by Zoe Norman
"It just occurred to me while you were sleeping—I knocked you up. You were on the pill. I'm virile, a total stud." He flexes his biceps and I giggle, causing me to gasp in pain. Owen’s face immediately transforms from gleeful to panic. "Shit, baby. I'm sorry!"
I beam at him. "Don't be sorry. I want to laugh." I lower my gaze, the realization of what is happening becoming abundantly clear.
"What, Liv? Look at me," he commands, clearly sounding concerned.
"Nothing, nothing." I glance back up at him. "I just… I was so terrified you would leave me. So worried you would just walk away, ask me to move out. This was so unexpected. But you have completely thrown me. You really want this, don't you? This baby?"
Owen's face softens as he puts the cup down on the side table. He sits next to me on my bed and lowers himself so he's only an inch from my face. "I want this baby. Was it planned? No. Would I have rather you trusted me enough to tell me? Yes. Do I understand why you were scared to tell me? Absolutely. Am I scared as fuck that I'm going to be a father? Fuckin’ shit, yes. Am I feeling blessed that you, my beautiful girl, are in my life? Fuck yes. Am I awestruck that you are going to give me a child and that we are going to be a family? There are no words. I love you so fucking much." With that, he leans forward and kisses me, his mouth parted.
I know he wants a more romantic, deeper kiss, but he's hesitating, like he's not sure if it's okay. I help him out by opening for him, slipping my tongue in his mouth, suddenly grateful that he helped me brush my teeth earlier. We kiss softly, delicately, lovingly for a moment before he pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"I almost lost you. I can't even think about it. I was afraid to breathe for three days.” He takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes. He appears to be composing himself, although I don’t miss the tears forming in his eyes. “But you're here, plus one."
He smirks and I chuckle, eliciting another wince of pain.
He gives me an admonishing glare and kisses me on the tip of the nose before sitting back and resuming his ice chip service. "Okay. Enough laughing, baby. You're going to pull something."
I LIE RESTING IN the hospital bed, Owen at my side, watching some kind of news report on the television. My folks are on their way, and Owen just got a call that they’re not too far out. Knowing they are almost here has my anxiety level growing with every passing minute. I already told Charley about the baby in a moment of desperate need to share it with someone safe, but while my parents know now, it’s not because I have told them. I have had intense guilt since I told Charley, guilt that she knew before Owen did, a detail I haven’t told him and since have instructed Marc and Charley to carry to the grave. But the guilt that I haven’t told my parents or Simon and Reese is overwhelming.
I’ve never had to think twice about what I’ve told my parents, and with the exception of the Jay debacle, I’ve never worried about what they would say. My parents were critical of our breakup—critical of me, that is—and while there was tension during that time, my parents not only have recovered from any feelings they had about Jay and me, but have in fact been apologetic at their way of handling our breakup. I think they both were hoping he would be ‘the one,’ and when he turned out not to be, it broke them a bit.
Anyway, back to the issue at hand. I have to make amends for having not told them today, and I’m nervous as hell.
“You look tense, Olivia. What’s up?” Owen asks, concern etched on his face.
“I’m a little nervous about my folks. Telling them about the baby.”
Owen smiles at me and gives my hand a squeeze. “What are you nervous about? They already know!”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to them in person yet. I know you say they were happy, but a conversation with you and a conversation with me are two different stories.” My mother is a full-blown Owen fan, and he can basically do no wrong. I, on the other hand, remain the daughter who can.
Owen’s smile grows brighter as he recounts their discussion about the baby. “Your mom basically exploded with happiness. Shit, she loves me. She’s going to probably explode again today!” He has pride written all over his face and it’s adorable. “Your dad, on the other hand, is happy but may or may not still want to kick my ass for knocking you up without...you know...marrying you.” His voice drops a bit.
Marriage is a very tense subject for Owen, and while I know we need to discuss it more at some point, I’ve been careful to dodge it for the time being.
