The doctors date, p.8
The Doctor's Date, page 8
“I had sobriety shocked directly into my system. You should take everything completely seriously.”
Jared raised an eyebrow at Erin. “Is he telling the truth? Are you moving in with us?”
Am I? “I….”
Owen caught his hand, squeezed it, then laced their fingers together.
Something eased inside Erin. “I suppose I am.”
Owen winked at him, then let go of his hand to lay it on the table, palm up, as he regarded his friends.
Jared laughed. “Look at you two.” He shook his head. “I can see we’re not going to get any answers right now. So, Erin. Do you need help getting your things?”
A strange darkness passed over Owen’s countenance. “No.”
Dr. Wu turned to Dr. Kumpel. “I feel strongly that we should help Erin collect his things.”
Owen glared at the two of them. “Why, you think Erin needs protection from me?”
Wu regarded Owen placidly. “I think you’re a bit too wound up and have high odds of embarrassing him and yourself. Plus, you’re in no condition to drive.”
They argued for several minutes over this, and Erin was so overwhelmed at this point he didn’t fight any of it. Instead, he looked for his father, trying to find him in the room, checking to see if he still watched Erin. Would he come to the table? Would he make a scene? No. He’d wait until they were home alone.
The food in Erin’s belly threatened to make a second appearance.
Owen’s hand found his under the table again, his thumb stroking the back of Erin’s hand. I still need to explain things to him, Erin thought.
But as the rhythm of Owen’s touch brought him ease, Erin lost more and more will to speak.
Perhaps I could stay away from the house for one night. I can explain in the morning.
Was that insane? Probably. Irresponsible? Definitely. Except the longer he sat here, the more time he spent with Owen, the more he wanted to go. Wanted to run, hide. Be with Owen.
Erin pressed a hand to his temple, warding off a headache.
Owen’s fingers threaded into Erin’s hair, massaging his scalp, making Erin’s whole body tingle.
“Enough.” Owen’s voice lost its combative edge. “It’s fine. We’ll all go, but let’s do it now. Erin’s tired.”
Erin perked up, trying to push through the fog of Owen’s touch. “I can’t go yet, not as a committee member—”
“There are other committee members.” Owen nodded at Simon. “Find someone else to monitor this so we can go.”
Erin knew he should argue he couldn’t abandon the fundraiser, but he was so exhausted. “Find Nick. Give him my apologies and ask if he could please take over.”
“I’ll do that.” Jared rose. “The rest of you get going. I’ll follow and meet you there.”
Halfway to the exit, an elderly woman stopped Owen. She put her hand on Owen’s forearm and patted his wrist, smiling up at him as she spoke over the din of the room.
“It was so lovely to hear you play again, young man. You’re as talented as I remember.”
Beside Erin, Simon and Wu both winced, looking as if they wanted to tuck Owen between them and hustle him out of the room, but their reaction was nothing compared to Owen’s own. Owen didn’t startle, didn’t break eye contact with the woman or stop smiling, but Erin shivered as the life and color drained from Owen’s face. All the sparkle, all the fire, was sucked out of him. He was the same as he’d been when Erin had found him backstage, except now he seemed… haunted.
Haunted, and trying not to let anyone else know.
“Erin, why don’t you let one of us take you?” Wu suggested as they reached the parking lot. “You keep touching your temple. Do you have a headache?”
“A little one,” Erin confessed. “I don’t want to leave my car, though. I can manage—”
“I’ll drive him,” Owen cut in.
“You’re high.” Wu turned to his fiancé. “Simon, why don’t you drive Owen, and I’ll drive Erin? Erin, I know you could probably drive yourself, but let us take you. I think you’ve had enough excitement for the night.”
“I’ll drive Erin,” Owen said again, but no one listened to him.
Erin ended up in the passenger seat of his own car, with Dr. Wu driving him, Simon following with Owen as they went to the Andreas mansion. Jared, having found Nick and given him the news they were leaving, trailed a few blocks behind.
