Page 55 of Single Girl in the City
No matter how tired Owen was, sleep eluded him. He wasn’t sure if it was the way Abi clutched her side in pain or the terrified look in her eyes when she thought her sister had walked away for good, but she’d kept him awake all the same. And it wasn’t the first time.
In fact, she was either on his mind or in his dreams so much it was as if she’d taken up permanent residence in his bed. Now shewassleeping in his bed. Unfortunately, it was the one across the hall.
Since, at present, he couldn’t sleep nor could he sleep with a beautiful woman, he went with the next best option—food. He’d skipped dinner and was hungry as hell.
Tossing the sheets back, he padded to the kitchen, which was a few steps from his bed.
Tired of hoofing it back to his apartment after work, a few years ago Owen had renovated the second floor of the bar into a high-end loft with a private deck that overlooked the city. With the exception of the bathroom, no walls separated the living space, allowing the sunlight to shine freely through the entire loft. Since morning was the only time Owen could guarantee he’d be home, he wanted to take advantage of the light and views.
The bedroom took up a good chunk of the back of the loft, but the kitchen was the largest part of his place. With concrete countertops, state-of-the-art range, and open-concept shelves, the kitchen was his favorite area of the loft.
Some people meditated. Owen cooked. It was the only time his brain was completely still. Even when he slept his mind was racing with all of the things he needed to accomplish the next day. But in the kitchen, he felt at home.
Some of his favorite times as a kid were cooking with his old man.
Owen scoured the fridge for what he needed. On tonight’s menu was a double-decker Reuben, with extra kraut, homemade Russian dressing, and two slices of Swiss cheese. He’d just pulled out the corned beef when he heard something from across the hall.
He strained his ears and heard it again. A low, distressed moaning. Abandoning his sandwich, he tossed on a pair of jeans and walked into the hallway.
There was silence for a long moment and just when he was about to leave, another sound came from Abi’s apartment. Crying.
Growing up with five brothers he didn’t know what to do with tears, but he’d also come to know that Abi was one tough cookie, and not brought to tears easily. He considered whether to alert her to his presence or let her go on thinking she was alone. Option one didn’t sit well because he respected that she was a private person who’d likely want to work through things on her own. Option two left her with her emotions but it also left her alone. Which brought him to option three, bring her a sandwich because everyone knew that the best way to deal with a problem was on a full stomach.
Plus, when he’d been having a shit time, she’d cooked him chili and the best damn cornbread he’d ever had, which nearly brought him to tears. However, before he could decide the correct direction, he heard a long guttural sob.
Screw it.
“Abi?” He knocked but she didn’t answer. He knocked louder, then pressed his ear to the wood. When he didn’t hear footsteps, he grabbed the spare key out of the bowl by his front door and let himself in.
He’d rather have her mad at him than run the risk that something was really wrong. And from the sounds coming from the bedroom, something was wrong.
He raced into the room and just like earlier she was shifting back and forth, but this time there was an urgency to it. Panic had his body going into full alert. Then there were the tears and sorrow-filled sounds that tore his chest open.
She was dead asleep, thrashing in her bed as if trying to outrun a ghost. And maybe she was. For the second time that night, he gently brushed a hand down her arm. “Angel?”
Only this time she didn’t come gently away, she shot up with a gasp and clutched her chest. Her gaze darted around the room, then at him and her face scrunched as if she were doing her damnedest not to cry.
“Are you okay?” he asked softly, unsure of what his next move should be. Even with his sisters-in-law, he was out of practice with emotional interactions, so he couldn’t pinpoint if her expression originated from unease or fear. Whatever it was told him she was spooked.
“No,” she whispered, and it was like a punch to the chest. It was the first time she admitted that she was, indeed, not okay. He had a guttural feeling that it was the first time she’d told anyone the truth since the accident.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head ever so slightly and, with a shaky hand, pushed her hair back from her sweaty forehead. Not wanting her to feel that she was cornered, he leaned back to give her some space, but instead she crawled right up into his arms so that not a sheet of paper could fit between them.
He wrapped his arms around her and held her to him. “I got you.”
She pressed her face into his neck and he heard her breath hitch, could sense when her airway constricted, and feel her every tremble. She was one gasp away from a panic attack. He ran his hand up and down her spine in soothing motions.
“It was just a nightmare.”
Her arms tightened around his neck. “I know. They’re just so real,” she said into the curve of his shoulder.
He knew exactly what she meant. In the months following his dad’s passing, Owen had his fair share of nightmares. But nothing as extreme as what he’d just witnessed.
“With each one they get more intense and more vivid to where I start to remember every detail. Sometimes I wake up and I can smell the exhaust from the bus.” She pulled back and her eyes were swimming with tears. “I just can’t get her eyes out of my head. She was just out of reach. I tried to grab her hand, but I couldn’t and by the time the paramedics got there she was gone.”
He pulled her all the way onto his lap and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”