“It’s going to be fine, baby.” Owen stands and leans over me, his hands bracing his weight on either side of me. He leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. “Don’t stress, baby. It will be fine.”
He brushes my lips again but then slides his tongue against the seam. I open readily for him, wanting and missing his kisses. Owen groans as he deepens the kiss, and I run my hand up his arm and wrap it around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
“Ahem,” we hear a male voice say from the door to my room. A male voice that sounds just like my daddy.
Owen gives me one last peck on the lips and stands, turning to greet my parents. He reaches out to shake my father’s hands as my mother rushes to my side.
“Good to see you, Mr. Burke.”
My father returns the greeting and comes to stand beside me, Owen moving out of the way. Behind them, he nods and gives me a wink.
“Oh my God, my sweet baby girl!” my mother sobs with tears streaming down her face.
“Mom, don’t cry, really. I’m fine. A little banged up, but overall, I’m doing great!”
My father leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my forehead. My mother grabs a chair and pulls it to the bedside, my father doing the same. Owen has found himself a spot by the window, out of the way. We go through the list of things that have happened, although they have heard it all already—the story of the accident and how Owen was first to the scene. My mother expresses that she feels that was karmic and smiles warmly at Owen. My father is still blown away at the coincidence and looks Owen’s way, nodding.
My mother looks down at me, squeezes my hand, and then drops her gaze to my belly. I watch her face morph from worry to pure, unadulterated joy, and a tear falls from her eye to the blanket. With her other hand, she softly strokes my stomach and then turns to me.
“Olivia...my little Olivia. You’re going to be a mommy.” She says this quietly, almost reverently, as if it’s a secret to be shared only between us.
My eyes fill with tears and I nod, the lump in my throat keeping me from being able to say anything. She smiles—a warm, mother’s smile.
“Thank you,” she whispers, again as if just for us, and leans forward, planting a kiss on my forehead.
My father comes over and kisses me on the cheek. “All right, Lily. Stop the blubbering already,” he scoffs. He sounds annoyed, but by the look on his face and the tears in his eyes, he’s far from it.
I look over at Owen, who is still in his chair by the window, enjoying our interaction, and beaming with an ‘I told you so’ grin on his face.
“Congratulations, pumpkin. No child will have a better set of parents. We’re so happy for you.” He bends to give me a kiss on the cheek, before patting my hand in that way only a dad can. He stands straighter and, to my horror, says, “Now, Owen, when are you going to make an honest woman of my Olivia?”
I think I’m going to pass out.
Owen is not only not ready for this conversation, but he likely won’t react well to having been called out by my dad. I look over to Owen, who has visibly stiffened, his once smiling face now very, very, serious. He stands and makes his way next to me, my mother moving so he can be by my side. He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles and then lifts his head, looking my father directly in the eyes.
“Mr. Burke, if you’ll excuse me, I’m just barely absorbing the accident and the fact that I’m going to be a dad. If you don’t mind giving me a few days to chew on all that...I’ll be hap
py to answer your question.”
I’m shocked silent. I don’t know what’s more odd—Owen’s quick and really well-played response or the fact that he has charmed my freaking father. His skills know no gender!
“That’s a response I can respect, Owen.” My father reaches across me and the men vigorously shake hands, my father eventually pulling him into a bro hug over my bed.
I feel like I have stepped into some alternate universe, but I’m not complaining. I wonder if this is just Owen’s way to shut my father up or does he really intend to, eventually, follow through on making me an ‘honest’ woman? My heart pounds and swells at the notion that, one day, Owen will want us to be married.
After some time, the nurse comes into my room to inform us that visiting hours are over. My parents say their goodbyes and share that they’re grateful Owen is staying with me. Simon and Reese will be coming tomorrow, and my mother tells me how excited they are to be an auntie and uncle. When my parents leave, Owen comes back to sit in his uncomfortable regular chair, but I stop him. He looks at me quizzically as I pull my blankets back.
“Come here,” I say seductively.
