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Owen loosened his embrace, and though the impulse to hold on to him was strong, I let him go. He drew back enough to meet my gaze. And then, as he tenderly brushed a tear off my cheek, he said, “You wouldn’t have asked me for sex when you knew we were about to split up. I know you.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” I swallowed. “There’s just a part of me that wishes I’d had a chance to…” I shook my head. “Part of it’s the guilt—I didn’t want that other guy to be the last one I slept with while I was with you.”
Owen’s lips tightened, his body tensing minutely.
“I know,” I said. “It’s… That’s selfish. And you’re right—I never would’ve asked for it. Even if I had, I don’t think I could’ve gone through with it. Not while my conscience was tearing me up like that. It’s just one of those irrational, it-sounds-better-in-my-head-than-it-does-in-practice things.”
I was sure he was going to roll his eyes and shove me away fully. To my surprise, though, he seemed to mull that over for a moment before he half-shrugged. “Okay. I guess I can see that. I probably wouldn’t have believed you at the time, and I’d have hated you if you’d slept with me after him.” He chewed his lip. “More than I apparently did, I mean.”
God, that was a gut punch. I didn’t want him to remember how much I’d hurt him, but I wished he could remember how much he hated me. Not just because it would be easier to take when he got his memory back, but because I didn’t think it was right for him to feel even a little bit charitable toward me.
That didn’t bother you when you were fucking him.
Another gut punch. Jesus Christ.
“I never would’ve asked,” I said. “And today…” I had to clear my throat a couple of times. “I think I fell apart because the only thing worse than not having that last chance to savor sex with you washavingit.” I exhaled. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
Owen laughed dryly as he carded his fingers through my hair. “Likemyfeelings make any sense. I’m not judging.” But then he sobered and leaned in to kiss me softly. “I get it. I do. I think we’ve all done something we regretted and then wished things had played out differently. Or that we never did them at all. Even if the way we wished they played out wasn’t something we’d actually do.”
“Really?”
“Well, yeah.” He half-shrugged. “It’s like when I had to turn someone down for a home loan a couple of years ago. She was desperate to buy a place, but her credit was a mess. It crushed her when we rejected her, and I caught myself wishing I could’ve fudged some details on her application. Massaged her credit score a little, or ‘accidentally’ omitted her bankruptcy and eviction.” He shook his head, his chin scuffing against the pillow. “I’d never in a million years do it, because I’d lose my damn job, but when you’ve got someone sobbing in your office after you just gave them bad news…” Another half-shrug.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about Owen understanding me on some level. Relieved that he got it, but also guiltier because he shouldn’t have been empathizing with me.
“Matteo.” He touched my face. “Stop beating yourself up.”
I straightened. “Stop beat—are you a mind reader now or something?”
He laughed soundlessly but fondly. “No. But I know you. You’ve never been subtle about it when you’re self-flagellating.” His humor faded. “I think… I think that’s part of why I believe you about regretting it. Because I’ve been watching you absolutely hammer yourself ever since I walked into your office yesterday.”
“Oh. Damn. I, um… I didn’t realize you could read me that well.”
His smile was sad, and I thought his eyes welled up as he whispered, “You learn a lot about someone in six years.”
Goddamn, Owen.
I pulled him close to me again, trying like hell to keep my brittle self together. Six years. I’d thrown awaysix fucking yearswith the sweetest and most beautiful human being on the planet. The man who’d known me better than anyone else—including myself—and still loved me as if he didn’t know how annoying or infuriating I could be. The man who’d roll his eyes or grumble at me, who’d irritate me and make my teeth grind, and who’d murmur, “I love you, baby” after we’d turned off the lights at night.
His absence was more than a cold side of the bed or an empty chair across the dinner table. It was more than silence instead of laughter, or stillness instead of gasping and trembling. It was the loss of someone who always forgot when it was his turn to do the dishes, someone who would snipe at me when I left my scrubs on the bathroom counter, and someone who made the most amazing Semifreddo every year on my birthday.
Owen had never been perfect, but from day one, he’d been perfectfor me.
I’d ruined that. I didn’t imagine there was a fae or sorcerer powerful enough to erase my memory of how I’d had the best partnership imaginable, and then fucking nuked it from orbit.
“I don’t know where we go from here,” Owen said, still holding me close. “Right now, I want us to find a way to try again. But if I get my memory back…”
I winced, then loosened my embrace. “If you don’t want this anymore after you remember, I’ll understand.”
He grimaced. “But I feel like I’m leading you on. It’s… I mean, the most honest thing I can tell you is that I want this. And I don’t want to taunt you or torture you with it. I just don’t know how I’ll feel after…”
I nodded slowly, stroking his hair just because I could. “I get it. I’m amazed we made it this far.”
Owen didn’t gainsay me. I could only imagine what was going on in his head, especially since cheating had always been a very firm red line for him. After a moment, he said, “If we do give it another try, wehaveto see a counselor.”
“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “I’ve, um… I’ve been seeing one anyway. She can probably recommend a couples counselor.”
Owen’s eyebrows flicked up. “You’ve been going to a therapist?”
