Page 5 of Owen

Lincoln and Jacob’s words swim around my head, and I realize they’re right.

I’m going to spend every day and night fighting, wrestling, and arguing with my wife: how many times a week we should have sex, how many kids we should have to satisfy our parents, and then we’ll end up living in separate wings of that fucking ridiculously oversized house her father bought us. I don’t want to live like that, and I sure as hell don’t want to bring kids into a life like that… a life I’ve endured for thirty-one years.

A sharp ringing in my ears deafens me. As if I’m wearing noise-canceling headphones, the minister’s voice becomes muffled as the onset of what I am pretty sure is a panic attack takes hold.

Evangeline’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear what she’s saying.

She stiffly holds her hand out. On autopilot, I take it, noticing my touch makes her nostrils flare.

She hates me.

I glance over my shoulder at my two best men. They look at me with concern and sympathy.

Where is all the happiness and laughter? The all-consuming feeling of love and joy?

I wantthe one. The one you simply can’t survive without.

I fucking want that.

Looking back at Evangeline, I know she’s not happy.

I’m not happy.

My boys are right; no matter what I do, I will never make my mother happy either.

It’s a lose-lose situation.

“I can’t do this.” I release her hand and step back as a look of utter horror washes over Evangeline’s face.

I hear the gasps of shock and the murmur of low voices throughout the guests.

I take another step back, straighten my hideous suit jacket, and turn to face the crowded church.

I eye Lincoln, then Jacob, who are both standing taller and prouder, looking at me with admiration on their faces, and when Jacob mouths “Run,” man do I run.

Past the unbelieving crowd.

Past my mother shouting at me.

Past my father, whose roaring echoes of disappointment follow me out.

I flag down a cab and jump into it, heading to the hotel to pick up my suitcases; the hotel we were supposed to be staying in tonight.

Within minutes, I’m back in the waiting cab with enough clothes to last me a couple of weeks, along with my passport, wallet, and phone.

“Where to now, big man?” asks the broad-accented Scottish taxi driver.

“Airport,” I answer with no idea where I will end up and no plan for my future.

All I do know is that I feel better than I have in months.

Lighter, happier, and able to breathe again.

Then it hits me.

The life I’m walking away from.

The billions I was due to inherit.

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