ForHim?
I’d probably try damn near anything.
Chapter Thirteen
OfcourseCarter has a plan for Las Vegas. We fly in on Friday evening. The first goal for that night is to help Owen through dinner with his family, and talking with his dad, Gerard, which we do.
I’m in agony watching our sweet boy trying to process what his dad tells him, the truths his mom outright lied to him about for his entire life.
I’m enraged nearly beyond reason while I listen and force myself to remain calm, the concerned, loving friend, and not the woman who wants to fly into a murder-rage on her sweet boy’s behalf.
When Carter takes Owen and Gerard outside to talk, he deftly plucks Owen’s phone from his back pocket and hands it off to me. Probably to keep Owen from going off on his mom right then.
Carter has a plan for that, too.
First, our focus is Owen.
As I watch the three of them outside, as Owen crumples to the ground with Carter and his dad hugging him…
Owen is truly broken right now, and it fuckingkillsme.
But…
Carter is right.
The bastard extraordinaire is absolutely right.
Igetit. Why Carter handled things the way he did with Owen.
He’d asked me to trust him, and now I can see it,righthere. The fact that Carter exchanged knowing glances with me over Owen, who sat crying between us on his dad’s couch a few minutes earlier, told meSee, I told you so.
This is hopefully the last dark valley Carter will subject Owen to before we can truly begin the rebuilding process. Breaking him down, lovingly, to finally allow him to cut the cord with his mother without a look back. Like having to open up a wound that’s refused to heal properly. It hurts, and it sucks, but it’s the only way to finally clean out the infection for good.
Owen’s mother infected everything in his life, up until the point we met him.
We’re going to erase every trace of her from his soul and love him so hard he can’t remember the bad kinds of pain.
If it was up to me, I’d call the cunt myself and tell her to fuck herself right off the tallest building in Orlando.
I know it’s not up to me, though. It’s up to Carter.
Carter warned me this weekend would have some fun times, but that tonight would be dark, and ugly, and every ounce of energy we had needed to be focused solely on Owen and easing him through it as best we could while not letting him gloss over any of his mother’s actions, or try to explain them away, or rationalize them.
This is Owen’s rock-bottom. I know next week Carter tentatively plans to let Owen come home with me—justme—every day after classes, and step up our personal play and sexual contact. To start rebuilding him wrapped aroundusat his core.
I hope it works. I truly do. I can’t stand seeing Owen hurting like this. All I want to do is take him back to the hotel and gently make love to him. Not the animalistic play and fucking Carter and I frequently do, but sweet and tender and uncomplicated by any requirements on Owen to do anything but enjoy it.
After hearing Gerard tell us what it was like being married to Elandra, Ireeeeeallyhope I get a chance to meet the cunt in person, one day.
I’m sure it’s not a coincidence that, as Gerard recounts the divorce and what she was like, he wears a nearly identically haunted expression that I’ve seen Owen wear ever since we met him. It’s even spookier because Owen inherited his father’s beautiful green eyes.
Part of me wonders if that contributed to why Elandra decided to torture her beautiful boy.
That makes me hate her even more.
* * * *
When Owen awakens Saturday morning sandwiched between us in our king-sized hotel bed, Carter wastes no time distracting our sweet boy from his emotional distress.
