by Zoe York
“Thanks, Kerry.” Alyssa gave her a tired smile. “Now go home.”
But the thing was, she didn’t want to.
Her apartment was lonely and full of memories of Owen. She avoided looking at the wall inside her front door now, the spot that used to give her warm, fuzzy secret feelings when she looked at it. Right here.
Would she take it all back, knowing this was how it would end?
But she had known. And she did it anyway, so there were no take backs. She threw herself into her bed, her heart aching for the man who’d shared it all too briefly, and fell asleep again.
When she woke up, it was dark, and there was a text message on her phone.
Bailey: I’m going to the Hedgehog tonight, if you want to come with.
Word was spreading that she had a broken heart. On the one hand, she wanted to grieve and heal in private. On the other, every surface in her apartment still seemed imprinted with Owen’s big frame.
Kerry: I’ll meet you there.
She showered and then dressed with a confidence she didn’t feel. Skinny jeans, black boots, a sexy top that should have made her feel good, but only made her miss Owen. She swapped it out for a black turtleneck instead, went a little extra gothic on the eye makeup, and headed out the door.
When she arrived at the pub, she half-expected it to be decorated for the holidays the way it had been the first time she’d visited almost a year ago. But after she got settled at the bar and asked Lore about it, the bartender explained that because so many army reservists came in, the owner was careful to wait until after Remembrance Day to haul out the Christmas decorations.
Kerry blamed her thoughtlessness on her disrupted sleep, and Lore waved it off. “Some of us can wear a poppy and hang up some holly and ivy, you know? But it’s just a few more days, and then I’ll be a proper elf complete with Christmas drinks, too.”
A glance at the chalkboard told Kerry that the cocktail of the week was a gin and tonic. She’d pass. “Can I have a cup of mint tea?”
“Not drinking tonight?”
“I’m just here to catch up with Bailey, because I missed the last couple of practices.”
As she said that, their teammate came in the door, her smile extra wide. Warning-wide. “Don’t panic,” Bailey said quickly and under her breath as she skidded to a stop in front of them. “But—”
Kerry’s gaze slid to the front door again as Owen stomped inside. He sucked all the air out of the room.
“It’s fine,” she said around the lump in her throat. It wasn’t, of course, but from the stricken expression on his face, it was even less fine for him than for her.
She’d bitten off his head the day before. Of course he didn’t want to see her.
He stood there longer than she liked, and she wondered if he was going to turn around and head home. No fun for Owen, that was always a risk. But then he stomped past, heading to the back, and Lore poured him a stout.
Well, fork. She pointed to the glass. "I can take it back to him. And cancel my tea—I’ll take the same.”
Lore hesitated, clearly torn between the unwritten bartender code of ethics and wanting to be a good friend. Kerry couldn’t be glib here. She lowered her voice. “I hurt him. Let me try and fix it. Better that I deal with the awkwardness tonight than it become an ongoing problem.”
“Don’t make a scene,” Lore said as she grabbed a second glass.
Kerry blinked in surprise. “I won’t.”
“Good.”
She hadn’t opened herself up to her new friends as much as she thought she had if Lore thought whatever might happen would have any aspects of making a scene. That wasn’t Kerry’s style, and it wasn’t Owen’s, either. She chewed on her bottom lip for a second. “Lore…”
“Yeah?”
“I really care about him. You know that, right?”
Her friend paused, then nodded. “Sure, I guess.”
Ouch. “Where does the I guess part come from?”
“You’re a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of woman. Party hard, go home alone.”
She had been. Before coming to Pine Harbour. Now her chest had a hole in it the size of a big, surly man. “That was the old me,” she whispered. “Before Owen.”
Lore pushed the two drinks across the bar. “Go make sure he knows that.”
Damn. Kerry hadn’t meant to give Lore the impression she was trying to win Owen back. That wasn’t her goal here—but they could be friends again.
She found him in the back corner, carefully laying out a set of darts on a tall table against the wall.
Taking a deep breath, she marched over and slid the beers onto the table next to his hand. She didn’t miss the white knuckles. “Twice in two days.” She said it extra lightly. “What are the odds?”
“Pretty fucking good,” he growled. “It’s a small peninsula.”
“Good point.”
“What do you want?”
“I came over to talk to you.”
“I’m not in the mood for talking. I was, but now I’m not, so…”
“Do you want me to go?”
He froze. Then he exhaled sharply and jerked his head. No.
“You’re right,” she said softly. “You did want to talk, and I didn’t. I’m sorry I couldn’t before. But you’re also right that it’s a small peninsula, so we’re going to have to learn to share it. And we have friends in common who worry that we’re going to make a scene, so…”
That got her the barest hint of a smile. “A scene?”
“Maybe a screaming match.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I won’t stay long. I just wanted to bring you your beer and promise that I’m not going to break a pole cue over my knee when you least expect it.”
He laughed. It was short and cold, and it didn’t completely reach his eyes, but she’d made him laugh.
