Worth Keeping (10 page)

Owen turned, making his way out of the front door.

Chapter 7

With Owen gone, Nick decided he would go into his painting room and work on his currently half-filled canvas. It always soothed him, giving him perspective when he was emotionally unsure. And damn, he was definitely there now. From promising himself not to get involved with the sexy and annoying man who’d just left to jumping his bones in the shower—that had been a mammoth step for him.

His latest art project was something close to his heart but that he’d never attempted before. Colours and textures in his painting were now even more important than in his usual work. The science of his craft and the labour of emotion in capturing the essence he wanted on canvas was all-consuming. It seemed like hours later when he finally stretched, stripping off his paint-covered overalls and tidying up his tools. He stepped back from his canvas with a critical eye and sighed in relief and satisfaction.

It was coming on very well but there was still one colour he still needed to get perfect.

He walked back to the main cottage, glancing up at the overcast sky ahead. It looked like the weather was turning nasty. Inside, Nick stopped dead at what he saw. The ruins of his morning newspaper, yet to be read, were spread around his lounge floor. He heaved a loud, frustrated sigh.

“You little bastard,” he muttered fiercely, looking around to see if could spot the perpetrator of the crime, who was nowhere to be seen. “You’re right to hide away, you flea-ridden, fur-covered piece of shit.” He scowled and set about picking up the scraps of paper that littered the floor like confetti. Nick stood up, surveying the room, wincing as his old back injury throbbed from bending down.

“Where the hell are you, Socks? I know you’re in here somewhere. That
was
a new paper I was planning to read until you got your paws on it.” The room was silent. If there was a small occupant secreted away somewhere, it was very good at being still.

Nick huffed in agitation. “Fine. Then I guess you won’t want your toy anymore. I’ll put it away somewhere safe, shall I?” Triumphantly, he picked up the small bright orange penknife from the floor amidst the ruined paper and put it in his pocket. Immediately there was an angry chattering from behind the curtain drawn back against the large picture window. Nick grinned as the curtain shuddered and a small bundle of sheer energy darted out and launched itself onto his left shoulder. The small capuchin tugged at Nick’s ear and pulled his hair fiercely.

“Ouch, you little devil.” Nick chuckled as the monkey kept up his incessant chattering. “I knew that would bring you out into the open.” He grimaced as the animal pulled his hair even tighter. “Hey. Stop that! Christ, Socks, simmer down.” He reached up, pulling the monkey from his shoulder, holding it in front of him like a baby being held up by its mother. The monkey regarded him belligerently. Nick stared back into the chocolate brown eyes that met his. Finally he noticed with amusement that the monkey’s eyes slid away slightly to the left, then back to his, only to slip away again.

“Feeling guilty, are we?” he murmured as he set the monkey down on the table. “What do you have to say to me then?” He crossed his arms and waited. Socks regarded him balefully. The monkey held out a paw.

Nick shook his head. “Nuh-huh. Not until you say you’re sorry for destroying the only thing I had to read. Actions and consequences, Socks, baby.” He waited expectantly. The monkey lowered its paw, then sighed ruefully and jumped back up onto Nick’s shoulder, planting a smacking kiss on the back of his head behind his ear. Nick laughed.

“I guess that will have to do then.” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing the penknife and handing it to the capuchin. In a flash, the monkey snatched it and retreated once again to his place high at the top of the curtain. He blew a raspberry at Nick who shook his head in amusement.

“I see that was a short-lived apology, fur ball.” He gathered the shreds, placing them in a small waste bin under the sink in the adjoining kitchen. He sat down at the table, deciding he might as well spend the afternoon completing his lighthouse keeper chores or his blog. Nick lost track of time and it was some hours later when he heard Owen return, whistling as he walked up the path to the cottage.

Hell, the man had the ability to bring sunshine with him even when it was cloudy and overcast.

Owen barrelled in, a huge smile on his face, bearing a bag of what looked like assorted fruits. Socks bounded over and started scrabbling greedily in the bag.

Owen tapped his paw lightly. “Oi, you. Wait your turn. Behave and I’ll give you a banana.” The monkey chattered angrily and leapt onto Nick’s shoulder, glaring at Owen who grinned and busied himself unpacking the fruit.

“Been raiding the green grocers?” Nick enquired as he stroked the still peeved monkey’s ears.

