Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91452 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“You’re so wrong about—”
“You were Army Intelligence, for fuck’s sake. You have to realize that not everything is perfect.” He sounded both angry and defeated at the same time. “Life is messy, and sometimes we do imperfect things that end up being right and give us the best result possible.”
“I’m not arguing that outcomes can be for the best even when getting there was bad. What I’m telling you is that instead of just diving in, you have to look first and figure out what the hell you’re doing.”
“Oh, now I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“That’s all you got from that?” I was indignant. “Are you serious?”
“It’s just one more fucking thing for you to use!” he snarled at me.
“What are you—”
“I can’t take this anymore,” he yelled, pacing on his side of the kitchen island. “I’m not perfect, so I’ll keep screwing up, and you’ll keep seeing me as the little ten-year-old boy you rescued, and I—”
“I don’t think of you as a ten-year-old boy,” I corrected him, “or even as the eighteen-year-old who needed saving for the second time in his life. But maybe that’s where I fucked up, because I thought you had more sense.”
Owen blew out a long breath, standing there, shaking with fury, hands fisted at his sides. I was surprised that steam didn’t shoot out of his ears, as pissed as he was.
“I see you as the young man you are,” I added, hoping to ratchet down his anger.
“You don’t!” he roared back. “I’m thirty-two years old, for fuck’s sake, but you only see me as your dead friends’ son.”
Why were Ronan and Sara Moss being thrown in my face? “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, and I’m sorry I screwed up your date, but—”
“David was not my date,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t date anybody until I figure out what I’m doing with you!”
It took a few moments for that to sink in. He’d roared the words at me. “I don’t understand.” There was no intuitive leap to be made. He’d completely lost me.
“And that’s the problem. You don’t get it because you don’t see me, Jared.”
“Of course I see you. What are you—”
“Not how I want you to,” he said miserably. “Not how I need you to.”
I shook my head. “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”
But instead, he charged out of the room.
Nothing made sense.
I’d come home and heard him and a young man talking in my kitchen—well, his too; he’d lived here since he was twenty-four, when he’d returned to Chicago to work for me after getting his master’s degree.
I’d tried to be quiet, give them space, and was on my way back out when he’d called to me.
“I forgot I had to see friends,” I’d yelled back and was almost to the front door when he caught up with me, having had to jog. It wasn’t a small house—close to six thousand square feet, all one level, built in a U-shape, with a flower garden and patio in the middle. My bedroom faced the kitchen, and the space from the kitchen to the front door would have normally allowed for my escape. But he’d run.
“Where are you going?” he’d asked, and already, he was scowling.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“You didn’t. David brought me files I needed from Aaron Sutter’s office. I’ve been doing some contract work for him.”
“I know, but c’mon,” I’d teased him, “it looks like dinner to me, kid. I can get lost so you can make—”
“No,” he’d snapped, pivoting and returning to the kitchen, where he told David how much he appreciated the files being dropped off, basically excusing the handsome young man from our home. I would not have let him go if I were Owen’s age. He was pretty, and as he walked to the front door, he gave me a smile.
At fifty-six, I had no business even looking at men that young. Forty was as low as I went, and even that made me slightly uncomfortable. A twenty-year age difference shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. For starters, there was the whole issue of my musical preferences, and that was only the tip of the iceberg. Dating someone younger was fraught with challenges, and I honestly didn’t have the energy. At this point in my life, I wanted to exert energy in the field, not in my personal life. The exception, of course, being Owen. I would turn myself inside out for Owen.
Standing there now, alone, I ran everything back in my brain, trying to figure out what I’d done to elicit the reaction I got. I’d brought up the DEA hack because it had been weighing on me for months. We hardly ever talked anymore, but since he was pissed at me anyway, I thought why not go for the teachable moment. I should have known better, though usually he took it just like the others who worked for me. But suddenly he turned on me like a feral cat, defending himself and attacking me at the same time. My normal was to try and coach instead of blame, but he was decidedly not accepting the constructive criticism like he usually did. I couldn’t imagine what I could have done to piss him off. There was no moment I could point to where I could see the night taking a turn. All I’d done was walk through the goddamn door. When had my home become such a battlefield?