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My head snapped toward him. “Are you—”
“This is the literal least I could do.” And that was hisdon’t-argue-with-mevoice. “I’ve got this, Owen.”
I had no idea what to say to that.
But I didn’t stop him from paying for the potion.
Chapter 12
Matteo
The little bottle sat on Owen’s kitchen island, its amber liquid glowing and somersaulting within the glass. The cork was still firmly in place.
From opposite sides of the island, Owen and I stared at the bottle. We’d been here for a good twenty minutes, both silently regarding the potion that would apparently unlock his missing year.
I’d fully expected him to walk into the condo, yank out the cork, and throw back the potion like a tequila shot. Hell, he’d looked like he was tempted to do exactly that right there in the fae shop, though Ronan had emphatically warned him to do it at home.
“It’ll be disorienting and overwhelming,” he’d said as he casually put a Band-Aid over the bite Ignacy had left on his finger. “You’ll want to be home, and ideally with someone.” He’d looked pointedly at me.
So, after I’d paid for the potion, we’d left, and now we were here, and now…
Now I wasn’t so sure Owen was going to drink it at all.
He drummed his fingers on the granite. “I should drink it.”
I lifted my gaze to meet his. “What’s stopping you?”
He pressed his lips together. Then his shoulders dropped, and he wiped a hand over his face. “Would you think less of me if I said I was fucking terrified?”
“Not at all.” I reached across the island and touched his arm. “I’d be terrified too. It sounds like… a lot.”
He huffed a dry, humorless laugh. “Understatement of the century.”
Yeah, it probably was. I didn’t really know what to say to soothe him. I wasn’t sure there was much I could say.
But maybe if he took a breather for a few minutes…
I gave his arm a little squeeze. “Come on.” I nodded toward the couch. “Let’s talk.” Gesturing at the potion, I added, “That isn’t going anywhere.”
Owen hesitated, which I understood, but I hoped he’d see my point. Once he drank that potion, there was no going back. He hadn’t done anything irreversible yet. If we sat down for a few minutes, it wouldn’t hurt anything.
He gave the bottle one last uneasy look. Then he pushed back from the counter and shuffled around the island toward the couch, where he collapsed onto the cushions. As he sighed and pulled a throw pillow against his chest, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so exhausted and wrung out.
I hated that we could undo the amnesia spell but I couldn’t undo everything that had turned him into this. My conscience wasn’t going to let me forget this for alongtime.
I sat down with some space between us. I wasn’t sure if the pillow he was holding was meant for comfort or a shield of sorts. A buffer between us, maybe?
Testing the water, I gently took his hand.
He didn’t resist, closing his fingers around mine as he sighed and pressed back against the couch. “I feel so stupid.”
“Why? Anyone would be scared right now.”
“I know, but… I mean, I need my life back.” He swallowed. “I’m just afraid of what I don’t remember.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, how bad was I, mentally and emotionally, that I needed all those memories gone?”