Shooting his eyes toward the door, he walks over to close it. Then he comes back to me, the ‘sexy Owen’ grin on his face. Cheeky bastard. He slides into bed with me and we cuddle with my head on his chest. We both sigh, clearly reveling in the comfort of our connection. We don’t need sex all the time. Sometimes, it’s comforting to only hold each other, and this is definitely one of those times. I’ve missed this so much.
“That went well I think,” he whispers into my hair.
“I think so too. My mom has been waiting for this moment. I’m sure it’s killing her to not tell everyone she knows.”
We were explicit with my mother that we want to wait to announce the pregnancy until I’m through my first trimester. It’s traditional to do this anyway, but with the accident, we feel it’s that much more important. We both laugh at the image of her restraining herself amongst her friends, and when we settle down, Owen kisses the top of my head.
“Olivia, I love you so much. Thank you for making me so happy.”
I lean forward and kiss him on the chest. “Thank you for giving me reason to.”
With that, we both settle down, drifting off into sleep. My world is slowly healing and coming together, and my sleep is found with a smile on my face and a tear of sheer bliss.
“I COULD HAVE SAVED them…didn’t look hard enough… I’m sorry…so…so sorry…couldn’t find—”
“Owen…”
Shake.
Push.
“Owen, wake up. You’re having another nightmare.”
Push.
Nudge.
Shake.
I can faintly hear Olivia’s voice calling to me. I feel like I’m caught between two worlds—between the past and the present. I want to be back in the present. I desperately need to get back to my life with Olivia rather than suffer through the hell of these tragic memories. Part of my mind is mourning the loss and reliving the guilt of the deaths of those innocent girls and the other is fighting to leave all of it and cling to Liv.
“Owen!” Olivia screams. “Owen, you’re really starting to scare me! Wake up! Please!” Her voice is shaky, and I can hear that she’s on the verge of tears.
As if pushing back into my body, I wake and inhale deeply like I’ve been without air for minutes. My arms flail and I narrowly miss Olivia as she ducks to the side to avoid being hit in the head. I struggle to sit up in bed, drenched in sweat. I swivel my head to look at Olivia, who is cowered in the corner of the bed and giving me a wide berth. Great. Now she’s scared of me… I deserve this. I turn away, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, baby. I…I’m okay,” I mutter calmly, trying to keep my emotions in check but to no avail.
I run my fingers through my damp hair and tug sharply, frustrated and angry with myself. I’ve had a good run with keeping the nightmares at bay, but since finding out about Olivia’s pregnancy, I’m more stressed out and on edge than normal.
“What can I do, Owen? Please…” Olivia pleads in a whisper.
I meet her eyes and scoot my body across the massive bed to Olivia’s side. Laying my head in her lap, I envelope her legs with my arms. Olivia starts to lovingly stroke my hair and trails a hand up and down the length of my back.
“I’m here for you, Owen. I’m here,” she says reassuringly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
My typical reaction to these fucking nightmares is never good. I usually close her out and shut down completely. At times, I raise my voice at her, and afterward, I hate myself for reacting that way. Olivia deserves so much better than that. Especially at times like these, she’s the bright light I need in order to bring me back from the past. It all makes perfect sense to me now.
The conversation I had with my sister comes back to me. I just need to start talking, start letting all of this shit out. But not to anyone—only Olivia. I need her. And on this random Tuesday at two thirty a.m., I need her more than ever. I shiver on her lap as the adrenaline from the dream starts to leave my body.
“Just breathe, Owen. You just relived a traumatic event. Allow your mind to recover.” Olivia folds over my back and presses her cheek to my shoulder. It’s the most comfort I’ve felt in ages.
“I feel like a fucking pussy right now, but I just need you to hold me for a little bit,” I say with my cheek still resting on her thigh. I’m supposed to be the strong one for her, not the other way around. She’s pregnant with my child and I’m the one acting like a baby.
