Page 52 of Pumped

I always demand cuddles after we’ve both come our brains out. Owen always puts up a fuss, but then gives in. I think he secretly likes it but is too much of a grumpy gremlin to admit it to me. Although, he always disappears at some point before the morning, which kind of sucks.

It’s weird. I’ve woken up alone in bed for most of my life and it’s never bothered me before. But waking up alone these days, knowing that I didn’t fall asleep alone… it leaves a grimy feeling on my skin that I don’t like.

I mean, I know why Owen leaves early and I have no reason to ask him to stay. But even so, there’s a part of me that wisheshe would just give in to the inevitable. That he would give in to us.

This weekend will be interesting. We’ve been careful to act normal around Ivy, whatever the heck normal is. She’s too young to pick up on the changes between me and Owen, but our parents definitely won’t be. An entire long weekend with both sets of parents—I can already see Owen reverting back to his natural state of assholery.

That is, if we ever get to Owen’s parents’ house up in Westchester. Right now, it’s twenty minutes after five on Friday and he was supposed to be home an hour ago. I took the day off work so I could pack all our things, pick Ivy up from school, and be ready to go the second Owen got home. Could Owen be bothered to do the same? Nope. Of course not.

So now I’m fucking pacing the foyer like some worried house husband, switching between checking my phone and peering out the window for any sign of him.

I’m doing my best not to jump to the worst-case scenario because I know Owen would tsk and say I’m overreacting. But hey, guess what, the last time someone was late getting home without a single text or call, they wound up dead. Forgive me for not wanting to live through that horror again.

Ivy’s sitting on the couch, Zuzi hugged to her chest, watching me like a hawk. I’m trying to play it cool, but smart girl that she is, she seems to sense my low-key panic.

Fuck. Jesus. Where the hell is he?

Fifteen minutes later, Owen finally jogs up the front steps to our house. I wrench open the door.

“Seriously?”

He doesn’t even glance at me as he sets his briefcase down on the bench next to the door and yanks at his tie.

“Where the hell have you been?” I hiss at him. “We were supposed to be on the road over an hour ago.”

Owen shoots me an unimpressed glare. “I had a patient. He needed emergency surgery.”

“A patient?” I scoff. “What, like a dog? Couldn’t someone else do it?”

Owen’s at the foot of the stairs and he spins around on me. “Yes, he’s a dog, and no, no one else could do it. It’s called my job. Which saves lives. Which, by the way, also pays for the bills of this house.”

Both of my eyebrows shoot up at what he’s implying. The fucking audacity. “And what do you think my job does? The job that I took a day off of so we can go toyourparents’ house for Memorial Day weekend.”

Owen huffs dismissively. “Your job, sure. I’d love to see how far your measly paycheck would stretch with the expenses of a house like this.”

My jaw drops. No, he didn’t. My job at Mars Fitness might not pay as well as his veterinarian job at some animal hospital, but it’s honest work and I earn an honest paycheck. I contribute to the household expenses just as much as he does.

“You—” My blood is boiling, but I cut myself off when I catch sight of Ivy lingering in the doorway to the living room. She doesn’t need to see us fighting over… god, I don’t even know what. But I’m pissed and Owen’s in a bad-ass mood and we’re going to be stuck in a very enclosed space for the next several hours.

I swallow down my anger and irritation. This latest spat can wait until we’re at his parents’ house and Ivy has been safely pawned off onto her grandparents.

“Just go get your sh—stuff.” I grab one of the bags I’ve piled next to the front door. “I’ll load the car.”

“Should’ve loaded it while you were waiting,” Owen mutters on his way upstairs to his room.

Motherfucker. If Ivy wasn’t standing right there…

I stomp out to the car parked on the curb a couple doors down. It takes me a few trips to get everything loaded. By the time I’m done, Owen’s changed into his weekend clothes—slacks and a polo shirt—and is bringing the last of the bags out.

“Come on, Ivy-bear.” I strap her into her car seat and make sure she’s got Zuzi, a juice box, and a bag of crackers within easy reach.

When Owen approaches the car, he holds out his hand.

I stare at it. I know what he wants, but there’s no fucking way I’m giving it to him.

“Give me the keys,” he says, sticking his hand out a little farther.

“No.” I shut Ivy’s door and start walking around to the driver’s side.

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