Worth Keeping (29 page)

Harrison Fowler was a billionaire living in Scotland, who owned a Premier League ice hockey team. He was rich, powerful and charismatic, and the whole connection was just the sort of thing the newspapers loved.

“I know that, Don. I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Nick, but I can’t be here twenty-four seven. I’m scared he will do something stupid.”

“He’s still seeing Heather?” Don said heavily.

Owen nodded at the phone. “Yes, she comes up here because he won’t go there. Don, I just found him in his painting room with a palette knife. He says he’s not going to do anything to himself but I don’t believe him. He told me to fuck off and then threw me out and locked the door.” Owen’s voice rose in righteous indignation as he recalled pacing outside the lighthouse door, refusing to leave and hearing a lot of noise coming from inside. It was then he decided to call Don again. Thank God the man had patience for Owen’s panicked daily phone calls.

“And have you noticed any fresh cuts anywhere? I know you two get naked a lot.” Don’s voice was dry and Owen shook his head, even as his eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away.

“Don, I haven’t seen Nick naked in a week, since this all started, we haven’t been-intimate—at all. I don’t know what’s under his clothes. The first aid kit is still under the bathroom sink though, fully stocked, so that’s a good sign, right?”

Unless he has a new kit stashed somewhere, one I don’t know about.

Don sighed. “Owen, we’ve talked about this. While Heather won’t disclose anything about what she consults with Nick about, she has said she
doesn’t
think he will self-harm that easily. She says he’s come a long way at coping and she calls him once a day to talk to him. I’ve spoken to him a couple of times but she told me not to because he might get spooked thinking everyone is on his case and we might drive him to do something stupid. That’s why I’m relying on you. You’re my conduit to Nick. I know you’re worried but we need to give him some space. Believe me, I know. It’s one of the hardest things you can do for him.”

“I can’t bear seeing him in such pain, Don. It tears me up inside. I want to fix it for him.” Owen’s voice was choked and he sat down at the kitchen table as he stroked anxious hands through his hair.

“I know you do, son. So do I. But this is one time we have to trust him to do what’s right. And that’s hard. Take it from someone who knows.”

“What do I do?” Owen whispered.

“You wait, you make sure you’re there for him when he needs you and you just keep loving him, son. And of course you keep a close bloody eye on him. Don’t let him go walking on the cliff top on his own and definitely not in a storm. He loves those and he tends to have a destructive streak when he’s in one.” Don’s voice was fierce. “We all love him, Owen. I want so much to be there but I need to listen to Heather when she says it’s not the best thing for him. But
you
are. So just keep doing what you’re doing and don’t give up on him. I’m counting on you to stay with him.”

Owen squeezed his eyes shut, his headache becoming more prevalent. He didn’t know what to say.

“Owen, promise me you’ll be there for him. He loves you, son, very much, I know that. He needs you.” Don said in desperation.

“I’m not going anywhere, Don,” Owen said tiredly. “Well, maybe to the fucking loony bin when they come to cart me off in one of those new designer straitjackets. ‘What the well-dressed crazy person is wearing today.’”

That elicited a sight chuckle. “It had to be a designer one with you, didn’t it? Not a run-of-the-mill common one.” His voice grew serious. “Stick with it. I’ll call him later, see how he’s doing. Bugger Heather, he’s my son and he needs to talk to me.” His tone was mutinous.

Owen smiled despite his mood. “Yeah, poke the bear, why don’t you. I wouldn’t like to get on Heather’s bad side, old man.”

“Enough of the ‘old man,’ you cheeky upstart.” Owen heard the smile in Don’s voice. “Anyway call me if you need me. I know you will. I have your number plugged in as one of my most-called ones.”

“Sorry, Don, I—”

“Don’t apologise. Call me whenever you need me, okay? Now chin up and let’s play this thing out.”

Owen nodded. “All right. We’ll speak soon.”

Don laughed. “I have no doubt. Bye, Owen.” The phone went dead.

At that moment a mini tornado entered the kitchen and Owen looked up as Nick stormed in. He went over to the kitchen sink and drew himself a glass of water. He drunk it thirstily then turned to look at Owen with a look that would have turned Medusa herself to stone.

“Who were you calling?” Nick indicated the hand still holding the phone. “My dad? To tell him what a bad boy I’ve been?”

