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The week started busy. Claire and Zara barely saw each other and largely communicated via email and text. Claire was in her zone again. She thrived in the fast pace and high stress of her job. She had no time to ruminate on Owen or Marisa Wilkinson. She wasn't avoiding or escaping him either. She was honestly glad to have her focus back and not be distracted by him. Owen hadn't contacted her since he left on Friday. They had no future plans together. She felt foolish for falling into a trap of believing that she actually meant something to him. She didn't reach out to him. There was no way she would give him the impression that he meant something to her - even if he did. That kind of imbalance in a relationship was distasteful to Claire.
On Wednesday afternoon, Owen called her. She screened him out and sent it directly to voicemail. She didn't listen to his message until she got home in the evening. It simply said: "When are you free?" He sounded forlorn. It occurred to Claire that Owen used that phrasing a lot when making plans with her. This made it seem as if he was always deferring to her schedule. Waiting for her to give the okay. Just like he said on Friday night. At the time, she thought he was pouting and trying to make her feel bad after not getting what he wanted. Maybe there was more to it. She intimidated him. Was that it? If it was, it didn't make her feel powerful. For whatever reason, Owen Grady was the last person she wanted to intimidate. That's how it was between them from the beginning. Her special treatment was because he affected her differently from everyone else.
Claire didn't call him back. She didn't know what to say. Owen hadn't done anything to her, but she couldn't face him. For all she knew, he'd been sleeping with other women the entire time they'd been seeing each other. They hadn't been seeing each other long anyway. She could end it as Zara suggested, but Claire didn't want it to be over. Could she handle sharing him? Her response to Marisa's post indicated that she could not. Claire felt validated by Zara's response, too. Zara knew her well enough to recognize what she could tolerate.
Claire tossed and turned that night over whether she was being unfair to Owen. She knew about his patterns of behavior, his predilections, before she agreed to go out with him. She still went out with him. Still enjoyed his company. Even though they weren't exactly on the same page with regard to physical intimacy, she still craved it with him. She wanted to do more with him and soon. Then what was the problem?
As she sat in her office on Thursday, she realized the problem. Owen made her feel special and adored when they were together. Like she was the only person in the world. If he was doing that for other women, then she wasn't truly special. It was an illusion. She wanted his attentions and care to be hers alone. She was never the type to date multiple people at once, but she couldn't imagine dating someone else while seeing Owen. He was truly special to her. They only went out a few times, but she'd wanted him as long as she'd known him. When she finally got him, the reality quickly eclipsed her fantasies. Until she saw the photo on Instagram. The photo seemed to confirm her self-preserving suspicions about his motives.
When Claire returned home Thursday evening, she saw a text from Owen: "Can I see you tomorrow?" She bit down on her tongue in frustration. She was getting what she thought she wanted. He was chasing her. He wanted her. Why didn't it feel good? Why couldn't she be smug? Or feel powerful?
She considered her response carefully. She needed to be a mature adult. Ignoring him further was childish. She needed to communicate with him. Claire texted him back her honest answer: "I don't know if I can do this anymore." She could've called, but she feared she'd cave upon hearing his voice. He didn't immediately answer, so she went to bed. It was another restless night.
At noon Friday, Owen texted: "I want to talk." Claire was eating lunch at her desk and prepping for a one PM conference call. Moments after reading the text came a hard, familiar knock on her door. She sighed and decided it was best to have it out before the weekend. He didn't barge in but waited for her to grant permission. This was a nice change. He shut the door behind him and pulled up a chair to sit across from her on the other side of her desk.
Owen looked nervous and pained. She hated that she did that to him. She spoke first, "I know about Marisa Wilkinson."
"I figured," he smirked. "We never said we were exclusive, Claire."
"I know."
"Then, what's the problem?"
"I'm not seeing anyone else." Her voice started to wobble. "Have no intention of seeing anyone else." His facial expression indicated that this was not a surprise to him. Another distasteful imbalance.
He grinned slyly before revealing, "I was thinking about you." Claire was not amused. In fact, his statement made her sick and angry.
"Oh, Owen, say it again." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "That makes me so wet to hear." She crossed her arms. He sharpened his gaze at her.
"I have needs, Claire."
"Don't we all?" she sneered. "That's such a cliché. I take care of mine just fine." He scoffed audibly. They stared at each other for a long moment. Eventually, she relented, "I feel humiliated."
