I know what that is like, and I know what it is like to feel fucking horrible about something that you feel like is out of your control. Owen is a good friend. Why would I punish him more when he is punishing himself enough?
“Actually, could you take them? I need to get up and walk around. I don’t trust myself to walk with them yet.”
“Yeah, of course. Anything you need. I’m your guy. I got this,” Owen reaches for Holt, cradling him in his giant arm, then Holland and his face softens when he is holding them. He’s about to be a dad too.
For the second time.
Owen had something truly fucking awful happen to him twenty years ago. His pregnant wife got murdered, along with their little girl, and he was a frozen man ever since.
Until he met Jolie.
And now she’s pregnant, and I haven’t seen him so happy. He’s a natural father. It’s like he already knows what to do. He’s going to be great. I couldn’t be happier for him.
I’m the lone wolf, the bachelor of the house, the single man.
I hate it.
I’ve been stuffing my face with muffins and anything else I can get because I’m stress-eating. It’s hard to see everyone so damn happy and in love, and here I am, the playboy, the youngest of the group.
The chances of me finding love are like finding the smallest needle in a haystack of needles, impossible.
“They are so small,” Owen whispers, pulling Holland up as he bends his head down to place a kiss on her forehead. “She smells like a baby. I love it.”
“Well, right now she does. Give her ten minutes; she’ll smell like—”
“—Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“You’re going to ruin the baby experience. Don’t say it.”
I chuckle and lift my arms up in surrender. “You know I’m right.”
Owen sets them in their swings, turns on the timers to start them, and holds out his hand to help me up. I bat my lashes at him and hold my hand to my chest. “Oh my goodness, what a gentleman. Why, I might just fall in love with you, Mr. Carter.” I pretend to have a southern drawl and lay a hand against my chest.
“Shut up,” Owen chuckles and carefully helps me into a standing position.
“You know what I’ve noticed? I’m always the one getting hurt. I broke a leg, got stabbed through the chest; what’s next? Jesus, I hope my body gets time to heal before the next injury.”
Because there is always a next injury.
I groan when my muscles and skin pull around the wound in my chest and back. Shit it hurts. I can’t lift my arms up fully without wanting to throw up. Who knew moving in a certain way would hurt so much when it came to the sternum? I can’t bend over because I feel like my organs are going to rip out of my chest. I can’t scratch the back of my head. I can’t have sex. I can’t orgasm because the body tensing up hurts like hell.
I’m miserable.
I want muffins.
And Julia isn’t here yet.
Maybe I can try to make muffins while the twins are asleep.
“You okay?” Owen keeps a tight hold on my shoulders as I sway. A sheen of sweat blankets my body, and I wonder if I made the right decision to get up. I just want to lay down but laying down hurts.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute. It’s hot in here,” I mumble, swaying even more as the need to sit down takes over.
“Woah, you need to relax. What do you need? I’ll help you,” Owen says, helping me sit down again. “You’re sweating. You need to chill out and
stop pushing yourself. Have you taken your antibiotic?”