After a few moments of silence, Wu cleared his throat. “I don’t intend to pry in any business between you and Owen. I will, though, admit the events of this evening have left me confused. Is everything all right?”
Erin almost wanted to laugh. He rubbed his throbbing temple once more. “I’m confused as well, Dr. Wu. But I’m… okay.”
As he said the words, he realized they were true. I’m okay. A little shaky, a bit lost, but on the whole, this felt good, even inside the terror. A night with Owen, however it happened, was something he’d dreamed of all his life.
Dr. Wu nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. Though, please, out of the hospital, call me Jack.”
The Andreas mansion was on the northwest side of town, in the small section of houses that overlooked the bay. One of the oldest homes in Copper Point, it was listed on the national historic registry and was literally a museum. Erin had spent his entire life in a house where two-thirds of the space was off-limits to his use because strangers were touring it or might do so at any time. It was a beautiful building filled with exquisite things. Bringing other people into it, however, was always awkward.
He directed Jack to the rear of the building, telling him to park off to the side. He’d hoped it would be empty given it was so late, but the caretaker’s car was still there, ensuring this debacle would be a mess. Probably Diane had to come late because his father had entertained guests before the fundraiser.
As they got out, Jared and the others pulled into the drive behind them. Erin drew Owen aside. “So you understand, we’re going to encounter a rather bossy elderly woman who is here to clean the museum portion of the house. Please don’t engage with her.”
Owen raised an eyebrow at him.
Jack frowned. “Museum?”
Simon answered for Erin. “Yes. The Andreas mansion is partially open to the public, since it’s so historic to the area. I toured it in sixth grade and wrote a report on it. It’s beautiful. I always wondered how it would feel to grow up inside of it—I thought it would feel like being a prince.”
Erin had no idea what to say to that. “My room is on the third floor. If we go in through the kitchen, we can go up the back stairs and get straight to it. My suitcase should be in my closet, and there are some spare totes in the hall. Hopefully this won’t take long.”
The house was huge, and there were at least four places on the first floor alone for the cleaning crew to be. By rights it should have been simple for the five of them to escape unnoticed up the stairs to Erin’s room, but Erin was barely inside before he heard the familiar heavy footsteps in the hallway to the kitchen.
Diane.
It was strange, because while she had been around all of Erin’s life, she had remained ageless in his mind. She had come into his life grim and unsmiling, her hair not gray and yet clearly not naturally that flat blonde, singular in hue and without a solitary glimmer of shine to it, as if she were using its oil alone to polish the antique furnishings. The hair always stuck out in a strawlike shock from the top of her head, wrapped in a scarf. Large, disapproving, washed-out blue eyes peered at Erin from over the same pair of silver-rimmed glasses hung on a plastic string of beads. She wore the same pale pink smock he’d always seen her in, now worn with age, the pockets patched where bottles of cleaning fluid had pushed their way through.
She padded up to Erin and his company in her yellow house slippers, hands on her hips as the smell of wood polish and ammonia drifted from her. “And who are all these people traipsing through my house at this hour?”
Jared, Owen, and Simon exchanged confused glances with one another. Owen narrowed his eyes at Diane.
Erin put a hand on Owen’s forearm and steered him toward the stairs. “I’m staying with friends for a while, Diane. They’ve come to help me collect some things from my room. Only my room,” he added quickly as she screwed up her face to object.
Diane waved a microfiber duster threateningly at them. “If anyone so much as touches any of my antiques, I’m calling the police.”
Owen stiffened, and Erin pushed him with greater purpose out of the room.
“Seriously, who was that woman?” Simon whispered as soon as they were clear of the kitchen door.
“Diane Ketterson.” Erin spoke quietly as he led the way up the narrow stairs once used by servants. “She’s the caretaker for the museum. Essentially she’s in charge of maintaining the antiques and keeping the place clean and ready for visitors, but she’s always been… zealous about her work.”
“Militant might be a more apt term,” Jack murmured.