“But in all seriousness, I wanted to apologize for yesterday. I could have read between the lines of what you were saying and I chose not to because…” She trailed off. He knew why.
Owen shook his head. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. You’re allowed to call me on my shit.”
“Nah, it was thoughtless.”
“You’re never thoughtless,” he said quietly.
Oh boy. She needed to leave before she fell into his voice and splashed around in the loveliness of it. So she reached for her glass and stepped away, but he said her name. “Kerry.” Her heart slammed against her rib cage and she stopped in her tracks. He took the world’s longest breath, held it, then shook his head. “Thanks.”
“What were you going to say?”
He scrunched up his face. “Probably the wrong thing. What I really meant was thank you, and I should leave it at that for now.”
“Okay.” She forced herself to smile, and to mean it. She did, but it was complicated. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Hope so.”
She turned around decisively then. It wasn’t any easier to walk away from him today than it had been yesterday, but with each step, she got a little bolder, because they would do this again. And again, and again.
Eventually, it would be enough, and she would be over him. She’d never loved anyone quite like this before. After loving Owen, she doubted that she’d ever actually been in love before.
It would take a while to grow out of love, too.
But she would, because loving him meant she had to accept him for all that he was—including that he had long been done having children.
But she didn’t have to accept that for herself. She could love Owen and leave him in her past. She would much rather have a fondness for what they’d shared than a bitterness around what they could never have together.
It wasn’t meant to be.
More than that, it wouldn’t be what she would choose. There was a sweet—maybe bittersweet, sure—joy in knowing she’d closed that chapter. She hadn’t clung on too long. And she was moving forward more clear than ever a
bout what her future would look like.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Owen was standing at attention in the middle of the Remembrance Day parade—right in front of the cenotaph—when he heard Charlie cry.
His grandson’s holler pierced the minute of silence marking the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, and Owen couldn’t react. He couldn’t pivot his head to find Becca, almost certainly trying to shush him, and he couldn’t laugh, but on the inside, he was grinning.
That was his boy. He’d recognize the cry anywhere, just the same way he’d always known Becca’s cry, too. Adam’s indignant voice and the unique way only Josh could slam a door.
On the other side of the cenotaph he saw a retired fire chief, who had once worked with his dad, and who had hired Owen on as a firefighter back in the day. It had been a number of years since Owen had made a point of seeking him out and saying hello. There was only so much of “Your dad would be proud of you, son,” that one could hear when it didn’t always feel true.
Today, though, he wanted to introduce Becca and Charlie.
Once they had marched back to the armouries and were released from parade, he made a bee-line for his daughter. “There’s someone I want you and Charlie to meet. Someone your grandpa once worked with.”
She followed him through the sea of different uniforms until they found the firefighters, and behind them, the retired ranks.
“Sir,” Owen said, finding the man who had once been a colleague of his dad’s. “I’m Michael Kincaid’s son, I don’t know if you remember—”
The chief’s face split into a broad smile. “Owen, good to see you.” He did a double-take. “Don’t tell me this is your daughter.”
“Becca,” she said, holding out her hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“And this is Charlie,” Owen said. “My grandson.”
“Well, I’ll be…” The chief leaned in and Charlie made a face. “I can see Michael in him, that’s for sure. It was nice to see you. I think I heard through the grapevine that your brother Adam is joining our ranks.”
“Yup.”
“Your dad would have some misgivings about that, I think, but it’s a good thing. It’s in your blood.”
Owen took a deep breath. “I think so. I admit to having my own misgivings.”
“That’s understandable. I always knew we wouldn’t have you for long. It wasn’t for you, but good to get out of your system.”
Owen didn’t know what to say to that. That was unnervingly accurate. “You’re not wrong, sir.”
The chief laughed, then they said their goodbyes.
As they made their way back to the front entrance, Owen brought up hearing Charlie in the moment of silence.
“I’m sorry,” Becca moaned. “He was so quiet, and then I think he saw you? I don’t know if he can recognize you that far away, but…”
Owen took his grandson, who was waving his hands for attention. “I think he can. You know me anywhere, don’t you big guy?”
Charlie smacked him in the face with a tiny wet hand. Owen laughed. Was there anything better than the sweet wobbliness of infants?
Nothing. Except maybe watching a toddler take her first steps, or figure out how to dive off the edge of a pool. The soaring triumph of a kid who walked themselves home from school alone for the first time. The gentle grace and understanding a child had when they realized their parent was struggling.
“You okay, Dad?”
Owen blinked at Becca. “Yeah. I’m great.”
“Do you have to get back to work?”
He looked around for Will, who was nowhere to be seen. His brother had been right behind him on parade. “I need to find your uncle.”
“Which one?”
Fuck it. He didn’t know. “All of them, probably.”
Owen was pretty sure he’d chicken out if he waited for each brother to get back to him one by one, so he sent a group text instead.
Owen: Anyone free to listen to their older brother talk about his feelings?
