The whole thing was ridiculous. Grace hadn’t even spent any time with his family as his girlfriend. Hell, she wouldn’t even let him call her that. And while she had allowed him to meet her family, it was minor when balanced out against everything else. And somehow she thought they’d go from that to marriage?
He snorted, earning a surprised glance from Stef. “I’m fine,” he said, answering her unasked question. Yes, he was just fine. Perfectly fine. Finally free.
Because who wanted to be tied down? Not him. He wasn’t ready for a wife and kids and the two-story house in a tree-lined neighborhood. No way.
“Brunch?” Stef asked, sliding a menu across the bar to him. Their weekend brunch deal was insanely popular. Along with the typical fare of waffles, omelets and toast that could be found at every eatery in the city, Julia had suggested Elephants add a European flare and offer a sandwich section. Open-faced and piled high with things like cold cuts, cheese, tomatoes, pickles and cod roe, which sounded disgusting but tasted delicious and, according to customers, had proven to be an amazing cure for going a little too hard the night before.
“Not hungry.” Owen didn’t even look at the menu.
Stef moved the menu away. “So you’re here for the water?”
“Something like that.” It was better than sitting alone in his apartment. Better than going to his parents’ place, where everyone would be full of chatter about how beautiful the wedding had been and didn’t Julia and Donovan look happy and how long before Owen found a nice young woman to settle down with. And sure as hell better than going back to Grace’s and banging on the door until she let him in and gave him a reasonable explanation for her sudden decision.
“Owen?” He looked up, registered the concern on Stef’s face. “Are you okay?”
No, he wasn’t okay, but there was no reason to drag her into his drama. It wasn’t even drama. Just surprise and disappointment. He’d thought he and Grace were on the same path, had the same goals. Clearly, he’d thought wrong. Yet another person in his life who didn’t think he was capable, didn’t think he was ready for responsibility.
He wasn’t saying he was against marriage forever. He just wanted to work his way up to it. What was so wrong with that?
“I’m fine.” He pushed away from the bar before Stef could ask anything else and headed to the back corner booth. It was usually quiet over here, which suited him just fine. He didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want to make inane or non-inane conversation, either. He just wanted to sit back and watch, let his own problems slip away for a few minutes.
Owen sat silently, not opening the water, not thinking, barely even breathing while the crowd milled around in front of him. They looked happy, even the ones who were clearly suffering from bleary eyes and aching heads, swilling down tomato juice and coffee, shoveling their breakfast sandwiches down as soon as they landed on the table. He’d take the sandpapery eyes and a sore head if it meant he’d feel better. Because while he might look okay on the outside, he wasn’t.
He just wasn’t.
But he had to try. He twisted the cap off the water and managed to take three sips. They didn’t feel good going down, but they didn’t feel bad, either. He could handle neutral. He could wrap himself up in a nice little neutral bubble for a while. Just until his insides didn’t feel clawed open.
He noted the flow of the kitchen, which wasn’t as smooth as it should have been. He needed to look into that, find out where the chain was breaking down, but not today. He didn’t have the energy today and if that meant Donovan was right and he wasn’t ready for the responsibility of overseeing operations for all their locations, then fine. He wasn’t ready.
Owen picked at the label on the water bottle, leaving little scraps of paper on the table while he thought. The tabletop needed repairing. There was a long scratch marring the center, as though someone had dragged a key down it. Owen rubbed at it with his finger. It was mostly surface, just required a little buff and a coat of stain and polish to be brought back to its former glory. He hoped he would be the same.
“Any particular reason you look like someone just stole your dog?”
Owen looked up at Mal, who stood on the opposite side of the booth. She looked cool and polished, all clean clothes and washed hair. Owen glanced down at his rumpled tux and then back up. Mal’s expression, despite her cheery smile, looked sad and worried, which only made him feel worse, so he returned to staring at the table. “I don’t have a dog.”
“It was a joke.” Mal sat down without being invited. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Nothing was up. Absolutely nothing. Not his attitude. Not his life. Not his heart. In fact, his life was full of nothing. Yay him.
“Then you’re just hanging around the bar on your day off, scaring customers away for fun?”
Owen glanced over at Stef, who looked away quickly and buffed the bar, as if she hadn’t been watching them at all. Clearly, she was the cause of Mal’s sudden appearance. “I’m not scaring anyone away,” he told his sister. He wasn’t talking to anyone or making eye contact, and why should he have to? This was his day off. He could do whatever he wanted with it, including sitting at Elephants and drowning his sorrows with a bottle of water.
“You are.” Mal signaled to one of the servers, who hurried over wearing a bright smile. Owen couldn’t even bring himself to fake one as his sister placed an order. She turned back to him and folded her hands on the table. “Your expression is bad for business. What would Donovan say?”
“I don’t care.” Owen wanted to let his head fall back against the seat and close his eyes, but he knew Mal well enough to know that wouldn’t chase her away. In fact, it would probably give her incentive to stay. “I’m fine.”