Owen smirked. “Nope. Daniel got a whole load from some guy he did some landscaping for and he said he’d never eat it all. So if you fancy making a fruit salad, now’s your opportunity.” He hefted the bag onto the side of the sink then turned to look at Nick.

Nick made a face. “I’m not a big fan of fruit. I leave that to Socks.” Nick watched as Owen unpacked. He shook his head in amusement as the fruit items were unceremoniously dumped into the large vegetable basket on the kitchen top.

“You never told me Daniel was so tasty, Nick,” Owen murmured as he worked. “The man is just plain eye candy. That shaggy hair and those blue eyes. He’s gorgeous.”

Nick’s good humour evaporated at the words with a sudden sharp pang of jealousy.

Perhaps putting the two of them together had been a mistake
.

“I didn’t think he was your type,” he said, a little more sharply than he’d intended. “He’s a little young for you, isn’t he? He’s only twenty-four.”

Owen smirked. “Not too young at all with his looks,” he said with a teasing lilt to his voice. “I can understand why you like to play chess with him.” He laughed at Nick’s fierce scowl, leaning over to kiss Nick lightly on the top of his head, avoiding the swipe Socks gave him. “I’m just teasing. He’s a nice enough lad but I prefer my men dark and brooding.” He chuckled as Nick glared at him. Owen moved back to the kitchen top. He took down a glass from the cupboard and poured water in it, taking a long drink.

“Christ, that’s better. It’s a fair walk back from town. It’s thirsty work.”

“I told you to take the car,” Nick said loftily. “You are insured now on the bloody thing. You might as well use it.”

Owen shook his head. “I needed the exercise and I enjoy the walk. It’s a beautiful part of the country and makes me feel at one with nature. I also wanted to work up an appetite for tonight.”

Nick frowned. “Why? What’s happening tonight?”

Owen licked his lips lasciviously, narrowing his eyes.

Nick’s face went hot. “Oh.” He swallowed. “You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? I don’t recall saying for sure that this morning’s event was going to be repeated.” Warmth surged through his groin though at the thought that it might.

Hell, he’d gone from standoffish to slut in one day. This man is a menace.

“No?” Owen raised his eyebrows. “My mistake then. Forget I mentioned it.” He waved airily but his sultry smile was evident as he threw the paper carrier bag into the recycling. Nick had never seen so many recyclables sorted. Owen had a real bug up his arse about it. The other night Nick had seen him fishing through the garbage bin, removing the beer cans and plastic milk bottles Nick had thrown in there. The look of patient exasperation Nick had received had been pretty funny.

He chuckled now, remembering. “Did Daniel give you a job then?” he asked.

Owen nodded. “Oh yes. He understands I’m not particularly good at DIY stuff. I think he might have been forewarned.”

His dry tone made Nick flush with guilt. “I just told him he shouldn’t expect too much of you, because you aren’t really the DIY type—yet,” he explained.

Owen nodded. “Uh-huh. Well, he seems to think I can’t do much harm doing some of the gardening stuff and even some of the computer work he has to do like sourcing suppliers and such. I get the feeling he’s not too keen on that bit. He prefers being out in the open, using his hands and getting dirty. So I’ll start on Wednesday. I think I might cycle into town actually. I saw an old bike in the shed at the back that looks fit for purpose. Could I use that maybe?” He sounded quite excited at the prospect.

Nick smiled. “Yes, it’s mine. Use it whenever you like. I haven’t been on it in ages. It might need a bit of TLC before you use it though.”

Owen’s eyes sparkled. “I can sort that out. It’ll be fun. I used to fix up Jules’s bike when he went and damaged it—which was quite often.” His voice softened. “He loved biking. We used to go cycling together on holidays and do the whole tourist thing.”

He was quiet and Nick didn’t know quite what to say. The look on Owen’s face was one of a longing for a different time. Nick stood up, moving over to the fridge to take out a Coke. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to eat? There’s cold pizza in the fridge.”

Owen made a face. “I hate cold pizza. I’m not really hungry yet anyway. Why don’t we just sit down and talk?” He drew up a chair, sat down and regarded Nick thoughtfully. “You promised me a few answers.”

Cold fingers drew gently up Nick’s spine. “We don’t have to do that now though. Maybe later—”

“Nick.” Owen’s voice was even. “You can put this off as long as you like. All I’ll do is nag you and that’ll make things worse. We’ll do it in baby steps if it worries you.”

