Page 5

5

JACOB

One month later

Owen’s cheek rests heavily against the breakfast bar in my kitchen. With his eyes closed and his mouth hanging open, he’s drooling all over it. “I should go and see Skye tonight,” he slurs.

That’s a bad fucking idea, but I don’t say that; instead, I say, “You need to go to bed.” I knock back a huge glug of my protein shake.

Owen never deserved her. My Skye.

I add, “No woman on planet Earth will go within a mile of you because you smell like a pig swamp.”

“I don’t stink.” He pops one eye open.

“You fucking do. I can smell you from the front door,” Lincoln announces as he swaggers in.

Lincoln pulls a stool from my breakfast bar and makes himself at home as he grabs a handful of grapes from my fruit bowl, popping one in his mouth.

“Fuck off, pony boy,” Owen mumbles.

“Well, at least someone’s getting pussy around here.” Lincoln grins.

“I don’t struggle for pussy,” I lie. Well, I don’t normally struggle, but for some reason, since that night in my office, I can’t bring myself to call Verity to hook up again.

I’m lying to myself, too. There is a reason.

Skye.

“Verity?” Lincoln asks, chuckling to himself. “Just date her already.”

I roll my eyes, dismissing him.

“I’m the odd man out? No pussy for Owen,” he grumbles to himself.

“You don’t need pussy, Owen. You need to sober the fuck up and get your shit together. Have you been drinking all day? Why were you not at work?” Lincoln’s brow wrinkles with what looks like worry.

Owen holds his head in his hands. “I hate my life.”

“Oh, here we go. Poor little rich boy syndrome.” My jesting gains another chuckle from Lincoln as he pats Owen’s shoulder.

“It’s hard being a single playboy, with only a historic castle to live in and flash sports cars to drive.” Lincoln’s voice is laced with irony.

“Fuck off,” Owen slurs. Leaning over too far in an effort to swat Lincoln’s arm away, he loses his balance, and as if in slow motion, he falls sideward off the bar stool, taking my designer Perspex chair with him.

With an enormous echoing clatter, he lands in a heap on the floor.

“Shit.” Lincoln leaps off his chair as I run around the breakfast bar to help.

I swiftly untangle Owen’s trapped leg from beneath the tall chair and stand it upright while Lincoln checks his head for any injuries.

Owen groans in pain.

“You alright, bud?” I bend down to check him over as well.

He rubs his temples. “I’m not alright. My whole body hurts,” he moans, slurring his liquor-fueled words. “And my heart. And my feet.”

“Did he walk here?” Lincoln looks at me for an explanation for his weird reply. I honestly don’t know. Judging by his usually immaculate white sneakers, he’s walked across the fields to get here. They are filthy.

“My head,” Owen grumbles again.

Lincoln grabs a cushion from my sofa, and lays it under Owen’s head, where he still lies on my kitchen floor.

“What are we gonna do with you, Owen?” I sit my ass on the floor beside him and pat his chest.

Owen snaps his eyes open. “Euthanize me. I’m not marrying her,” he spits out before his eyes flutter closed again.

I look at Lincoln. “What’s he talking about?” I question.

“Fucked if I know.”

“You’re not marrying Skye, Owen. You broke up two months ago,” I remind him. My heart will fucking die if he marries her. The very idea causes shooting pains in my chest.

Owen groans again. “Not Skye. You dumbasssss,” he slurs. “Evangeline.”

Lincoln blurts out what I’m thinking. “Who the hell is Evangeline?”

“My wife-to-be.” He raises his hands to the ceiling.

“What?” Lincoln and I both shriek at the same time.

“I have to marry her because of some sort of fucked-up agreement between her family and mine. It’s all arranged. Mom and Dad are a pair of selfish assholes. I hate them.” He lets his hands fall back to the floor, making them slap against the marble. “I have a sore head.”

“It’ll be worse in the morning,” Lincoln helpfully points out.

“And I will lose Skye forever,” he moans as he rubs his temples clumsily.

Lincoln tilts his head to the side in pity and delivers Owen the brutal truth. “You lost her years ago, buddy. If you loved her the way I love Violet, you would have put a ring on it long before now, no matter what your parents said. You were never right for Skye. You fucking messed her about, and your mother never approved of your relationship. It was doomed from the start.”

Owen covers his face with his hands. “You’re a fucking know-it-all. I hate it when you’re right,” he says into his cupped hand, muffling his words. “I’m going to run away.”

“Good for you. Where to?” Lincoln teases.

“I’ll decide in the morning,” he replies.

“Well, be sure to tell us where you are going, so we know you’re not dead in a ditch or drinking yourself into a coma somewhere.”

“I’m not telling you where I’m going. That’s the whole point of running away,” he moans.

I push to my feet. “Run away tomorrow, but for now, buddy, you are going to sleep the booze off in my spare room. C’mon.”

Lincoln and I take an arm each, and slowly drag an uncooperative Owen to the spare room.

“Shit, you weigh a ton,” Lincoln complains as he struggles to keep him upright.

“Been working out. Nothing else to do.” He belches and I have to turn my head to avoid the alcohol fumes.