He shook his head and brushed her off, "You shouldn't. People know my reputation." Claire recognized a sting of hurt in his eyes. They had talked enough about each other's reputations. "Par for the course." She didn't appreciate his minimizing her feelings and couldn't mask her disappointment in him.
"This doesn't feel like 'having it all,'" she admitted sadly. Owen seemed to pick up on her reference to what he said at Nobu but remained quiet. "I'm not comfortable with it," she added firmly. There were at an impasse. Neither of them felt the need to apologize. Claire just wished he could be more sympathetic to her. She didn't predict this, any of it; how he could make her feel. She was still twisted up in knots. She looked away from him. "I don't want people thinking that...I'm not...satisfying you."
He shrugged his shoulders and said flatly, "You're not." Her anger surged. She couldn't see or think clearly. How dare he? He was a total louse after all. She was an idiot for ever thinking otherwise. She thanked her lucky stars that she hadn't slept with him.
Claire looked up and tried to remove the emotion from her voice as she said, "Get the fuck out of my office." It took all of her strength not to unleash rage on him. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction or turn into a cliché herself. Before he stood to leave, Owen captured her one last time with his eyes. His remorseful gaze was similar to Zara's on Sunday morning. Claire softened and mirrored it, regretting her decision to give him a chance. Hating herself but not him. This was her own doing.
He didn't say goodbye. He stood to leave, walked a normal pace, and shut the door as quietly as possible when he walked out. Claire suddenly wanted to curl up into the fetal position and weep. She felt pathetic. His words from their previous angry exchange in her office echoed in her head: "You ruined something fun." The last three weeks had been exhilarating. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt that way. Now, it was over. Maybe it was never meant to last. She bit off more than she could chew. She couldn't handle sharing him.
Life returned to normal for Claire. She settled back into her usual patterns. There was a sadness to her, however, that only Zara could appreciate. Zara didn't share any gossip and gave her boss space. Claire wished she could have a partner in life who understood her so well. She wondered if Owen could have become such a person for her. Her mind was cruel to her in sleep. She dreamed of his touch. She woke feeling lonelier than ever.
The following Friday was Owen's paperwork due date. Zara didn't have to say anything. Claire cringed at the thought of seeing him so soon. There was an unfamiliar knock on her door around five PM. Zara had already left for the day.
"Come in," Claire said distractedly while reviewing a spreadsheet on her computer screen. She looked up and saw Barry entering her office. "Oh, hi."
Barry laughed, "You look relieved." Claire blushed. She noticed the manila envelope in his hand. "How are you?"
"Fine," she answered, struggling to sound confident.
"Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional?" he teased.
"Good one. You fill in quite well for your boss." She was trying to be polite. It wasn't nearly as enjoyable to banter with Barry.
"No one's a good substitute for you." His tone was deadly serious. Claire was taken aback. "You shouldn't be surprised. I'm not." She gulped. "He's miserable."
"Serves him right," she replied after a deep breath.
"Probably, but I have to work with him every day." She concealed all emotion and didn't react. "Your Irish stoicism doesn't fool me." Something snapped inside her.
"I'm not enough for him, Barry," she hissed. He looked at her sympathetically. He had to know that was more than she usually disclosed about herself.
"I disagree," he answered matter-of-fact. "You're too much for him...or so he thinks. He's not used to working hard in his personal life. He prefers it easy."
Claire scoffed, "Then, why are we having this conversation?"
"Because he's my friend, and he doesn't always know what's good for him. You're similar in that way, non?" She bit her lip. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Barry paused to chuckle lightly. "Give him another chance."
She rolled her eyes and said, "He has to ask for one." Barry nodded and wished her a good weekend. She knew it would be a ruminative one with haunting dreams.
On Wednesday evening, Claire was waiting for a cab outside the Masrani building in San Jose when she received a text message from Owen. He asked if she was "still on the mainland." She huffed. How did he know her schedule? Was he still using Zara as an intermediary? It was the first time he'd contacted her since leaving her office almost two weeks ago. Unsolicited, Zara already informed her that Owen hadn't been spotted on the social scene since then. Claire wondered if Zara and Barry were in cahoots. She couldn't stop thinking about what Barry said in her office. It seemed that Claire and Owen intimidated each other in different ways.
