“It was homemade,” I mumble. Owen chuckles, so blissed out to see his friends.
“Dude,” Lance rolls his eyes. “If they’re seeing this, they won. So we get to tell them their prize.”
“The probability is—” Drew argues until Titan shoves them both and fills the frame. “You get sushi. From this fancy guy in Atlanta. Brookey, we know you love sushi and Owen loves you, so that’s what we chose.”
Owen loves you.
The truth resounds through every part of me. Something I’ve always known but have let fear suppress. Owen loves me back. I think he always has.
The crowd “awwwws.”
Owen’s eyes bore into mine.
And now I’m anxious to go on a second date with my husband.
15
LOVE ME BACK
MAX MCNOWN
OWEN
Suite Hearts, Day 25
I think I’m dying.
And not in anI haven’t kissed Brooke in a few hourskind of dying. No, this is anI don’t care how fancy-schmancy that Atlanta chef was, something in his sushi was badlevel of demise.
And it isbad.
So. So. So. Bad.
Brooke makes an unholy noise in the bathroom, groans, and starts to cry. I wish I could help her. Really I do. But though this Tink of ours is tiny, I don’t think I could take the few steps from where my body’s draped across the mini-kitchen table to save my wife in that horrific bathroom. I don’t know when in this neverending night I managed to crawl onto this bench, but the idea of dragging myself off now is inconceivable.
“Owen,” she moans, barely louder than a whisper.
I grunt. The only sound I’m capable of while my insides slowly and catastrophically twist into a pretzel.
“Water…” she cries.
Shoot, now I really have to help her. I try to slide off the table with as little jostling of my body as possible, knocking our orchid off its perch in the process. It lands with a loudthud, and if it was my body, Brooke wouldn’t be able to save me anyways as she—by the sounds of it—is indisposed. Again.
I press my face against the fake hardwood, hoping it’ll feel cooler there than the stifling, non-airconditioned atmosphere that is our current prison up above. The orchid, laying on its side, is a mirror image of my body. Pathetic and unable to move. We’ll both meet our end here. On this moist, warm floor.
A gurgling in my stomach urges me to inchworm forward. My wife needs me… or… needs water… and I won’t let her suffer alone.
“Water…” she cries again.
I do want to give her water, but I’m also going to need to switch places with her. Very soon. So the urgency in which my broken body slumps across the floor kicks up a notch.
“I’m… I’m getting it,” I answer but don’t think she’s heard me over the sound of her retching.
There’s a real fear now that I’m not going to make it into that bathroom.
“No…” Brooke’s sobs louder than the last few requests. “No… O… I need…”Retch. Liquids slosh. I adore that woman, but I’m horrified. “Please. Turn. On… the water.”
“Seriously?!”
