Owen sighs and dives his hand into my hair, slowly mussing it between his fingers. Gretchen purrs, just a fat and happygremlin cat in my gut, completely content. “I miss my sound machine. I love it here, and this…” He pauses and kisses my forehead. Another simple affection I’ve grown addicted to. Give me all of Owen’s forehead kisses for the rest of my life, and I will be filled to the brim with the warm and fuzzies. “But I miss the sound of the ocean waves from my little plug in.”
“Really, Owen? Ocean waves?”
His hands pause in my hair. “Yeah, why not?”
“Do you not have to pee, like, all night long? I could never.”
He chuckles, and the vibration against my skin, where his lips are so close, sends a chill down my spine. “No. I do just fine. What do you listen to?”
“Oh, it’s static for me. I like the white noise option.” I tilt my head up, pulling away only enough so that I see the dark circles around his eyes. “I’m sorry you haven’t been sleeping well since we got here. Could I help somehow? Like, are you in pain, or do you need more room, or…”Please say no.“Is it… me?”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat.
He chuckles, dragging his fingers back through my hair. “Oh, it’s definitely you, Babe.” My heart simultaneously sinks and soars, but before I analyze the jumbled feelings I’m shuffling through daily, the woodpecker’s back at it. Owen kisses my forehead again, curling me back into his side. “I think Woody’s the real culprit. I’d rather hear Clyde snoring, two trailers over, than the sound of that woodpecker for another morning.”
“Do you remember the hotel lady?”
Owen shifts. I know he can’t be comfortable like this, especially after how hard his physical therapist was on him yesterday. But when I try to pull away, he grunts his disapproval and tightens his hold. “The cat lady?”
“Ha, no. Though she was on the same season.” The cat lady being a woman who kept referring to her six cats as her childrenand, then, decided to leaveSuite Heartson week three because she missed the live stream of her cats too much. “I’m talking about the lady who snored so loudly, her husband walked out of the hotel on what, like… Day Five?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that. And look at us… We’ve got no fancy sound machines, Woody the Woodpecker outside our place every morning, our neighbors doing hot yoga chants every afternoon, and two types of therapies, but we’ve made it to Day Ten. Going all the way, baby.”
“Five days to our first offer,” I say, feeling anxious for the next round of the competition. Starting on Day Fifteen ofSuite Hearts,and every five days after, the contestants start getting offers that usually involve tough decisions like: live in a swimming pool for a night for an additional five thousand dollars or leave the game now for ten thousand dollars and a luxury hot tub for your home. People usually start folding, taking the guarantee of a payout rather than the risk of not making it to the finale.
I lift my hand for a high five, and when Owen reciprocates, threading our fingers together and drawing them to his chest, I decide I’ll let myself enjoy this for three more minutes. If I shift too much, I’m afraid we’ll have to acknowledge the fact that I’m laying in Owen’s arms contently with no desire to leave them, and for every morning we wake up this way, I’m that much more terrified for the inevitable end. What if they make us an offer Owen can’t refuse, and in a flash, all of this is over?
Because Owen is a wizard and can read my mind, he whispers again. “Tell me your fear, Brooke.”
“You first,” I quietly whine with my face hidden in the sheltering crook between his neck and collar bone. Yes, I’m a coward, but at least it’s warm here and Owen’s scent is like a delicious comfort food. Warm and fresh and addictive. “Please.”
This is how it’s been every day since our last therapy session with Blaire and Evan. Fears and uncertainties. Usually in this bed. In this position. And Owen relenting to my pleas.
“I’m uncertain of”—his fingers play at the base of my neck—“what life will look like when we leave Tink.”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat.
“You’ll miss Woody that much, huh?”
I think mentioning our mutual torture will lighten the mood, but Owen’s breath pauses. Instead of laughing me off, he steadies himself and uses the gentle pressure he has on my neck to pull my face away from its hiding spot. Probably so that when he continues with his uncertainty, he’s sure to see how it really affects me. And if the last few days have been any indication, it will. More than I want to admit. “I’ve thought a lot about what you said during counseling… about me leaving you if I were to play ball again. I don’t want that, Brooke. For you to feel like you’re being left behind. So, now, I don’t know what life will look like if I do pursue that future. That makes me really uncertain of where I go from here… Wherewego from here.”
Rat-a-tat.
TheSuite Hearts’bubble—the one that’s been filled with misplaced hope, the illusion of safety, and foolish optimism—pops.
“We’ll just do what we planned.” I pull away and sit up, twisting so I’m cross-legged and my back can rest against the bathroom wall. Blaire suggested I try to encourage Owen with his insecurities. Something I’ve tried to do, though I'm riddled with my own. This feels like a softball. I can reassure him that nothing will change between us, though I know it isn’t true. “You will play baseball, Owen. You’re going to heal and get back to what you love. I won’t accept anything less. And I will alwayssupport you no matter where you are in the world. You’re my best friend.”
Owen rolls to his back and stretches for the first time in hours, massaging his bad shoulder with his good hand. “I’m your husband.”
“For now.”
The morning outside our trailer, the air between us, even the dang woodpecker grow silent. I’ve just cheapened the richest three weeks of my life into something flippant and inconsequential. Two words I would never associate with Owen and me, married or not.
Owen’s face sours as he studies the ceiling, hand paused in the spot just above his elbow that’s been causing him pain the last few days.
If he asked me right now, I’d have no trouble telling him what my fear is. I’m terrified this will be the moment that Owen decides this competition—the tiny space we’re stuck in, the little bed, the fake marriage… me—are all not worth it. I try to play it cool, but I’m panicking. All the worries I’ve had since we stepped into this agreement scatter my thoughts.
What if he leaves? What if he steps outside and doesn’t look back?Where will we go from here?