Nick shook his head, speaking harshly. “I don’t remember agreeing to talk about anything. You just assumed I would.” His stomach churned as he sat down at the kitchen table.

Owen sighed. “I can’t force you, Nick. I want you to
want
to talk to me. But if it’s a problem, so be it.” He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “Your dad arrives tomorrow doesn’t he?”

Nick nodded, still feeling numb.

“Do you still want to take the couch and give him your room? I’m quite happy to take the couch. After all, I’m the guest.” There was no sarcasm in Owen’s voice, just a diffident acceptance.

Nick shook his head. “No. I’ll sleep in the lounge. You stay where you are.”

Owen nodded. “Suit yourself.”

He stood up, disappearing into his room and closing the door softly behind him. Nick stared at the closed door for a while. He’d never spoken to anyone about what he’d been through other than Heather, other therapists and Don. He had no secrets from Don and sometimes thought Don knew more about him than Nick knew about himself. He sat with Socks for the next few minutes, engrossed in his thoughts, until finally he roused himself. Owen’s door was still closed and Nick wondered what he was doing in there. He’d had been very quiet; perhaps the man was sleeping. Nick sat down to watch TV. Socks perched on the couch next to him, engrossed in an old teddy bear he’d found that Nick had thought had disappeared forever. He smiled fondly. Socks had a way of suddenly bringing items out of the ether. Where he stashed them, Nick had no idea.

The movie on the TV was an old one, starring Robert de Niro as some tough assassin. Nick enjoyed watching the man at work and was engrossed in the film when Owen’s door opened and he stepped out, clad in just his boxer shorts, his hair mussed.

He yawned. “Christ, what time is it? I fell asleep.”

Nick looked at his watch. “Just gone seven.”

Owen stretched and the muscles on his stomach tautened. Nick tried not to look at the flat expanse of tanned stomach or Owen’s groin but it was a little difficult seeing as how the man’s balls were showing as he stretched. Nick tried valiantly to ignore the tenting in his sweat pants. Owen yawned again, padding over to the kitchen counter, selecting a plum and biting into it noisily. He came and flopped down next to Nick.

“Whatcha watching?” He tickled Sock’s head and the monkey chuffed quietly in pleasure.

“
Ronin
,” muttered Nick. Owen’s nearness was driving him to distraction. This man just exuded sex appeal. “It’s halfway through.”

“Pity we don’t have popcorn. We could have pretended we were at the movies together.” Owen grinned as he took another bite of his fruit. Juice dribbled down his chin and Nick wanted to lick it off him. He shifted a little farther away. Nick watched intently as the action on screen played out. He couldn’t focus on the film, what with long, muscled legs just inches from his own, and the scent of male sweat and aftershave assailing his nostrils.

Not only was Owen making him feel unsettled physically, the fact he hadn’t pushed Nick on the “getting to know you” thing and was quite content to just be there beside him made him feel a little guilty. He swallowed, staring fixedly at the television. “Do you really want to know more about my nightmares?” Nick asked tightly as he looked Owen in the eyes.

Owen relaxed and looked at him searchingly. “Yes, I do. But like I said—only if you want to tell me.”

Nick nodded. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about it before other than psychologists and doctors—and my dad of course. It’s not easy to talk about.”

“Then tell me as much as you feel comfortable saying,” Owen said quietly, picking up the remote and reducing the noise level from the TV. He reached out, taking both of Nick’s hands in his, staying Nick’s fidgeting. Owen’s hands were warm and strong, long fingers that entwined with Nick’s, grounding him. His face was reassuring, his eyes never leaving Nick’s face. Nick took a deep breath. There was never an easy way to begin his story so direct was always best.

“When I was nine, my ‘mother’ rented me out to men for money.” Owen gave a deep gasp, his hands tightening on Nick’s. Dread washed over Nick. It never got any easier in the telling.

“That’s the only time you’ll ever hear me refer to her as my mother again—her name was Barb. It didn’t matter what they wanted; she was happy to let them do what they preferred. The more extreme, the more money it meant to her.” Nick closed his eyes in shame and guilt as memories came flooding back. “I fought back at first, but after being beaten so many times that I lost count, it made more sense just to do what they wanted. It became a way of life, a way of surviving.” His voice trembled with the memory.