“Sure you are.” Mal nodded. And how she got so much sarcasm in one small movement, Owen didn’t know.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did Mal. They sat in silence, if not exactly companionable than at least not awkward, until the server brought back a pair of tall tumblers filled with tomato juice, a spear of pickled asparagus and no doubt a jigger of vodka.
Owen stared at the frosted glasses and then looked at his sister. He knew she meant well, but he just wasn’t up for it. “It’s not even noon.”
Mal nudged the glass forward again. “It’s a breakfast bevvy and you look like you could use one.”
Owen frowned. “I don’t drink on the job.”
“An admirable trait, but since you’re not actually on the job, it’s not an issue. Now, why don’t you have a sip and tell your sister what’s bothering you.”
Normally, Owen would have been happy to sit with Mal and chat about life or work. But right now, he wanted to wallow. He nudged the glass back toward her. “I’m not thirsty.”
“Drink anyway.” She lifted her own glass and held it forward, waiting for him to do the same.
Owen didn’t want to. He also knew that Mal could outwait a turtle. “Fine.” He raised his glass and clinked it against hers. “Happy?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” She sipped from the straw. “But it’s certainly better than a kick in the teeth.”
“That’s hardly a difficult bar to reach.”
Mal shrugged. “What can I say? I’m easy.” She took another sip and reclined against the booth seat. “So what’s troubling you?”
“I told you, nothing.” But he heard the sharp edge in his voice, saw it in the way Mal’s eyebrows drew up on her forehead.
“Oh, yeah. You sound really relaxed.”
Owen frowned and sipped the Bloody Mary he didn’t want. It tasted good, so he took another sip. It didn’t matter if he got plastered. He wasn’t working. He didn’t need to stay sober. And what was the point of trying to be responsible anyway? Donovan couldn’t see past the person Owen used to be. Even if he could, he was on his honeymoon and wouldn’t k
now. Mal was the one encouraging him. And if a man ever had a reason to drink his sorrows away, now was one of them. He drank half the glass in one glug and stared down his sister. “Better?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
No, he wasn’t better. Nothing was better and getting drunk wouldn’t change that. He knew that and yet he took another small sip before officially pushing the glass away. The liquid sloshed around in his stomach and made him feel slightly ill. “I’ll stick with water.”
“Suit yourself.” Mal lifted one shoulder, but didn’t leave. She took a casual sip from her glass and scanned the room, which was bustling as usual, before she turned to face him again. “Just in case you were wondering, I plan to sit here until you tell me what’s wrong.”
Owen glared. It wasn’t his normal expression, so it should have scared her. Instead, she glared back. “I’ve told you what’s wrong.” He fought to keep his voice neutral even as his fingers clenched the water bottle. “Nothing.”
Mal looked pointedly at the plastic bottle that was crumpling under his grip. “Right.”
Owen let go of the bottle. Okay, so he wasn’t fine. How was that anyone’s business but his? “I don’t feel like sharing.”
Mal nodded. “But maybe it will help.”
“I didn’t see you sharing your personal life when you and Travis split.”
She blanched and her throat bobbed, but when she spoke her tone was calm. “That’s true. And I think it was a mistake. If I’d talked to you, maybe things would have... Well, maybe they’d be better.”
For a moment, Owen’s own problems fell away. He studied his sister. She was still thinner than she used to be, but the color was back in her cheeks. “Are we about to have a moment? Share our innermost feelings? Do we need ice cream?” A ghost of a smile lifted his heart. “Will there be hair-braiding involved?”
“Owen. Be serious.”
“I am.” He gestured to his hair. “I’ll need to get extensions.”
Mal sighed, but didn’t break eye contact. “You aren’t going to chase me off the subject by joking.”
“What subject?” But he felt his stomach roll, the Bloody Mary and water swirling together. “Hair-braiding?”
“No. Why you’re here, without Grace and wearing your tux from last night.”
Even hearing her name hurt. “Why would she be here?” Maybe he should be grateful that Grace had insisted on keeping their relationship quiet. Fewer questions to deal with now, since no one actually knew they’d been together.
“Oh, please.” Mal waved a hand. “We all know you like her, that you’re seeing her.” She paused. “Or is the problem that it’s now past tense?”
Owen looked down at the table again and shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mal exhaled again. A very sisterly, loud and entirely dramatic sigh. “Really, Owen?”
“Yes, really. Unless you’d like to go into detail about why you’re here and not in Aruba with Travis.” He watched her fingers curl around her glass, saw her lips press together in a thin line. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Oh?”
“Things were fine between you last night,” she pointed out. Owen sucked in a painful breath. Things had been fine last night, better than fine. Until they weren’t. “Did you have a fight?”
“No. That would have been easier. Would have made sense.” He looked down at the water bottle. He’d peeled off half the label without thinking, the scraps of paper in a little pile on the table. “She dumped me.”
He was grateful that Mal didn’t jump in immediately. Didn’t place blame, didn’t ask why, just sat quietly while he gathered his thoughts.
“I wasn’t expecting it.” Owen looked up, thinking he’d see pity in his sister’s eyes. Instead, she watched him steadily. “But she was pretty clear that it was over.”