Olivia holds me tighter, shushing me. “I’m not going anywhere, baby. Let me be here for you. Let me in your head, Owen. Talk to me. Please,” she begs as if she can hear my inner struggle and the way this fucks with my head.
I sigh heavily, unsure of where to start. Just start talking… “It happened just about two years before I met you,” I begin. It’s easier to talk to her if I don’t have to see the look of disgust that is sure to be on her face. “Everyone keeps telling me it wasn’t my fault, but it was, Olivia. I fucked up. Those girls died because of me.”
Olivia stops rocking me, and I can feel her breath hitch by my unexpected confession. “Wha-what are you talking about, Owen?” Although I can hear the apprehension in her voice, she doesn’t push me away.
Just start talking…
I spend the next half hour talking—telling her about the fire that fateful night. I share how the mother left those precious girls alone and how I overlooked them hiding in the toy box. I describe in detail the image of those girls huddled together and how, sometimes in my nightmares, their dead eyes open and ask me simply, “Why?” I tell Olivia how I wrapped the littlest girl in my bunker jacket to protect her from the flames and how I performed CPR on her lifeless body until I was pulled away by EMTs at the scene. I reveal that, if I just would have done a more thorough search, those girls may have survived and that, because I was careless, those girls died.
“My actions, or lack thereof, killed them, Liv. They were depending on me to help them, and I failed those girls. They died alone and scared and it was my fault.”
After I spew out all the information, I sit up to lean against the headboard and, finally, look to Olivia. She quickly wipes tears away from her eyes and meets my gaze. Staying silent, she waits for me to continue.
“After the incident, I was ‘encouraged’ to see a therapist, whose professional opinion was for me to just ‘get over it.’ As if it were that simple,” I scoff. “I was required to see him three times, and after that last session, there was no way in hell I was going back.
“Over the last couple of years, I’ve put two and two together and realized that the nightmares are mostly triggered by stress. My mind…” my voice trails off. “I can’t shut my mind off sometimes, and although it allows my body to sleep, my head keeps going…keeps spinning…keeps bringing up the past again and again.”
I stop fiddling with the top sheet on th
e bed long enough to glance up at Olivia, who is hanging on every word. She takes hold of my hand and gently rubs her thumb across the top. It’s a reassuring gesture and one I unknowingly crave.
“They were really bad when we broke up—I already told you that. And I had a bad week just before you moved in.” Olivia’s face falls, and I instantly regret saying that last part. “But,” I say, trying to soften the blow, “I’m so, so glad you did move in. Honestly.”
Olivia nods her head and offers me a crooked smile.
“And now…” I sigh. “Now, with you being pregnant”—I softly lay my hand on her lower abdomen—“I guess I’m freaking out a bit more than I thought, and now that freaks me out because I’m also excited. Scared shitless, but excited and happy.”
Olivia places her hand on top of mine and smiles softly. Her eyes tell me that she believes the sincerity behind my words.
“I’m a mess, Olivia. These nightmares… They’re awful. I’m tired of them and frustrated by them and…I’m just tired of being tired.” I feel so defeated and so vulnerable, more naked and exposed in front of her than if I were actually in my birthday suit in front of my brothers at the firehouse.
“Owen, the tragedy surrounding the deaths of those two little girls is just that—a horrific tragedy. You did everything in your power to search for those girls, I know you did. You said the smoke in the building was thick and that you could hardly see the hand in front of your face. It makes sense that you didn’t see the toy box they were hiding in.”
“But I could—”
“Hush. Let me speak.” Her voice is stern and resolute. “You are human. You are fallible. You are also a protector, a provider, a man who was put on this Earth to care for people. I know this firsthand. So for you to take this as a personal failure is understandable. But you’re wrong, Owen. This accident, because that’s what it was—their mother never intended for her children to die that night—this accident would have happened whether you were the one searching for those girls that night or if it were Tanner, Saul, Matty or any number of the guys on your Rescue Company. You pulled the short stick that night and had to deal with the tragedy and its aftermath of heartbreak and loss.”