Erin couldn’t deny that. “When I was young, my mother ran the museum, and it wasn’t open as often. But once she and my father divorced, he hired Diane and turned the museum over to a local committee. I’ve been able to use less of my own house since then, but it only bothered me when I was younger. At this point I only come here to sleep, shower, and eat breakfast. Sometimes only to sleep.”
They were at the second-floor landing now, and as Erin absentmindedly headed to the stairs for the third floor, someone took hold of his arm, jolting him out of his reverie. Blinking, he saw it was Owen who had stopped him, regarding him with incredulity.
“Are you telling me you live in this huge house, but you can’t leave your room because total strangers are wandering through it? And it’s been this way your entire life?”
Feeling awkward under the intensity of Owen’s gaze, Erin averted his own. It sounded so abysmal, the way he phrased it. “Well, not my entire life, no. Only since my mother left.”
Owen’s expression didn’t change. “When was that?”
What, did he want the year? “I was seven. Why does it matter?”
Now everyone stared at Erin in horror.
“I’m so sorry.” Simon covered his mouth with his hand. “I remember hearing, vaguely, that your parents had divorced, and I knew your home was open to the public, that you ended up going to boarding school because of the separation, but I didn’t realize… oh my God.”
Erin felt self-conscious. “It was a little rough when I was young, but I’m fine, I assure you.” He gestured to the stairs. “Can we please continue?”
No one else objected or commented further, but now that they had brought it up, the disparity in his living space as compared to the rest of the house made Erin anxious. The exterior of the mansion, even at night, gave off a grand appearance, with the meticulously refurbished brick and elegant sconces and well-kept shrubbery, most of it evergreen in deference to the northern climate. The kitchen, despite never being part of the tour, was large and modern, well-appointed as occasionally it was rented as part of the museum through special arrangement with Erin’s father, and because it wouldn’t do, John Jean said, to have the kitchen appearing paltry. The second-floor landing Erin used to access his room was part of the tour, and so it was carefully arranged with antique rugs and furnishings both from the Andreas family and the Copper Point area in general. Rooms with doors ajar whispered of opulence meant to impress guests of John Jean and the patrons of the museum. John Jean’s own room was down a side hallway, off-limits to the tour, but it too was full of elegance and power.
The door Erin led them through to get to his living space was narrow, same as the winding stairs. These were painted, not polished like the grand staircase from the main floor. This set of stairs wasn’t cleaned as often, usually only if Erin asked or did it himself, and to his shame he caught sight of cobwebs on the ceiling and dust in the corners of the treads. The single naked bulb that lit their way was pathetic compared to the grand chandelier in the hallway. When they arrived at the top of the stairs, the tiny space crowded with storage, it was shabby and plain. This was before they entered Erin’s room, which was small, cramped, and in complete disarray.
He rushed around, picking up papers, discarded clothing, unopened mail. “Please excuse the mess.”
Everyone appeared uneasy—except for Owen, who was eerily stoic. Once again it was Simon who spoke. “Why is your room so small? Why are you so far from the rest of the house?”
Erin continued to tuck things away, straightening the covers on his bed before opening his drawers and pulling out clothes to set on top of the comforter. “As I said, it’s because of the museum. When the committee took over, the museum expanded and absorbed my room.”
Jack looked like he wanted to punch someone. “You were moved to this attic when you were seven?”
Erin smoothed a hand over his hair. “I wasn’t here much to care. They enrolled me in boarding school right away, and initially during vacations I stayed with my mother, so it made sense to everyone, I’m sure. By the time she drifted away and my father was my main parent, my room was gone, my things were up here, and, well, it all sort of happened, I suppose.” He sighed and put down the stack of socks in his hands. “Honestly, you can stop looking at me as if I’m Little Orphan Annie.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of the heroine of The Little Princess,” Jared said.