Owen flushed. “Actually that’s the one thing you haven’t been this past week. At least not with me.” He regretted the attempt at humour the minute the words were out as Nick’s face darkened.

“Is that all I am to you? A regular fucking sex machine?” Nick slammed his glass down in the sink, making the plates in the drainer rattle. “Well, let me tell you, you can shove that toy up your own arse and have fun all by your lonesome.” He glared at Owen. “Oh, and I’m sorry. I should have left out the word ‘fucking’ because after all we don’t do that, do we, according to you?”

Owen’s jaw dropped. “Nick, that wasn’t what I meant at all. It was a joke.”

A joke that had backfired.

Nick nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. “That’s your answer to everything, Owen. Levity. There’s not a serious bone in your body.” He cast a fierce look at Owen. “And don’t you dare make a fucking joke about that last comment.”

Owen’s temper rose slowly. It took a lot to get him riled but by God, Nick had just pulled up at the station stop that said Enough.

“Really? You have the fucking gall to stand there and say that crap to me? The person who comforts you when you have nightmares that make you scream and cry? The man who patches you up when you’ve gone all bloody emo and cut yourself?”

Nick took a step forward at being described as “emo.” His body language indicated great harm was about to befall Owen. But Owen didn’t care anymore. “The one who’s stood by you the last few months, taken all your shit yet still stays? That’s not being fucking serious?” He was at full steam now and Nick’s face was wary, his eyes narrowing as he bore the full force of Owen’s considerable temper.

Owen however was just getting started. “You fucking twat!” he snarled. Nick growled at the insult and moved over to Owen, facing him down. Owen stared into his dark eyes and spat out words like bullets. “You just can’t bear to be happy. You have this need to hurt yourself, not just physically, and drive everyone away with your black moods. You have to find something deep inside yourself that causes you pain.” His voice cracked. “What the fuck do you want from me, Nick? I don’t know what to do anymore.” His temper spent, he shrugged his shoulders helplessly and turned to gaze out of the window at the darkness beyond.

Nick’s was uncompromising. “What I want is for you to leave.” He bit out. “Leave me alone. It was better before, when you weren’t here.”

Nick tore a hole in Owen’s heart with those last words, uttered with chilling simplicity. Owen closed his eyes briefly in weariness then turned to face Nick. Nick’s face was emotionless, flat, his eyes hard chips of burnt amber.

Owen regarded him carefully. “Is that what you really want, Nick? To go back to those days of wanting to throw yourself off a bloody cliff? To live here alone with just a monkey for company?”

“That’s what I want. And don’t flatter yourself. I won’t be throwing myself off any cliff just because
you’ve
gone. I think I’m past that now. So maybe you should just leave right now.”

“Nick, I’m not going anywhere. You need me.”

I love you, you bastard.

Nick regarded him flatly. “No, Owen, I don’t. I’m better alone. I always have been. So I want you to go. Now. This is over. It should never have started in the first place. I should have trusted my instincts.”

Those final words ripped Owen’s heart in two and he nodded, too grief-stricken to fight anymore. His throat closed up, the pain of Nick’s words stabbing through his core. Owen knew he’d made a promise to Don. He’d also promised Nick he’d fight for him but some promises needed to be broken to bring peace.

And Owen so wanted Nick to have peace. If this was how he’d get that, then so be it. “Okay.”

Nick’s eyes flickered. Owen moved toward his bedroom, his legs heavy, as if trying to walk on the bottom of the sea. Tears prickled his eyes and he wiped them away fiercely. He heaved an old suitcase out of the bedroom cupboard and took it to their shared room. Numbly, Owen packed some clothes, his essentials—toothbrush, razor, his Kindle, chargers and other assorted debris of his life here with Nick, then zipped the case closed and hefted it back out into the kitchen.

Nick still stood there, immobile, his nostrils flared and arms folded across his chest.

Owen picked up his phone and looked at his watch. Seven p.m. The taxi firm phone rang and then the familiar voice of Jeff Curtis invaded Owen’s ear.

“Jeff, here, how can I help you?”

Owen looked at Nick, who still hadn’t moved, just regarded him with dead eyes. “Jeff, it’s Owen at the lighthouse cottage. Can you come round and pick me up, take me to a B and B that might be open please?”

