“I just mean that”—I start to scoot from the bed, making my escape. If I leave this conversation first, we don’t have to dig into it further—“we knew we weren’t staying married, remember? Like, we said we’d have an end date. After the show. We’ll go back to normal.”
“We said we’d figure it out. Together.” Owen’s eerily still, but the dark blue eyes I have such a hard time not falling into flick to mine. “We said vows, Brooke. I meant them. I don’t want to go backwards.”
“Owen—” I start to fold out of the bed completely, but Owen’s hand juts out, grabbing my wrist and holding me in place.
“Honesty, Brooke. For one minute, I just want honesty. You are my best friend, and I’m yours. I’m always going to be yours.” His thumb rubs against the sensitive skin on the underside of my wrist, but it does little to stop my pulse from racing. All the fight or flight instincts I’ve honed for so long are in overdrive.
Stay. Run. Stay. Run.
It’s like my own body doesn’t know which option offers less destruction.
“But you are also my wife,” he continues, sitting up and pulling his legs over the bed’s edge, drawing me to stand between them. I don’t know what to do with my free hand, but I have the sudden inclination to dive into Owen’s hair, tousled with sleep, and let my fingers skim across his scalp. Just to ease his burdens a bit. Those circles around his eyes are dark and worrisome, but he’s never seemed so certain. “Brooke, I want you to be my wife more than anything… and for those promises we made to be the same for you that they are for me.”
I can’t speak.
If I did, I think I’d only throw myself into his arms and beg him not to let me go. To take care of me. To tuck me in beside him every night, for all our nights, and be there when I wake up every morning. So I don’t say anything, at all. All my emotions faithfully clog my throat, maintaining my hesitation.
Owen releases my wrist only to reach up along the curve of my face, tilting my chin so that I can’t avoid his gaze. “Tell me your fear, Love,” he begs so tenderly, it hurts.
I feel like a child again, afraid of being left alone in the dark but too embarrassed to admit it out loud, so I’m forced to face the night alone, closing my eyes tight and listening to the sound of Mama’s TV static just outside the door, until morning comes.
Owen’s fingers gently tuck an errant hair behind my ear, and rather than the pain and anger I expect on his face at my silence, I find only understanding. The soft and patient countenance ofa man who for years has shown me exactly who he is and all the ways I can depend on him.
“You are so strong, Brooke. You always have been.” His hand follows the path from my cheek, down the length of my neck, and rests on my shoulder, just above my heart. His thumb runs along the length of my collar bone, but there’s nothing sensual in his touch. Just my friend… my husband… carefully soothing with his words and affection. Slowly healing pieces of me he didn’t break. “But maybe you could let me help you battle this one fear… then, all the rest. One at a time. Please.”
I want to be as brave as Owen thinks I am. I want to lean in and confidently say yes. To it all. Iamstill the girl afraid of the dark, long night alone, but I’ve also never felt more secure than I have waking up to Owen for nine quiet mornings. So, though I can’t promise I know where we go from here, I can’t fully ease his uncertainties, since they are my own. I don’t know if I can give him forever, but I can give Owen honesty.
“I’m afraid…” I start, biting the inside of my lip, fighting that urge to run. “I’m afraid that if all of this… you and me…” I put my hand on his, clutching it to where it rests above my heart. “I’m afraid of what will happen if I let myself believe it’s all actually real.”
Owen huffs a small laugh. Like somehow this vulnerable confession of mine is more simple than he imagined. “This is real, Babe. It always has been, and I think you know it.” Nodding his head at me, he challenges me again. “Give me another one.”
“What if it isn’t enough…” One more second of bravery. “What ifI’mnot enough… for you to stay.”
In the next breath, Owen closes the small distance between us, curling his arm around my waist and pulling me onto his lap. His forehead falls on mine, but I can still see the width of his grin and the intensity of the promise in his eyes. How he can beuncertain one moment, then confident the next is a mystery, but his certainty does feel like a blanket slowly covering my worries.
“I am not going anywhere. Not now. Not today or tomorrow or ten years from now. But, if it helps and if you’ll agree to one thing, I can promise to take this day by day with you.”
I feel small and shaky when I ask, “What’s the agreement?”
“Be my wife today?” He swallows, clearly unsure of how I’ll answer. “Not for a show. Not because you think there’s an end date when we’re done here. Be my wife today. For real.”
“And then… tomorrow?”
“Say yes, and I’ll ask you again in the morning. One day at a time…”
I want to. I can’t believe how much I want to be Owen’s wife. To trust him fully. Though I know this trailer isn’t real life, what if I did let myself believe what’s happening between us—what’s always been between us—is real? I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to truly be Owen’s wife, and instead of pretending, we… practice.
The phrase Owen’s always said before each game flickers through my mind.
One pitch. One inning. One game.
If he’ll let me, I can do this one day at a time.
“Yes.” I nod, feeling more brave than I ever have with one word. “I will… I want to be your wife… today.”
Owen cups my cheeks and smiles wide like he just won the jackpot. Like… he’s proud of me. “Day Ten, Brookey. I’m feeling pretty lucky.”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