Erin blushed. “These are the former servants’ quarters.” He realized that didn’t help his argument and busied himself with packing. “They’re converted, as you can see. I have my own bath suite.” Calling it a suite was such a stretch he almost winced. If any of them asked to use the toilet before they left, he’d be in trouble. “I’ll grant you the situation is strange, but everyone has their struggle. I certainly have plenty of compensations and advantages. Someday this place will be mine, and if I want, I can cancel the museum tours and roll around naked in the middle of the antique rugs whether Diane likes it or not. I sincerely doubt that will happen, however.” He put his hands on his hips. “I can’t remember if I put my suitcase in this closet or if it’s in the hall.”
He knew it was in his closet, but he wanted to stop talking about his life, about his family, about his house, and whether or not he was a deprived, poor being. It was completely ridiculous. He wasn’t poor anything. What truly unnerved him, though, was that while the others asked questions and cast worried or pitying glances his direction, Owen gave no reaction whatsoever.
Erin kept waiting for a remark from him. Some outburst or declaration. Especially when Owen was the one who found the bathroom. But he made no comment, not even when Erin rushed after him to try to stop him. When they met in the narrow passage, blocked in by towers of boxes and totes, Owen’s expression was still flat, and when Erin looked up at him expectantly, the only thing Owen said was, “Hurry and pack your things so we can get going.”
Quietly. Patiently. Not Owen the Ogre at all.
He knows I don’t want to discuss it. He’s deliberately not bringing it up because he can tell I’m uncomfortable.
Erin recalled the way Owen had reacted to the woman at the fundraiser, how she’d mentioned his playing and how it was as good as when he was younger, and he’d clearly wanted to discuss anything but that. Erin recalled Owen’s hollow expression as Erin thanked him for taking up Ram’s place in the quartet.
Oh God—Erin had mentioned something about how he sounded as good as he remembered, the same as this woman.
You made things awful. You ruined his escape from a bad evening. You said unfeeling things. You made yourself a nuisance. You’ve let him misunderstand. You’re terrible.
Trembling, he leaned into the wall as his knees became weak.
Taking gentle hold of his arm, Owen bore him up and led him toward his bedroom. “Come on. I’ll help you.”
So apparently he saw himself as Erin’s guardian now, the man who could see past Erin’s defenses into all his private spaces, and then when Erin realized he’d been a fool and a boor, Owen would forgive him.
“I’m so sorry,” Erin whispered, trying to keep the words low enough only Owen would hear.
Owen pressed his lips close to Erin’s ear. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“This wasn’t why I bid on you.” He couldn’t make eye contact and he could barely speak above a whisper, but he forced the words out.
“I know.” The kisses against his hair were going to be the death of Erin. “Is this so bad, though? Do you hate being comforted?”
Erin’s eyes fluttered closed. “I don’t.”
“Then let me do this. Please?”
What could Erin say to that? Nothing. He could only nod, allow Owen to lead him back to his room, and help him pack his things. Soon they finished, and with his odd new group of friends each carrying a load of his belongings, Erin left his father’s house and drove away into the night.
This time he rode in the back seat of his car beside Owen, his head on Owen’s shoulder, wrapped in the unexpected shelter of his arms.
Chapter Four
OWEN LAY awake in bed late into the night, staring at the ceiling.
From the moment he’d put down the bow of Ram’s violin, he’d heard a freight train in his head rushing slowly toward him. It accelerated as Erin won his bid, accompanied by the steady thud of his heartbeat in his ears as John Jean took Erin’s elbow. The evening had roused his nightmares from the depths of his subconscious and dressed them in tuxedos. Owen heard the familiar whistle of the train wreck coming to the station, and like a good conductor, he prepared to get on board.
At Erin’s house, Owen had listened to him recount the emptiness of his life so baldly… and the train had skidded, grinding the gears and sending Owen tumbling inside of his own mental hellscape. Worst of all had been the calm way Erin had described his neglect and abuse.
Owen pressed his forearm over his eyes, letting out a slow, deep breath. He had no idea where the prescription for Xanax had gone. He didn’t want more to drink, but he did want to sleep, and it was clear lying here waiting for his brain to stop eating itself wasn’t a strategy that would end with him finding respite in slumber.
