6. Goodbyes
Emma ignored Owen's existence for the remainder of the day, focussing instead on the baby in her charge and on the strange feeling of loss she felt when thinking of him leaving the following day.
She spent the whole afternoon playing with the babe and watching him sleep, and when dinner was served – this time take-away, as Deck had had several phone-calls to make regarding the flight – there were playful coos and toys thrown on the table as they both ate.
"Where's my brother?" Deck asked, eyeing the empty plate with a frown. Emma shrugged, refusing to look her friend in the eyes, knowing he'd figure her out immediately. "What got his pants in a twist again?" he growled, standing as if to fetch the missing member of their strange family.
Emma stopped him with a raise of hand. "Leave him be, Deck. If he wants to eat, he'll do it later. He's not a child anymore."
The older man tssed and sat back down, enjoying his sushi in silence.
When they both put the baby to sleep, Emma turned to her old friend and placed a hand on his broad shoulder. "What time do you need to be at Heathrow?"
"11 at the latest."
She sighed. "Alright. I'll accompany you."
"You don't have ta." She sent him a look and he smiled faintly. "I promise ya'll see him again. His bloody father will want ta know all abou' you as soon as we land."
She smiled but knew it was a pious wish. From what she had heard about Dominic Toretto these past three days, he didn't strike her as a compassionate man. It was anyone's guess why his son was that sweet…
Morning came and Emma had not managed to get one wink of sleep. Her thoughts had danced between plane crashes, baby deaths and stolen kisses all night, and she had tossed in her bed until sun rose.
To be faire the thought of Owen's kisses had her more flustered than the rest. It had left her in a state of weakness that she did not like. He had some sort of leverage on her now, and she wasn't ready to let him use it. Especially since he had essentially been avoiding her presence ever since that moment.
He obviously was not thinking of her as a potential partner of life. Rather like a quick bang.
It made her bitter.
Deckard found her punching away her frustration in her study at precisely 9am.
"Hey cheesecake, ya ready? We gotta move."
She wiped sweat from her forehead and a pang of pain reached her when she saw the baby in his car seat, ready to leave her probably forever. "I'll be there in a sec." She hurried to the bathroom, splashed some cold water onto her face, and ignored the tall dark-haired man who was waiting with his brother in the entryway.
The ride to Heathrow was silent safe for Emma's quiet talking to the baby next to her. He was looking at her with his big brown eyes and she wondered if he'd remember her at all. She wished he did, and at the same time she felt like remembering her would bring him pain eventually, so she wished he wouldn't.
The airport was buzzing with people bent on going from point A to point B and soon, they had to part. Emma took Baby Cutie out of his seat for a quick snuggle, hugged the life out of Deck and made him promise to visit her again soon, and she watched as they disappeared into the crowd and towards security check.
She wiped a sole tear when she turned around, ignoring the man at her side once more before heading back out and hauling a cab. She was feeling empty, as if this kid's existence had made hers brighter. And it had, for a while. She had been a mum, perhaps an auntie, and she had loved it.
And Deck had come back to her side as if he'd never left.
The ride back was as silent as the previous one, and when they entered the flat, the silence was deafening and making Emma internally weep. She clutched at her chest while dropping her keys on the counter, and she was about to go to her room and flop down on her bed sobbing when she heard "I'm leaving" coming from the door.
She had almost forgotten about Owen, and when she turned to face him, his grey eyes and his beautiful bastard self, she wanted to lash out at him out of frustration.
She did not answer and he took a step towards her, his deep breaths making the fabric of his shirt tighten on his chest. Her thoughts went to that particular chest when not under clothes, and her heart pace quickened.
"I said I'm leaving."
"And I heard you," she answered in a small voice.
His eyes were taking on a bluer tint this time, in contrast to the grey and green that seemed to be their usual colour. "Emma, I am leaving, and I won't come back."
He had said her name for the first time since they had met, and it should have moved her, but he was baiting her, trying to make her drop to her knees and beg him to stay. Which she was not going to do.
She turned again to go to her room as she had intended, but a hand on her arm stopped her and moved her back towards him and his tall frame as he stood too close again. It struck her then that he liked to do that – forgo any personal space and stand too close. "Say something, for fuck's sake! I am leaving!"
"I know what you want me to say, and I won't say it. I'm not a toy to play with. I'm not a woman you'll play with for a time then get tired of and discard at the first opportunity."
His eyes widened, and the blue retreated into the green. "Who says I'll play?"
"I know you. I know how you treat women. I had a peak of it yesterday."
"Yesterday I didn't understand shit!" he snapped, his hand gripping her upper arm a bit more strongly. "Yesterday I didn't understand what I was feeling until you were out the door and back into bitchy mode!"
She sneered. "Don't try to make me believe that you were feeling anything else than lust yesterday. You were going to bang me, sure, and then what? You'd have left, just like any other time."
"You don't know that."
"Then prove it to me."
She was begging, she realised too late. But she was begging for something else than just him staying. She was begging for him to be different, to be changed.
He stared at her and her at him for a long moment, and she got tired of it.
"I don't know you that well, but I know your family. And I know what they think of you. They'd be waiting an eternity for you to just be willing to accept their affection. I won't be like that. I'm not going to wait until you think you can actually feel something for me."
"You don't have to wait," he said calmly. "Ever since I stepped into this flat, I felt something. You're infuriating and I want to kill you most of the time I'm in the same room as you, but for some reason I don't want to comprehend I'd also like to spend time with you."
It was completely out of character, Emma noticed. Completely. And yet it got to her like a time bomb. Ticking away until it took her life from her.
She stared at him and he at her for long moments again.
And then she simply said "Alright then" and it was all he needed.
All he needed to pull her to him and trap her there with his arm around her waist. He didn't wince when she pressed against his wounded side, as he was already taking the breath out of her. His kiss was more urgent than the previous day, if that was possible, and when he finally tangled his tongue with hers, he tasted like the coffee he'd had that morning. Emma moaned into his mouth without wishing to, and her knees gave in as her own hands travelled under his shirt to touch at his marvellous chest and explore the skin there.
As the day before, his hands travelled down her sides and picked her up by the thighs until she was in his arms, legs squeezed around his mid-drift. His kisses were intoxicating, and she scratched at his back in a wish for release when that bastard had the nerve to push her against a wall. He hissed in pain and she grinded her hips into him in retaliation, and he smirked against her mouth.
She didn't even let him speak whatever sassy retort he had in mind, pressing her tongue into his own mouth and raking it along the back of his teeth. He groaned and picked her up again, moving towards the bedroom at a speed that was inhuman for someone injured.
They were going to explore each other's scars and try to learn each other and try to tame that strange feeling that stretched every time they were together in a room.
For a split second just as Owen sank into her flesh, Emma thought about Magdalene and how wrong she had been – she wasn't perfect for Deckard; she was perfect for Owen.
And he for her.