Life Support (The Breathe Series Book 2) (12 page)

He runs his fingers through his hair, looking lost and then pained as he adjusts himself in his pants. I move to the door and he follows me out into the club. I say goodbye to Travis and Lucy, smiling as best I can, but my smile fades when Owen moves toward me. When we make eye contact, I can tell that he is thoroughly confused. And maybe a little irritated. He says goodbye to his friends and trails behind me out to the street.

“I’m sorry about what happened in the bathroom,” he says as we start to walk back to the hotel. “I…I clearly misread you back there. One moment, you’re putting on a show for me on the dance floor, and the next, you’re distant.”

“I’m just not feeling well, Owen. It’s been a long day.” I rub my hands over my arms in an effort to keep warm.

He takes off his sport jacket and wraps it around my shoulders. I take it gratefully, giving him a nod, as we walk the rest of the way to the hotel in silence.

Walking through the hotel lobby to the elevator, there is an uncomfortable quietness between us. When we get onto the elevator, he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me in. It’s such a loving, comfortable gesture—one he’s done so many times, and tonight should be no different. In fact, if I hadn’t heard that comment at the club, right now, we’d be going at it in the bathroom.

When we get to our floor, he ushers me out of the elevator. We walk to the room, and as he opens the door for me, I hand him his sport jacket and make a beeline for the bathroom, closing the door behind me. I need some more alone time. I just want to get undressed, take my makeup off, and get in my pajamas. Sleep sounds like just what I need right now.

I quickly take off my makeup and brush out my hair. I find a T-shirt of Owen’s on the floor from earlier and unconsciously slip it over my head. I hate feeling like this. I’m angry and hurt. He has no idea why, and I don’t want to explain it. So we’re stuck in this limbo. He doesn’t deserve for me to not tell him what’s wrong, even if he is hurting me. He’s not a mind reader. But I’m irritated and bruised, and I just want to go to bed.

When I open the door to the bathroom, he is sitting on the bed, the covers pulled up just to his waist, his chest bare as he leans his back against the headboard. He’s waiting for me. And he’s gorgeous. I stop just outside the bathroom, trying to gather my wits. His sexiness is throwing off my anger. Suddenly, he looks over at me and his face contorts with confusion and then... Is that hurt on his face?

“What’s with the T-shirt, Olivia? What’s wrong, beautiful? Talk to me.”

I look down at what I’m wearing. It didn’t even occur to me that I’d put something on when I usually go to bed naked.
Huh.
I glance up at him but have a hard time looking him in the eye. It hurts too much. I’m sure I’m making a lot out of nothing, I’m good for that. But for right now, I’m feeling wounded and I just don’t want to explore it tonight.

I walk to the bed and climb under the covers, turning my back to him. “I’m fine. I told you. I just don’t feel well.”

I feel him slide down into the bed and curl up behind me. He reaches over my head and turns off the bedside lamp, wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling me to him. My ass rubs against… God, he’s still hard? I think the whole ‘men think with their penises’ thing may be misguided, because his penis doesn’t seem to get that I’m pissed.

He nuzzles my neck, kissing me lightly. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to respond to him. Thank God a woman’s arousal isn’t overtly obvious so he can’t tell that he’s affecting me.

“Baby...don’t you want to fool around a little? Hmmmm?” He kisses the spot on my neck that gets me every time, gliding his hand right up over my stomach below my T-shirt.

I place my hand on his to stop it from moving up farther. I’ve never said no to Owen before. It feels foreign.

“Baby, come on. What’s going on here? You always want to fool around.” He sounds perplexed and wounded himself.

“Owen, I’m just tired,” I say a little more harshly than intended. “Just let me go to sleep.” I shift away from him and close my eyes.

He sighs heavily and pulls his hand back from under my shirt. Placing it on my hip, he leans in, giving me a kiss on my head. “All right, baby. Can I just cuddle with you then?” He sounds hopeful, but I’m exhausted and emotional and he still has a good buzz, which means his roaming hands won’t stop if he has them on me in any capacity.

“Owen…”

“Okay. Okay. I’ll leave you alone.” He rolls onto his back and shuts the lamp on his side of the bed off. “I love you, Olivia,” he says quietly.

Tears form and my throat tightens as I hold back the words—I can’t respond. I nod, but I’m sure he doesn’t see it because he turns over with a sad sigh.

My eyes flutter open as I wake up; the room flooded with sunlight. Crap—we forgot to close the drapes last night. I feel Owen behind me, rubbing his morning erection against my ass. My first instinct is to rub back. I hear him moan in approval, and then I remember last night and stop. It’s like someone has poured cold water over me.

I get out of bed, walk to the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. I feel awful because I know this is bothering him. I’m never mad at him, never deny him sex, never
not
sleep in his arms. I need to just tell him what I heard and why it upset me. It’s really only fair since I heard a small part of a longer conversation. Although the part I heard was pretty specific.

After going to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I walk back out into the living room. Owen is making us coffee in the room’s coffee maker. He studies me and smiles his heart-stopping smile. He looks glorious with his tight boxers, his tan, muscular body, his bed-head hair, and those sparkling, blue eyes.

“Good morning, beautiful. Coffee?”

I give a halfhearted smile. “Yeah. That would be great,” I reply. It’s so awkward between us.