“Did she give you a reason?”
Owen barked out a laugh. “She wants to get married, have kids.” He shredded the rest of the label. “And I’m not ready for that. Is that so wrong?”
“No.” Mal’s voice was quiet. “Not at all.”
“Well, Grace thought otherwise. She wouldn’t even give me a chance.” Just like his brother wouldn’t give him a chance. It sucked—it really sucked—to feel as though no one judged him on his actual behaviors and achievements but on their own expectations. And they always expected so little from him. Maybe they were right.
“Owen.” Mal shook her head and this time there was pity in her gaze. “It’s not too late for you.”
Owen tilted his head. “You say that like it’s too late for you.”
Mal looked away and something sad flashed across her face. “I don’t want to talk about me.”
Owen felt bad for bringing it up, but she’d started this. “And I don’t want to talk about me.” He took another sip of the Bloody Mary, then chased it with water. They were quiet for a moment. “So you still haven’t talked to him?”
He didn’t need to clarify who he was talking about. They both knew.
“I came here for you.” Mal pinned him with a narrowed gaze, but even her firm tone couldn’t prevent him from recognizing the deep pain in her eyes. Whatever had happened, no matter that she was looking better and acting more like her old self, Mal still wasn’t over Travis.
“My offer to beat him up still stands.”
Mal laughed, but it was filled with sorrow rather than humor. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t help.”
“Then what would?”
“You talking to me, telling me what’s wrong.” She ran a hand through her dark hair. “I’ve managed to make a thorough mess of my own life, but you can learn from my mistakes.”
“Does this mean you’re going to tell me what happened?”
She shook her head. “No. It doesn’t matter what happened with me.”
Owen disagreed, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did Mal. “Well, we’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”
Mal sighed and finished her drink. “I know you care about her.”
“That doesn’t really matter if she doesn’t feel the same way.”
Mal blinked in surprise, which soothed his ego a little. “That wasn’t the impression I got.”
“Well, you were wrong.”
Mal nodded slowly. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do?”
Owen shook his head. He felt raw, as though he’d been stripped naked and left exposed to the elements, which wasn’t so far from the truth. “I have to work.” He decided on the spot not to take the day off because managing the bar was better than pouring a drink down his throat and throwing a pity party.
Mal gave him a once-over. “Like that? No, and isn’t this your day off? Go home.”
But Owen didn’t want to go home. His apartment held no appeal and his social life was nonexistent. “No.”
“Yes.” Mal leaned forward as though she could intimidate him. “I’m going to have to insist. It’s not healthy to bury yourself in work.”
“You’re one to talk.” Since that was what she’d done last year when things had fallen apart between her and Travis.
“Exactly.” Mal nodded knowingly. “I’m exactly the one to talk because I’m the one who can tell you that it doesn’t work.”
Owen didn’t want to hear that. He wanted to hear that if he took on enough, piled it up past the tips of his ears, he’d be so distracted that he wouldn’t have time to think about anything or anyone else. “I’m not going.”
“Owen.” She glared. He glared back. “Fine, then you leave me no choice.” She whipped out her smartphone and started typing. “There’s a flight to Aruba at four o’clock this afternoon. I’m buying you a ticket.”
“Oh, ar
e you and Travis making up?”
She shot him a look. “No, the two of you are. Think of it as rekindling your bromance.”
“It’s not a bromance. It’s a much deeper connection.”
Mal stopped typing and held a hand up. “Listen, I’m willing to book you the flight. I’ll even pay for it. But I do not want to hear about my brother and my ex and their deep connection.”
Owen looked at her. He knew he should tell her no, that he was fine, he could handle work and the breakup and everything. That if he was going to visit Travis, he could pay for it. Instead, he swallowed. He needed someone. Someone who would pour him a beer and talk about sports and leave all talk about romance at the door. “And you’re okay with that?”
Mal’s shoulders dipped. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Her dark hair rippled. “I promised myself that I wouldn’t ask you to end your friendship with him because we broke up.”
He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated that, but the words got stuck in his throat. Still, somehow his sister knew.
“You need to talk to someone and that’s apparently not me—I’m hoping he’ll have better luck.”
Owen’s voice came back with a vengeance. “I don’t need to talk to anyone.” He didn’t need a therapist and he didn’t need to go to Aruba, he just needed some appreciation, a little acknowledgment that he wasn’t such a bad guy and maybe some hot, no-strings sex that would chase all thoughts of Grace out of his mind.
“Suit yourself, but I think it would help.”
Owen thought her concern was misplaced and told her so, but four hours later he found himself on a flight to Aruba.
* * *
OWEN CAUGHT A CAB from the airport directly to his hotel, a tingle of anticipation running down his spine. Blue water, white sand, hot sun. Maybe Mal was right. Maybe this was exactly what he needed. He’d tried to tell himself that he should have fought harder, insisted that he didn’t need the break, didn’t need to take a vacation. But the truth was he did. Without Grace, his personal life consisted of his family. Pathetic. They had to spend time with him and pretend to like him.
One More Night Page 20