Seth was the first to reply.
Seth: You jerk, you had to have a crisis while I’m running supplies? I can be home next week. You better still have feelings when I get there.
Owen: Pretty sure this is a chronic condition now.
Seth: Excellent.
Will: Didn’t I just see you twenty minutes ago? What happened after I left the armouries?
Owen: You left already?
Will: I have to prep for a staff meeting tomorrow.
Owen: …
Will: You don’t listen to me anyway.
Owen: That’s not true. But I’ll wait and see if Adam and Josh are free—and then I’m coming to you, because I need your help specifically.
Neither Adam nor Josh replied immediately, so Owen decided to head home. By the time he pulled into his driveway, they’d both chimed in.
Adam: I was at the armouries but missed you. Let me know where to meet up.
Josh: My place. I just put a basketball hoop in behind the garage.
Basketball? It was consistently below freezing every day now. Slightly off-season. Owen went inside and changed out of his army uniform, and re-dressed for shooting hoops in the winter.
Then he went digging in the crawl space for another box he hadn’t looked at in years. Once he had what he needed, he drove to the garage.
In the time Josh had been back, he’d made huge progress on the building. The boarded-up front window was now replaced with a brand new pane of glass. It had a newly whitewashed façade, and Kincaid’s Garage was outlined in paint on the wall. Owen liked that even more than the Pine Harbour Garage his brother had been considering.
And the garage doors were now apple red.
The whole thing looked retro, and hipster, and very much a success before it had even opened.
He walked around the side, following the sound of rubber slapping against concrete, then a backboard. Bounce, bounce, bounce, thwack. Behind the garage was a parking lot—although right now, it was a big, echoey, private basketball court.
“The net is an integral part of the renovations, eh?” Owen called out.
Josh caught the ball and spun it on his finger as he glanced over his shoulder. “Gotta burn off some steam as the paint dries. I didn’t know that you’d want to call around for tea.”
Owen snorted. “This won’t be nearly that polite.”
“What’s going on?”
He glanced around.
Josh swung his arm wide. “There’s nobody here.”
Fuck. Owen’s courage had fallen out of the truck somewhere on the hill down to the harbour. “I’m not sure where to start.”
The fond smile on his brother’s face helped. So did the way he slung the ball under his arm and gestured to an old bench against the wall—and the cooler underneath it. “Want a beer?”
“Hell yes.”
It took Owen half a beer and a good amount of sorting through his thoughts before he could begin. At first, the story came out in fits and starts, but once he got going, it poured out.
“The last thing she said to me when we broke up was, love makes us stupid. And I just stood there. I heard her admit that she loved me, that she’d been with me because she loved me, even though we were all wrong for each other, and I turned on my heel and walked out on her.”
“Shit.”
“The thing is—the worst part? My first reaction, as the stunned stupid ox that I am, was who said anything about love?” He shook his head. “That kept reverberating in my head, even as I knew that of course I loved her, too. We never said it to each other. I think deep down I knew, but when she said it I was still shocked. I should have stayed and fought for her. Tried to work through the problems. I don’t deserve her. But I miss her, and I love her, and I never got a chance to say that.”
His brother’s mouth dropped open. “Wow.”
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“It’s just…so much.”
He was mis
erable. “I know. And she’s made it crystal clear she’s moved on. And she’s been really kind, actually.” Owen’s chest hurt. “So I can’t ignore that, but the thing is…”
Footsteps from the side of the building interrupted him, and Josh looked almost relieved. When Adam appeared, Josh pointed. “Get Adam’s thoughts, because I’m the last guy to give good advice when it comes to mending relationships.”
Owen frowned. “Why is that, exactly?”
“Not the subject of our conversation today.” Josh filled Adam in, and hearing the bullet points of his breakup with Kerry repeated back was just the bruising one-two punch Owen deserved.
The youngest Kincaid frowned. “We’re missing something. Kerry was head over heels for you a month ago. What happened?” The back of Owen’s neck got hot as Adam looked back and forth between him and Josh. “What else did you do?”
“Kerry wants kids,” Owen admitted, his voice cracking. “We broke up because she found out I got fixed.”
“Ah, man, no.” Josh groaned.
“You didn’t tell her up front?” Adam asked.
Owen scrubbed a hand over his face. “No. It didn’t occur to me.”
“You knew she wanted kids, and…just dodged that conversation for the entire duration of your relationship?”
“It wasn’t that long of a relationship.” Owen’s voice cracked as he said it. “We were still in the having fun stage, and yes, I know how fucking stupid that sounds in retrospect. We talked around it, though. She was Becca’s midwife, for God’s sake. She knows my life.”
“Well, I don’t know what we’re doing here,” Adam said. His brows were two dark thunderclouds above his glaring eyes. “I think you misled her and she’s right to be done with you. You should have been upfront with her about being done with kids.”
“That’s the thing,” Owen said, his throat dry. “I don’t think I am.”