Not for Sale

by Eden Rayna

  Does Owen know I misinterpreted his relationship with Tommy? I thought he was mentoring Tommy out of family obligation. All the times I called him a barbarian and emotionally incompetent could have been met with proof that he was anything but.

  I judged him so harshly. I pigeonholed him based solely on our business dealings and refused to believe that he could behave in any other manner—sweet voicemails aside.

  “Did you know that about him?” Asher whispers into my ear, apparently as surprised as I am.

  “I had no idea,” I answer, then wave him off to shush him. I need to hear this.

  My gut twists and I fear my dinner might make a comeback. I take slow sips of water to settle the feeling so I won’t have to bolt out of the room. I need to hear the complete story and not just the parts I want to hear, like I’ve been doing all along. The pain in my stomach is penance for the horrible, unfounded things I thought about him.

  Owen continues. “We’ve been hanging out together for a little more than a year. Tommy helps me on my projects where I teach him about construction, and he teaches me patience. Lately, he’s been instructing me about colour and its appropriate use in spec homes.” The crowd laughs at this while Owen’s focus lasers in on me. “We actually have a project going on right now and Tommy has the lead on choosing the colour scheme.”

  My mouth goes dry. Did he do that because of what I said to him?

  “But enough about us. Let’s get to talking about the award recipient tonight.”

  He says softly to Tommy, “Your turn buddy.” Owen drags a step to the podium and Tommy steps to the microphone. He pulls his speech out of his inside breast pocket, unfolding it and smoothing it out.

  “Hi!” Tommy says cheerfully, then reels it in when he reads from his paper. “I have learned from my Big Brother Owen that listening is a very important part of being a good contractor. It’s as important as having the right construction skills because you can build the best kitchen or bathroom or basement in the world, but if it’s not what your client wants, then it’s not good enough.” He turns to Owen for approval, who gives a smile and a nod to keep going.

  The pride on Owen’s face right now is like nothing I’ve seen before. It’s as if Tommy is his greatest achievement. The houses he creates or the money he makes, even the satisfaction he feels when someone gives into his will, are secondary to this. His protégé is the ultimate win for Owen.

  I pinch my lips between my teeth to distract my body from creating a waterfall of tears. I can’t be the emotional one right now. I will not make a fool out of myself.

  “The winner of the Best Basement Renovation award tonight was nom-in-a-ted by his client because he is a great listener.” Tommy signals to Owen that he’s done, and Owen moves closer to the microphone.

  “On behalf of Big Brothers and Big Sisters, I am happy to announce the winner of this award is Asher Richmond. Congratulations, Asher.”

  Everyone claps as he stands. I rise with him and clasp him by the arms, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

  “They’re right. You are the best listener.” He’s always been there to hear my ideas and my fears. “You deserve this.”

  “Thanks, Iz.” He looks to the stage at Owen, then back at me. With a gentle nod, he says, “And he deserves you.”

  Chapter 33

  Owen

  Throughout the rest of the awards, Tommy is bouncing around, complaining about being bored and wanting to sit with Izzy. I get it. I want to sit with Izzy as well. I want to compliment her on her dress and smell her perfume. I want to hear her comments on the winners and watch her make mental notes for the jobs she’s working on. I want to drag my finger across her exposed neck when I lean in to kiss her, or just because I can. Because she’s mine.

  From the moment my lips touched hers on the day she handed me the keys to her house, my fate was sealed. Unless it was written in the stars long before that.

  The lassie comes with the house.

  I don’t pay attention to the award recipients after I sit back at my table. I watch Asher playing my role. Reacting to her comments. Leaning into her. Mostly, he’s fairly neutral, but there’s the odd time when his hand goes to her shoulder, or he drifts a little too close to her, and the vein in my neck pulses.

  I get a pointy elbow to my ribs. “You can stop with the voodoo curses. They aren’t together,” Scott says.

  I’ve heard this a hundred times, but tonight, it sure seems like they’re together with the way Asher’s touching her and leaning in. Looks like whoever Scott gets his intel from is wrong.

  “She goes to him because he’s easy.” I question his choice of words with a clenched jaw. “Come on, Owen,” he huffs. “I meant ‘it’s easy.’ Their friendship is familiar.” Great, my best friend thinks I’m too much of a mess to put up with. Does Izzy think I’m too broken to fix? Does she want someone who requires less upkeep?

  I knew from the second we kissed, from the instant our bodies touched, that the house next-door would be nothing but hers, no matter what stands on the lot. So, I’ve done something incredibly bold on the whim that Izzy feels the same way about me as I do for her, and simply needs more time accepting it. I tried telling her about it. I hinted on the day we made love, I’ve spoken about it in my messages. But I haven’t had the balls yet to tell her outright.

  Now I’m worried she’ll never see me as anything other than a shrewd businessman. What if I am too broken?

  “You’re on the right track.” Scott claps my back. “What you did tonight was really brave.”

  I stare at the tabletop while he stares sideways at me. Along with the adrenaline from being on stage, my bravery has faded into humility.