We lay Owen down on the bed and as we’re walking away, Lincoln asks, “Do you reckon what he’s saying is true?”

“Fucked if I know. I’ll ask when he’s sobered up.”

“Do you think he’ll really run away?” Lincoln looks concerned as he glances back to where Owen lies unconscious and snoring, then walks to my front door.

“Not a fucking chance. That boy has it too comfortable here. He’s talking shit.”

Lincoln nods as if satisfied with my reassurance, then stuffs his hands in his pockets. “How’s work been? I haven’t seen you for a few weeks,” Lincoln enquires.

“Fine. Same old same old,” I lie.

“Do you want to hit the nightclub on Saturday night?”

“Can’t. I’m off to London with Skye on business.”

“Skye, huh?”

I clear my throat, ignoring his implication.

It’s not the first time Lincoln has questioned me about my feelings for Skye. I tried to deny it, but he was so persistent, I eventually gave in and admitted how I felt. Well, I admitted I felt something, but I didn’t mention the fact that I’m completely in love with her and have been since I was sixteen.

“She’s not with Owen anymore. So…?” His mouth pulls to the side in a boyish smirk.

“Bro code,” I remind him.

“We are thirty years old now. We made that pact when we were virgins, for Christ’s sake. I’m certain if you spoke to him, he?—”

“It’s a no-go.”

Lincoln waves his hand dismissively as he steps out of my house and walks toward his black Porsche. “Keep telling yourself that. But if you want any chance with her, then now is the time. You missed your shot the last time, Jay. You’ve waited long enough.”

“Shut up, Linc,” I hiss, hoping Owen is too out of it to hear this conversation.

He spins around, holding his hands up in mock surrender, walking backward as he laughs at my icy stare. “Okay. I won’t mention it again. But you know the danger you’re putting yourself in… being alone with her, in a hotel. I mean, you’re asking for trouble. Make sure you call me if you’re feeling tempted. Although you know what I think?—”

“I told you, it’s never going to happen. She’s his fucking high-school sweetheart.”

“You know that’s bullshit. There is no love lost between those two. He went with other girls every time they split up.”

“Bro code.” I sound like a broken record.

“Speak to him.”

“She’ll have a new boyfriend soon,” I say unconvincingly, finding myself clenching my fists at the thought.

Lincoln spots my distress. “Alright, caveman. Whatever. I look forward to hearing from you while you’re in London wanting me to talk you out of knocking on her hotel door and fucking her senseless.” He chuckles, swinging his car door open and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Call me when Owen sobers up and you find out who the hell Evangeline is?” He slams his door shut.

Firing up his stunning sports car, he gives me a brief wave before he drives carefully down my gravel drive and slips out onto the country road. Lincoln opens his baby up, disappearing with loud pops and bangs from his Porsche 911 exhaust into the cold night.

I sigh, my hot breath evaporating in a huge puff of smoke. He’s right, I should speak to Owen. But I don’t know how.

Where do I even start?

Closing my front door, I lock us in for the night and head back along the glass corridor that divides the living spaces of my home from the bedrooms.

I move my tired-from-the-gym body into the bedroom, snick my door shut and wander into my adjoining bathroom then peel off my gym kit and throw everything into my hamper, including my sneakers. I’ve been working out so much lately that they need a good wash, or they are likely to walk themselves to the washing machine.

Before jumping in the shower, I admire my new tattoos in the bathroom mirror. I’m still getting used to how different my body looks, covered in black ink, and my hard work at the gym has really paid off. I’m bigger and broader now than I have ever been. I don’t look anything like the slim, lanky boy I used to be.

I only joined the gym to pummel Skye out of my system and make myself feel better. That was a big fat fail. However, the by-product of all the workouts has my body in the best shape of my life… My head and my heart? Now that’s another story.

Turning slightly, my eyes linger on the black and aqua-blue clouds with multiple interwoven symbols across my back. Only I know what they signify, and that’s the way it will stay.

Freshly showered, I jump into my king-sized bed, pull the navy-blue comforter up to my waist and rest my weary bones.

Sliding my phone off the nightstand, I set a reminder alarm to check on Owen every hour. I’m a fucking babysitter for a thirty-year-old who weighs over two hundred pounds of solid muscle.

But he needs me, and he would do the same for me.

Opening the video app on my phone, I click on my subscribed channels and do what I’ve been doing every night since she started her hand lettering channel. I watch her.

Selecting her latest video, I turn the volume down to the lowest setting so Owen can’t overhear and gaze at the screen. “Hi and welcome to another Hand lettering with Skye tutorial.”

While the hand lettering she creates is oddly hypnotic, my eyes focus on her ocean blues and kind smile on the small inset video on the bottom right-hand side of the screen.

I wish I could make it bigger.

She bites her soft pink lips, sticking her tongue out as she concentrates. What I wouldn’t give to have a taste of that tempting mouth. I pause the video at the point when she lifts her head and looks straight down the camera lens.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself before closing down the app, and slap my phone face down on the bed.

Rolling over onto my side, I close my eyes with the hope that maybe tonight I can get a couple of hours of sleep at least, in between Owen-sitting, but my mind is plagued with thoughts of her.