He wrinkles his brow, now looking concerned. “Baby, are you still not feel well? Are you okay? You’re worrying me.”

I look up at him—in the eyes this time. “Um, well, I don’t feel one hundred percent like myself. Maybe I just need a shower or a cup of coffee,” I say, nodding toward the cup he’s handing me.

“I can help you with the coffee, and it would be my pleasure to assist you with the shower later,” he says with a smile.

I give him a forced, tight-lipped grin and sip my coffee. I take the remote and turn on the TV, effectively tuning him out.

Clearly frustrated, he moves to stand in front of the large windows and pulls back the sheer shades to look over the city. “Can you believe this weather? It’s going to be a beautiful day for a wedding, don’t you think?” He’s trying to make small talk.
Wrong move
.

I audibly huff at what he said.

Owen spins around, glaring at me. “What was that noise for? Olivia, what the hell is going on here?”

I take a slow sip of my coffee, not letting my eyes leave the television. “I’m just surprised to hear you say that you think it’s a beautiful day for a wedding. I didn’t think weddings were your thing,” I snap, acid dripping off my tongue.

“What?” He moves over to stand in front of me. “Give me that,” he says angrily, pulling the remote from my hand and turning off the television. “What is this about? Why are you saying that?”

I stand so we’re facing each other, sipping my coffee, trying desperately to remain calm and look unaffected. “Well, I just happened to hear your conversation with Marc last night and you seemed to make it clear that weddings weren’t your thing and that you don’t see being married in
your
future. So I guess I just deduced that there wouldn’t be such a thing as a
beautiful
day for a wedding to you.” I can’t help the anger that is seeping in my tone, and—here we go—the tears are coming to the party.

He sits on the bed and presses his palms into his forehead. He looks distraught. “I’m sorry you heard that. I wasn’t thinking straight. And honestly, I don’t know what I want. I never thought about getting married. I tried to do that once and...well, you know how that ended. I’ve sworn off the idea of getting married for so long that it’s just become a part of my mantra. What would be so wrong about not getting married? Isn’t what we have now pretty amazing? I think it’s pretty amazing, and I don’t want to fuck it up.”

When he glances up at me, I’m fighting back tears. He looks heartbroken as he stands and makes a move toward me. I take a step back, not ready for his touch right now.

“Listen, I don’t know how I feel about marriage, but I do know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I love you very much. I know that I don’t want to be without you. I know that you’re it for me. Period. When the guys asked me about it last night, I didn’t have to weigh the pros or cons of being with you. I don’t miss how my life was before I met you. I’ve said it before, Olivia, and I’ll say it again: You are my future. I don’t want a life without you in it.”

I’ve been trying to hold back tears this whole time, but now, I can’t rein them in. They stream down my face as I attempt to control the sobs.

“If you want me in your future, why don’t you want to marry me?” I ask quietly.

Owen presses the heels of his hands into his forehead and drags his palms down his face. His eyes are soft and sad. “Oh, baby, it’s not like that. Marriage isn’t just about the two people involved anymore. It’s about rehearsal dinners, dresses, inviting two hundred people…and…favors! I went through all that and had it thrown in my face. I just want to love you and take care of you and enjoy you without all that stress.”

It occurs to me as he says it that part of me wants all of that—the dress, the flowers, the fucking favors. But more than that, I want a man who loves me the way he is saying he loves me. Because what’s the point of that other stuff if he doesn’t love you that way.

The crying hasn’t stopped, but I take a deep breath in an effort to speak again. “I love you so much, Owen. I’m terrified I’m going to lose you. I’m terrified that, one day, you’re going to wake up and remember what your life was like and decide that’s where you’d rather be. Maybe that’s why marriage is important to me. I’m not saying I want to get married tomorrow. Or next year. But I want to feel like you’d make that commitment to me, that you’d want that.”

He takes a step toward me again, but this time, I let him. I don’t have the energy to fight that physical contact anymore because I think I’ll need what’s left of it for the remainder of this conversation.

“Olivia, marriage is a piece of paper. But know this: If a piece of paper meant the difference between losing you or keeping you, I would have to consider that. I’m just as scared that I’m going to lose you. Don’t you see that?”

He slips his arms around my waist and pulls me to him. My head sags forward against his chest and I cry—a hard, cathartic cry. He strokes my back and kisses the top of my head.

“God, baby, why didn’t you tell me this last night? Why didn’t you say something? I’m so sorry you heard that conversation. I’m so sorry.”

I continue to cry, eventually calming my breathing. I look up at him, my face feeling tear-stained, his masked with fear and sadness. He places a finger under my chin and tilts my head up to look up into his eyes. Leaning forward, he kisses me softly on the lips. I know he’s not trying to make a move on me; he’s just trying to reconnect with me. He runs his thumbs over my cheeks and wipes away my tears.

“Olivia, please. I need to see you smile. I love you so much. Let’s try to enjoy the day. Let’s try to enjoy this time in Seattle. We can talk about all of this again when we get home if you want. I promise you.”

I’m not done with the subject, but I’m exhausted from it. Looking at the clock, I realize that need to get moving if we want to have any chance of getting out to the location where the wedding is being held.

“Okay,” I agree quietly.

He crushes me to his chest again and presses his lips to my temple, whispering, “I love you. I love you. I love you, Olivia. Always.”

He kisses me once more before I turn, walking toward the bathroom to get ready.