Page 101 of Ship Happens

She glances to Abigail before she turns back to Jacob.

“But you just gave up on each other. You didn’t even try—”

Owen picks that moment to leave the room. It’s easy, only Kevin notices, being the sole person standing between Owen and the door, and he’s kind enough to let Owen slip out without a word, bro code and all that.

“Owen!” Jacob calls out, finally realizing that Owen’s disappeared just as he reaches the front door to the suite. Owen keeps moving; he can’t break out into a full run, but he can certainly speed walk as quickly as he can out of the private lounge and down the hallway that leads to an outer deck of the ship.

He needs to breathe, just needs to keep moving.

Owen’s not looking to get off the boat, not at first, but as he gets closer to one of the exits and sees the gangway still extended, he makes his way toward land.

Blinking back the tears that sting the corners of his eyes, Owen takes several deep breaths, the salty air filling his lungs before he lets it all out through his mouth. He wants to scream, shout into the endless stretch of ocean in front of him. He wants to keep running. He wants to sprint to the closest airport and find the quickest way back home. He wants Jacob. He wants those strong arms around him, he wants to breathe the scent of him in, he just wants Jacob.

So he finally stops.

And he lets Jacob catch him.

“Owen?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Owen says, barely turning to face him.

“Okay” is all Jacob has to say as he steps closer, resting his hand on Owen’s shoulder.

Owen wishes he knew what he was supposed to feel. Wishes that it was something more than this careful numbness that settles over him.

“Is there something wrong with me?” Owen asks Jacob, voice soft, strained. Broken.

“Why would you think that?” Jacob answers.

“Because all my life, all anyone has told me is that I’ve been doing the wrong thing. First it was my parents.” The breath that he takes is shaky, uneven. “Then it was my teachers, then it was you, and now it’s Kaitlyn.”

“Nothing is wrong with you, Owen.” Jacob’s hand comes up to cup Owen’s cheek tenderly, his thumb brushing at the corner of Owen’s eye.

“Really?” He can’t help but laugh. “’Cause it’s getting harder to feel that way.”

“Owen . . .”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Owen tells him, fearing that the floodgates are now wide open. “I’m living on a pull-out couch in a guest room—that I’ve got for maybe five months more max—and I’m trying to become a business owner now? Why the fuck did I ever think that I could do that? It’s fucking hard, and I don’t even know if I want to do it. And I gave up one of the only stable relationships I’ve ever known all because I was too afraid to try something new, to go somewhere different. All my friends are leaving, living their own lives.” Owen can barely face Jacob, looking away deliberately. “I don’t know what I’m doing because I never thought I’d ever make it this far in life. And now, I’m scared, Jacob . . . I’m supposed to be an adult, I’m supposed to know what I want and what I’m doing and I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Owen doesn’t utter a single objection as Jacob wraps his arms around him, pulling him in as close as he can, the pressure he exerts comforting Owen. It feels the same as when Jacob would crawl on top of Owen in bed or on the couch, all 280 pounds of the man nearly suffocating Owen. But, Lord, does it feel nice to be this close again. Jacob’s hand comes to cradle the back of Owen’s head, letting him melt under Jacob’s touch. He’s just grateful that the sounds of his crying are muffled by Jacob’s hoodie.

He doesn’t say a word, just lets Owen stand there, lets him sob quietly into his chest for as long as he needs.

“I’m sorry,” Owen says after what must be minutes but feels like an eternity.

Jacob pulls away, just far enough for him to look Owen in his bloodshot eyes. With his thumb, he reaches up to brush away the tear on Owen’s cheek. “Please don’t apologize.”

“But I am sorry.”

Jacob lets out a husky sound, something not quite a laugh. “Well, apology not accepted.”

Owen can’t help but scoff. “Are you even allowed to do that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Owen,” he says instead, ignoring Owen’s question.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” Owen admits out loud.

“Just because you don’t know what you’re doing doesn’t mean that you’re doing something wrong,” Jacob says, words careful, like he wants them to be the right ones. “Not everyone has all of the answers all of the time.”