“I want to be happy, like everyone.”
“What makes you happy? Other than cuffing people.”
“There’s more to being a cop than cuffing people.”
“I didn’t mean as a cop.”
“How can you be so sure I’m into cuffing?”
“Call me imaginative?”
“Not hopeful?”
Wow, was it hot in here? He fanned the sheets. “Back to being happy, what does that look like for you?”
“Spending time with my family, hanging out with my husband at weekends after we’ve groaned our way through the weekly chores. Beach visits with Mary. Hikes into the woods. Getting coffees, reading books, travelling once or twice a year. Growing the family.”
“Growing the family?”
“Another pup. Maybe a foster kid or two.”
Jason’s throat tickled. “Not adopt?”
Owen was studying him through the layers of darkness. “Would adopting be a bad thing?”
“N-no. My parents were wonderful. They gave me . . . everything.” Jason sat up, stomach roiling. They truly had given him everything he needed. He palmed his forehead.
“You okay?” Owen sat up too, stroking his back like Jason would polish ivory.
“Oh God. I’m an ungrateful, terrible person.”
“You’re no such thing.”
“I loved my parents. Why am I here, so curious to see a part of me that doesn’t matter?”
“You can love your parents and still want to know the what ifs of life. Hell, how many nights do I wonder what my life would be like if Hayden had moved in? Would we be getting married this year? Would we have talked like this, about what the future could look like?”
Jason fell back to the bed and stared at the ceiling, and Owen stretched himself out beside him. “You’re right.”
“I know.”
Laughter, and Jason batted Owen’s chest. He turned on his side and hooked his chin on his palm. “I’m here, like a fly on the wall, for a glimpse.”
“Just for a glimpse?”
“I think it feels so urgent because . . . I miss having family around. I’m in a lonely place in my life.” He laughed at himself. “Jesus, sorry for unloading that on you.”
“I’m your boyfriend. Your bags are mine to carry too.”
Jason didn’t think it was possible to lose his sense of gravity while lying down. “Owen . . .”
Owen clasped his hands under his head. “Hm?”
“I can see it, you know. Man of law by day, man of the house by night. Stroppy teenager giving you all their sass. You locking them up behind bars until they apologise . . . The narrowed eyes, the see-who-blinks-firsts, the burned toasts while you’re chasing another toddler into pants, all the driving to soccer matches, Friday night takeouts, movie nights with fights over who gets to hold the popcorn, the uncountable times you’ll laugh every day.” The images were vivid. Bright. A lot like how he grew up. “All the times Mary will yip. It’ll be out of control, Owen. It’ll be perfect. You’ll be perfect.”
“No one’s perfect.”
“Then you’ll be pretty damn close.”
“You are way too good for my ego.”
“I’m fond of stroking it.”
“Jesus. Okay, my turn to ask a question. I’m your first boyfriend, but you’ve been with others . . .”
“No one serious until Caroline.”
“Was it Caroline’s parents who were tragically blind and didn’t see how amazing you are?”
Jason laugh-yawned. “Thanks. Yes. I knew from the start we weren’t right for one another, but I wanted us to be?”
“You did?”
“I liked her. But more . . .” he dropped his voice. “I liked the idea of her? Of having someone who would be there. Who I could have adventures with. Who would love me back.” A tight laugh. “She didn’t though. I’m not sad about losing her or that she’s engaged now, but I’m envious.”
“I get that. And that’s the third time you’ve yawned. Sleep time.”
“You haven’t asked me what my future looks like.”
A whisper, “What does your future look like?”
On another yawn, Jason said, “Y’know, I think it looks just like yours.”
He woke draped over blankets and Owen, an urgent morning predicament rubbing along a thick arm. Ah, not an arm.
Thank God Owen was still sleeping, boneless, slack-jawed, chest rising and falling steadily under Jason’s.
Swallowing a hiss, he delicately uncrossed their swords, and extracted himself to the bathroom with his phone. He showered but couldn’t bring himself to . . . not here, with Owen’s parents next door. He let cold water rush over him until he was shivering and tried not to flash back to last night as he towelled off and redressed.
Then he collapsed onto the fluffy toilet seat and made his call.
“I’m what?” Carl said, hyperventilating down the line. “Owen Stirling? Of all the guys in Tasmania?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“No one will believe you! Can you pull this off? Me and Owen? Do you know how many tickets he’s given me?”
“He could give you a sight more and I’d still think the world of him.”
Carl made a choking sound. “Are you . . . is this . . .”