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“Oh, I just needed a minute.” I think I’m going to need more than that, like maybe a box of wine and a therapist.
“You always were a crier.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a slight smirk.
I sniff and gesture a finger at him in a lame point. “Some things don’t change.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says, abruptly. “To look at your house.” A pause. “I mean, if you need someone there. I know you said you didn’t want anyone to come, but I know a little bit about dealing with the aftermath of a fire. It can mess with your head.”
I hear understanding in his voice, and I wonder how his job has messed with his head.
Is that why he’s back?
“You really don’t have to do that,” I say. “I’ll be fine to go by myself.”
He winces. “I do, and you won’t be fine. Please. Trust me on this.”
I sit with that for a moment. Trust him.
“Plus, my captain gave me explicit instructions to go with you.”
A tiny bit of disappointment peeks up at me and waves. “Oh, you’re still on the job.”
He shrugs. “Technically, yeah.”
That makes more sense. How silly of me to think he was here out of concern for me. He’s here because he was ordered to be here. Got it.
“It’s okay for you to be affected by everything that happened,” he says, obviously thinking I’m back here reacting to the fire and not to my foolish feelings about him and Lindsay. And maybe I am—I don’t even know anymore.
“Everyone will tell you how lucky you are, but you don’t feel lucky. You feel invaded. Helpless. Grateful to be alive, but still angry that it happened. You don’t know what survived, or if irreplaceable things can be saved.”
He does understand. Great. The only person in the world who gets it is the one person I cannot share my feelings with.
I won’t make that mistake again.
I nod. “I’m trying to stay positive, and I am grateful, but. . .yeah. I’m also worried about what didn’t survive the fire.” I feel silly for admitting this. Jace was right—those are just things. I escaped with my life, and that’s the most important.
“I feel so ungrateful mourning the loss of things. It’s so stupid.”
“It’s not.”
I go on without really hearing him. “Like my worn-in college hoodie and my super soft jeans. Do you know how many times I had to wear them to get them that soft?”
He barely smiles because Owen isn’t one for smiling. Years ago, I got really good at reading his face, at hearing what he wasn’t saying.
Very few people took the time to do that. It’s why everyone underestimated him. Well, that and the fact that he had a temper and a who gives a crap attitude.
He tried so hard to buck the system. It’s like he had all this potential and didn’t care to use it. He put up this front that he was a tough guy with no feelings when the truth was, he was one of the kindest people I knew.
And judging by the fact that he’s standing here now, he still is.
“You’re not ungrateful, Emmy,” he says. “You’re human. And that’s your home—losing any part of it warrants some sadness.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I nod, fighting the tremble in my lower lip when a tear escapes. I quickly wipe it away.
I hate crying. Especially in front of Owen.