  I hope Izzy caught that sharing my story was for her. I hope it shows her I’m not one-dimensional. I’m more than business. Just because I don’t broadcast my feelings doesn’t mean I don’t have any. I finally figured out that Izzy needs to understand that my feelings exist and can be turned on when necessary. An awareness that probably came too late.

  “HEYA POPS. IT’S ME, Owen.” I force down the rising stomach acid at the zombie-like state he’s in.

  I pretend it doesn’t bother me in case he can still read facial expressions. But it bothers me. A lot. Over the last couple months, he’s gone from being my idol to someone I barely recognise. Translucent skin hangs loose on his face, his shoulders slump on the rare occasion when he sits, and he wears a vacant stare almost constantly. These are the moments when I need to remember what he was like when I was a child and young adult, yet this is when it’s hardest.

  I pull a chair beside his bed where he lays staring at the TV in front of him without registering the show. His eyes don’t flutter like they should when following the images on the screen.

  I remove my jacket that I wore simply for its interior pocket and pull out the flask.

  “The Evolve Awards were last night. I made a speech. You were in it.”

  No reaction.

  “I put a house on the market today.” I unscrew the cap of the flask and extend my arm towards him. There’s no movement. No intention of taking the flask from my hand. I wonder if he knows what it is anymore and why I brought it for him.

  “Slangevar.” I take a sip for him and another for myself, then I tuck the flask into my coat. There’s little to celebrate here.

  I lift Pops’ cold hand off the side of the bed and wrap both of my hands around it. Until recently, we’d never held hands. Now I do it every chance I get. It’s more like me holding him rather than us acting mutually, but, semantics. If the slight gesture helps him to recognise that he’s not alone, then I’m game. Although, I don’t know that he believes he’s alone. I think Mum lives in his head with him. Every now and again he gets a far off, dreamlike quality to his rheumy eyes, and I think he’s sharing a moment with her. Could be I tell myself that to make this shitty situation scarcely tolerable.

  “The new project is coming along. The foundation has set and we’re framing it.”
I pause and wait for a reaction or any sign that he’s part of this conversation. There’s no note of recognition.

  “Scott’s upset with me that I haven’t let him in on the Princess Project. I’m going to show him the plans tonight, though.”

  Admitting to Scott the lengths I’m going to for Izzy will be harder than admitting it to her. I’ve gotten used to telling her things, having kept up with my voicemails to her. I’ve never had to divulge anything to Scott because I’ve withheld nothing from him. He knows me inside and out. Knows all my moves. Could probably predict most things I’m about to say or do.

  Pops’ croaking voice cuts in.

  “What’s that, Pops?” I lean in to hear him; his voice is so faint now.

  “The lassie.”

  “Yeah, Pops. The lassie’s house.” The words hardly make it past my constricting throat.

  “Just like my Livy.”

  For the first time I can remember since I was five and standing at my mother’s graveside, I cry.

  SCOTT WALKS INTO THE pub with worry on his face. I ordered him a beer and wait for him to sit before I raise my glass.

  “Slangevar.”

  “Cheers,” he says with a voice that lacks any cheer.

  He’s right to be upset. I’ve been holding things back from him. Things that impact our friendship and our business relationship. In my defence, I’m in over my head and I’m making stupid decisions to cover for the moronic ones.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  Scott chokes and splutters.

  “I’ve never heard you say those words before.” He drinks again to soothe his throat.

  “I can take them back.” I don’t apologise often, and I’ll keep it that way if this is how it will be received.

  “No, like I’ve genuinely never heard you say them. I want the whole thing.” He grins like a granny who spiked the prune juice at the senior’s residence social.

  I shake my head and do as he asks, because I was an asshole—and not only as a boss. I’ve been a terrible friend.

  “I’m sorry, and here you go.” I reach beside me and grab the roll of architectural plans. The plans that I traded for my sanity. “I’m sorry for keeping this from you.” He coils his fingers around the roll but doesn’t take them from my grip.

  He grins again, enjoying how uncomfortable I am. “You really thought you could build Izzy a house behind my back?”

  “You know?”

  He smiles big enough to show off his dimples. Dimples that women swoon for.

  Kelsey.

  I’ve been double-crossed. I knew she’d make a terrible informant, but there was no way to do this without her. I needed Izzy’s vision of a dream home, and since she isn’t talking to me, I went to the second-best source.

  That’s how he knew that Asher and Izzy weren’t dating. And here I gave him credit for reading their body language. Like he knows so much more about women than I do—he’s had more failed relationships than the rest of the Black Ladder team combined.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s your first time being in love,” Scott says.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Is that how you talk to the guy who’s going to help you patch things up with your girl?”

  Chapter 34

  Izzy

  Kelsey drops into a kitchen chair and leans her head over the back, staring at the ceiling. She’s been training for a CrossFit competition for the last couple months and Saturdays are her push days.

  “I’m not cooking tonight,” she says, eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

  “What? Why?”

  Kelsey always cooks. It’s part of the reason I haven’t rushed to find a home of my own. Living with her is like having a personal chef.

  “You’re not suggesting that I cook, are you?”

  She bolts up. “God, no. I’d rather skip a meal.”

  I’d be offended if it weren’t true.

  “Let’s order in.”