“Owen, are you all right? You sound a bit funny.” Jeff sounded concerned and Owen swallowed.

The last thing he needed now was kindness. He didn’t want to have a full-on blubbering episode in front of Nick. “No, things have gone a bit pear-shaped and I need some time on my own. Can you pick me up?”

“Hell, Owen, I’m bloody sorry to hear that. Yes, I can be there in about half an hour. Is that okay?”

“That’ll be fine,” Owen whispered. “I’ll be waiting at the bottom of the path. There’s no need to drive up to the house.” Nick’s mouth twitched at that remark. “I’ll see you in half an hour then.”

Owen clicked off his phone and put it in his jeans pocket. He pulled out the handle on the suitcase that allowed him to wheel it and moved over to the door. He still couldn’t believe Nick had let him get this far. He’d thought perhaps he might have a change of heart.

Stubborn fucking bastard. I’m better off without him anyway
.

But he knew he wasn’t. He’d never be. He opened the door and turned to look at Nick. Nick’s face was blank although there was an expression in his eyes that Owen couldn’t fathom.

“Well, it’s been a hoot, Nick. I’m sorry I overstayed my welcome. You can pack up the rest of my stuff and leave it in the shed. I’ll fetch it sometime.” His voice trembled. “Just promise me one thing, Nick. Please don’t do anything stupid. Despite you not wanting me anymore, I still happen to love you. So does Don. So please hold onto that thought and remember it if ever you feel desperate enough to try something silly. Goodbye, Nick.” He smiled wanly at the monkey sitting on the curtain rail. “Cheers, Socks. Take care of him for me, won’t you?”

Owen stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

Chapter 19

Inside the kitchen, Nick stared at the closed door. He thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest with the self-inflicted pain of loss. His eyes stung with tears and he found himself breathing fast, shallow breaths, even though all he wanted to do was scream into the air like an animal.

Owen’s quiet, dignified departure had all but put out the flames of Nick’s temper and need to self-destruct. Owen hadn’t deserved what Nick had just done to him.

What the fuck did you just do, you arsehole? You just sent the best thing that ever happened to you away like a common one-night stand. Like he meant nothing to you when he means everything.

Nick heaved a shuddering breath and strode to the door, reaching for the handle. He wanted to run after Owen, grab his suitcase and tell him there was no way he was ever leaving him. But something stopped him.

He hadn’t argued much, had he? The Owen he knew would have argued, would have had some silly comment—oh wait, he’d told him no humour. So scratch that one. But still, the man could have fought...and yet his last thoughts had been of Nick’s well-being not his own.

Nick took his hand off the doorknob and passed a hand over his tired, gritty eyes. He took a deep breath as he went to the window and stared out into the dark night.

He’d wait until morning when things weren’t so emotional.

Maybe Owen needed a night on his own too. The only place in town that he’d go to tonight was Sally Baldwin’s B and B. It was the only place that always had a couple of vacancies and it was also Jeff’s cousin’s, so he touted business for her whenever he could. He’d find Owen there tomorrow and perhaps they could talk.

The darkness in Nick’s soul needed to be put to bed once and for all. He had to defeat this thing or it would destroy him. And he no longer wanted that. At least, he hadn’t while he’d had Owen—Owen who made him laugh, made him feel, loved him....

I can’t lose him to my own fucking fear.
The thought of packing Owen’s belongings up like Owen had done with Jules’ stuff cut him to the bone. He wanted to puke his guts up and hope the nasty bastard living inside him went with it.

In a sudden flash of clarity, Nick knew what he had to do. He flung the door open, making sure to close it behind him so Socks didn’t get out. Then he ran down the path, toward where Owen was. The night smelt of salt air and dampness, the fog rising from the sea like spectres taking claim to the land. The sounds of his booted feet pounding the cobbled path reminded Nick of the first time he’d seen Owen, a blue blur lying on the cold, sandy beach. That had been something miraculous and being with Owen these past months had too. And Nick was damned if he was going to let this good man go because he was a selfish, bad tempered, moody bastard with a past that haunted him.

Nick’s sudden realisation that he couldn’t do without Owen unlocked something in his heart to burst free. As Nick ran, he repeated a litany in his head.