Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no-no, no.
19
SUMMER
My stomach twists as I freeze to the spot and stare in disbelief at Maggie sprawled on the floor, holding the side of her face that I slammed the door into.
My blood runs cold. Then hot. Then cold again.
It feels like a herd of horses is galloping across my chest, and my hands are shaking so much there are tremors up my arms.
I can’t render Owen’s aunt unconscious right before her special party. Or at any time for that matter. I’d prefer her to always remain conscious. This would just be extra-bad timing.
As I try to absorb the scene and the fact I’m responsible for it, Elsa barrels past me, leaving a trail of snowy footprints on the newly tiled floor. She barks excitedly, and runs straight up to Maggie, whose face is at perfect licking height.
Regaining feeling in my legs and discovering they do still work, I run in, crouch at Maggie’s side, and push Elsa away. Not only have I almost knocked out Owen’s favorite relative, but my dog is slobbering all over her.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
What a ridiculous question—of course she’s not okay. I whacked her in the face with a door. And now, with a will of its own, the door slams shut behind me with such force that I jump and my brain pictures the glass shattering into a thousand shards, along with my hopes of any sort of a relationship with Owen.
I look over my shoulder to find the glass thankfully intact. But staring at me through it is Owen, flanked by the other two guys. My stomach tightens. Owen must be horrified by what I’ve done to his beloved aunt.
I turn back to Maggie and rub between her shoulder blades. “Is your back okay? Did it hurt when you landed?”
There’s muffled chatter outside as the door rattles in the frame behind me. I guess they can’t open it again either. At least it’s not only me. That’s something.
Elsa thinks this whole sitting-on-the-floor thing is a great new game and shoves her nose back in Maggie’s face.
“Elsa, off.” I give her my sternest stare and point away. She backs off to give us some space.
“This is awful. I’m so sorry.” How the hell do I make up for this and put it right? “Do you think you can get up?”
“Oh, yes, yes. I’m fine.” Thank God, she’s talking. “A little winded. That’s all. And shocked. But puppy kisses help. No need to send her away.”
She’s pale and dazed.
If only I’d gone with my gut, dropped off Owen, and gone back home. If only I hadn’t let myself believe that taking the one tiny step of coming inside was worth a try. If only I’d stuck to knowing that being home alone is the best way to live.
Owen raises his voice through the glass. “Are you okay?”
I might be about to puke. Right next to the woman I almost knocked out and who’s covered in my dog’s saliva.
Maggie dismisses Owen’s concern with a wave as she tries to get up. “Fine. Fine,” she calls back.
I put one hand on my belly to suppress the stress-vomit reflex and my other arm around Maggie to help her up. “Let’s sit you down.”
I pull a chair out from the dining table and ease her into it. “Can I look at your head?”
She moves her hand away. The skin’s not broken. That’s a relief. But it is red and already starting to swell.
“There is a bit of a lump. Is it okay if I get some ice from the freezer for you?”
“Okay, yes. Maybe that would be good. Thank you.” She manages a thin smile and gives my arm a little pat.
I glance back over to the door as one of the men with Owen, a guy about my age and wearing glasses, eases Owen aside and tries the handle himself. Maybe that’s Elliot.