  Kelse shakes her head. “Let’s go to the pub.” She tries to sound all sweet and innocent, but the act falls short when she sees my reaction to her suggested restaurant. “Come on, we haven’t gone there in forever and they have the best burgers.” I have sneaked in there at lunchtime so I can get my fix when it’s likely no one from Black Ladder will be there. “He doesn’t own the place, you know. We can go there too.” She puts on her don’t fuck with me face.

  It’s not a matter of him owning the pub. It’s a matter of avoiding my weakness, especially when his cronies will be there to witness the shaming.

  “How am I supposed to overlook my transgression with you forcing a meeting between us?”

  Kelsey has nothing to do with my inability to forget. It’s been three months since I last saw him at the awards ceremony. Since the day everyone, including Asher, saw what I refused to see all along. Since he stopped leaving me messages. And he still crosses my mind at least once in every one of those days.

  “Having sex isn’t a sin!”

  Sex itself isn’t a bad thing. Sex with Owen is a bad thing. Was. It was a stupid idea that could never have had a positive outcome.

  “I want to ignore it ever happened.”

  “Yeah right.” She snort-laughs. “Who was your first crush?”

  “What does he have to do with anything?” I ask. Kelsey’s snorts digress into huffs, so I play along. “Charlie Sampson, kindergarten.”

  “Who was your first kiss?”

  “Todd Klipper or Klapper or something. Grade three. But real first kiss was Carl Montreaux, summer camp of grade seven.” I remember that summer, alright.

  “Who was the first to get to second base with you?”

  “Carl, summer grade eight.”

  “Third base?”

  “Ha, Carl, summer grade 10. I don’t remember why we skipped a year.”

  “You went to the Maritimes with your family instead of camp.”

  “Oh yeah. Anyway, what’s your point here?”

  “My point is that you forget nothing. Especially when it comes to those important emotional milestones.”

  The list of people I’ve messed around with is short. It’s even shorter for people I’ve slept with, so it’s easy to remember every one of them. Also, I don’t regret any of them. Owen, however, was a mistake. I slept with him because it was my way of getting a little something out of the deal. He’s obviously attractive and he seemed like the type of guy who knows how to make a woman feel good—which he is, and I have no problem giving him credit when it’s due.

  When it was all over, though, I didn’t feel like I got a fair trade. I traded my childhood memories for a couple hours of grinding and screaming. It didn’t fill my cup in the end.

  Besides, it’s more than my sexual transgression I need absolution from. “I’m embarrassed at how badly I mischaracterised him and I don’t want to eat crow by facing him.” Avoidance is a much better way of dealing with it.

  “What if he doesn’t want to rub your face in it? What if he wants to move past it?”

  It’s too late. By the time he told me about his mom’s accident, his dad’s illness, the meaning behind his tattoos, and the truth about Tommy, it was too late. I slept with him because I was curious. Because I was sad, and he offered, and the timing was right. I didn’t do it hoping we would create a lasting bond.

  “Let me ask you this: How many people have you slept with since Owen?”

  “We live together, Kelse. You know exactly how many.”

  “Right. We’re going to the pub.”

  Chapter 35

  Owen

  “Kelsey said she’d text when they got to the parking lot. You can relax.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Like hell I’m fine. A quick recap on the past several months includes meeting Izzy, alienating her, saving her from a near-death experience, creating a near-death experience, spilling my soul to her, buying her family home, sleeping with her, and leaving her private messages that she could share with anyone at any m
oment.

  There’s also speaking to my ill father about her, telling the guys about her, and building a house for her. Oh, and telling a roomful of strangers that my mother died when I was a child and it completely fucked me up. All for her—and she still refuses to acknowledge my existence.

  That is not the definition of fine. I should get an adjoining room to Pops’ where they can hook me up with some of his mind-altering meds.

  Scott’s phone buzzes in his hand. Relaxing time is done. I swallow half my beer in large gulps, waiting for the door to swing open and for Izzy to walk through. Kelsey comes in first, followed by her taller cousin, dressed in her trademark skinny jeans that show off her long legs. Heads turn from all corners of the pub, rubbernecking as the duo make their way to a table. Izzy’s hair is swept into a messy bun and multi-coloured, beaded earrings hang low, showing off her long neck. She nibbles on a nail, which is polished in a glossy, bright pink hue.

  All air and sound get sucked out of the room with the door closing behind them, leaving me with nothing to cling to but my suspicions. Fear and desire have me teetering on the edge of sanity. She’s positively stunning, if not somewhat apprehensive of being here on a Saturday night.

  Izzy knows I’m here but refuses to search for me at the back of the pub. Her cheeks in between her teeth make her lips pout, giving her an extra kissable look tonight. More so than the first day I met her, or the night she slept on my couch. More than that day in my duplex when I did kiss her.

  There’s nothing I want more than to make sure those lips kiss only mine from now on. I didn’t know what it truly meant to honour someone until I met her. I was hellbent on replicating Pops’ strengths and avoiding his failures, when all the while, I was living exactly how he was—only out of choice and not fate. I love Izzy, and the longer I wait to tell her, the more time I’ll lose with her.

  My leg trembles under the table. “This is going to work, right?”