And they should, because she had a job to do.
But Matt was doing their paperwork and checking in with dispatch, and Owen could see the L&D nurse was getting Alyssa situated. Technically, Kerry was free for a second.
He crossed the hall to where she was standing at the nursing station. “Good following there. On the road.”
She nodded without looking up. “Good driving.”
“I’m glad we can work together.”
That got her attention, but not in a good way. Her gaze snapped up, her brown eyes cool and hard. “Why wouldn’t we be able to?”
Regret foamed at the back of his mouth. “No reason. You would never make a choice for a patient based on your own comfort.”
“Not only that, I’m perfectly comfortable working with you.” She frowned. “Wouldn’t you say the same thing about me?”
Of course he would. But he found himself tongue-tied all over again, like their months of being close had never happened. His heart might as well have been ripped from his chest in that moment, not that Kerry would notice. His mouth moved uselessly, silently, as she pushed herself to the full extent of her five-foot-nothing frame.
“Well, I guess I’ll be the professional for both of us. I will be happy to
see you on any future calls I have to make, Owen Kincaid. You’re a great paramedic.” And with that, she stepped around him, and disappeared into Alyssa’s room.
Never before had a compliment stung quite so sharply.
I love you, and miss you. Useless words. Empty words.
Matt ambled up the hallway. “Everything okay?”
No. And it might never be again. “Let’s get out of here.”
His house was so empty that when he dropped his bag on the floor the sound echoed off the walls. Nothing had changed since that morning, when he’d gotten the foolish idea he was ready to pretend he was a whole man again.
It was tempting to flop out on the couch again. Eventually, though, someone would find him there, surrounded by empty Jim Beam bottles and pizza boxes, and force him to take a shower. Eat some oatmeal. He needed to short-circuit that pattern. He could cook himself some oatmeal, but frankly, he’d had enough, and it just reminded him of baking his girlfriend cookies.
He’d never even called her his girlfriend. Once, he’d called her his woman. They’d barely had any time together in the end. Almost an entire year of wanting her, and he’d fucked it up just as she was falling in love with him.
Owen: Can we have a team meeting?
Becca: You, me, and … Mom?
Owen: I was thinking more you, me, and Charlie. Do you feel like company from your old man?
Becca: Always.
He threw on his coat and headed out the door.
Kerry didn’t go home that night. She crashed on a cot at the hospital rather than risk driving tired on the newly icy roads in the dark. Winter was coming in more ways than one. So she stuck around to do the twenty-four hour wellness check on Alyssa and her new baby boy mid-afternoon.
The young mom had an easy delivery, but had developed some signs of pre-eclampsia afterwards, and was now in the care of an OB. She would stay in the hospital for at least two more days. “I’ll see you at home once you’re discharged, and you have my pager number if you need anything.”