“But you want… more…” I can’t even bring myself to finish the sentence. He wants a life. A family. Forever with someone. Someone that isn’t me. Owen wants a marriage, and he shouldget everything he wants. I don’t want to cheapen something I know he holds with such value, even if the idea of whoever that mystery woman will be fills me with dread. “We can’t get married only to end things, right?”
He shrugs slightly, and his breaths grow heavier. “We’ll figure it all out. We always do. When does the show start?”
“Two weeks.”
“And it shoots for?”
“Eight. If we’re lucky.”
I don’t have to even look at him to see the grin I can hear in his voice. “No luck needed, Babe. We’re gonna win.”
I know Owen, and that confidence in his voice tells me he isn’t gonna budge on this. And if I’m honest with myself, there’s a very real part of me that wants it to be him. The idea that I would have trusted anyone else with this is comical.
“We’ll split the prize 50/50.” I give in. “We’ll make a plan, and you’re going to do all of your physical therapy. No excuses.”
“Fine,” he groans softly.
“And we need ground rules.” I scootch closer, letting my eyes drift closed too.
“Like?” He sighs, letting his thumb swipe slowly, back and forth, where I’m wedged under his arm.
“No more kissing.”
“Eight weeks is a long time not to kiss my wife, Brookey. I doubt I’ll make it.”
I nudge him gently in the side. “Rules, Owen. We have to have rules if this is gonna work.”
“Rules. Sure.” He hums his agreement and slurs, “And… we have to promise to be honeesst.”
“Yeah, Babe. Always honest.”
“And snuggling. Is thiiis okay?” He curls his arm around me tighter, cocooning me into the warmth and safety that’s uniquely Owen.
“We aren’t married yet, so I’ll allow it.”
“Yet…” He sighs. “So, you’re gonna ma…ma…marry me?”
I can’t believe I’m considering this crazy plan. Maybe having a definitive end date will make it all more bearable, allowing us to protect our friendship and the boundaries we’ve established for so long. We’ll figure out the details, like Owen said. We always do.
Probably tomorrow. When we’re fresh and alert, and I’m not busy forgetting about my favorite sheets in favor of the current covering of warmth surrounding me.
I can do this. We can do this. Because with Owen, I know I’ll be safe.
The more settled I get into this couch, the more the idea settles in my mind. I just can’t think about what will happen if we actually win and where I’ll go from there. I think I mumble something about how insane this is, but then find myself saying a simple, “Good Night, O,” before fully resting my head against his firm chest.
And he whispers, as we both start to drift, “Night, Babe. I promise I won’t leave.”
7
GOLD IN THE AIR
JESSE WOODS
OWEN
This is not how I saw today going.
In every dream of Brooke’s and my wedding day—and yeah, I’ve thought about it quite a bit—I imagined far more romance and anticipation.