What she told Owen during their last conversation was a deflection. The truth of the matter was that she felt inadequate to satisfy him, and it had very little to do with what other people thought about them. She wanted to be everything he needed. She wanted him to be everything she needed. Maybe she put too much pressure on them both. She felt like she'd become a detestable cliché. She didn't think she wanted or needed a relationship, but when the opportunity presented itself, she hungered for it. It wasn't just any relationship, however; it was specifically a relationship with Owen. Claire admitted that a relationship with anyone else wouldn't hold the same lure.
She responded to Owen's text with a simple "yes." He wrote back immediately, providing her with an address and asking her to meet him there. Claire groaned. She didn't want to go to some seedy, mainland dive bar. She quickly chastised herself for jumping to that conclusion but racked her brain over where else he might be at this late hour. When the cab pulled up to the curve, she gave the address from Owen. The driver laughed under his breath.
Claire searched the maps app on her phone for more information about her destination. "Brazilian jiu-jitsu?" she blurted out with surprise. The driver laughed again, but she didn't care. During the ride, she reflected on her behaviors with Owen. Her long-standing, to-go defensive play of preparing herself for the worst may have done her in. And, yet, she was still blind-sided by his hook-up with Marisa. Her defenses failed her spectacularly. The first time. If she was going to give this a second chance, she needed to behave differently.
She stepped out of the cab and peered into the martial arts studio's windows. Owen was sparring with another man. Both were dressed in traditional white uniforms, but Owen wore a purple belt at his waist while his partner wore a brown belt. Claire hesitated to open the door, not wanting to disrupt their concentration. She also became transfixed by Owen. Her heart ached as she realized how much she missed seeing him. She watched them take their fight to the mat. She felt her pulse racing in fear for him. He had been holding his own, but it was becoming clear that the other fighter had the upper hand. Owen yielded, and Claire had mixed emotions - glad it was over but wishing he had been victorious.
Owen's sparring partner noticed her first and pointed to the window. When Owen turned his head, he grinned from ear-to-ear. It made Claire blush then freeze in place, suddenly unsure of herself. The other man disappeared into a back room after exchanging friendly words with Owen, who motioned Claire inside. Owen stayed in the middle of the mat as Claire approached him.
"No shoes on the mat," he almost shouted. Claire rolled her eyes before kicking off her pumps. When she stood in front of him, his height combined with the jiu-jitsu uniform dwarfed her. Putting her at a significant disadvantage. She tried not to overthink it. "Thank you for showing up here," he said softly. "I missed you."
"Me, too," she answered in almost a squeak. She looked down out of embarrassment. Owen took one of her hands and entwined their fingers. There was an awkward silence. Claire examined his purple belt and noticed its two white stripes. She tugged at it with her free hand, eliciting a loud groan from him. It made her laugh and look up at him.
"Not a black belt yet?" she taunted. His gaze sharpened, and his mouth curled up on one side.
"A black belt in Gracie jiu-jitsu is very difficult to achieve," he replied bluntly. "If you're not training full-time, it can take decades." He pointed to the stripes with his free hand. "I'm working toward my third stripe. I can't even test for a brown belt until I have four."
"Is black right after brown?"
"Yes." She was impressed he'd gotten this far already with a demanding, full-time job. She bit her lip thinking about all his time spent on the mainland. It wasn't just for sex. His eyes suddenly filled with fire. He started to slowly walk forward, forcing her to move tentatively backwards. Owen's words were as slow and deliberate as his steps. "Advancing in the Gracie system takes practice, focus, persistence, skill, patience, and sacrifice." He stopped, and Claire realized that he'd pinned her to the wall. "It's kind of like wooing you." She took a sharp intake of breath as he hovered above her and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. She felt goosebumps spread over her skin.
"Is it worth it?" she choked out while her legs felt close to giving way.
"I hope so," he teased. Owen breathed in deeply before asking, "Do you need this to be exclusive?"
"No," she was blunt, "but it is what I want." He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Okay. What do you need then?" In that moment, it was clear. There wasn't room for ambiguity in this second chance.
"Get tested."
"What?" He looked at her as if she had three heads.
"It's being a responsible adult." It was her turn to roll her eyes and shake her head.
Owen practically snorted, "We're not getting married, Claire. And I always use condoms."
"They're not foolproof, and you could've slipped up." She wasn't happy about his being dismissive of her very valid concern. "You asked what I needed."
"Okay," he relented. She smiled smugly then put her hands on his chest.
"What do YOU need?" she asked after licking her lips.
"You. Relaxed. Not worried that I mean you harm." Owen could obviously read her well. This imbalance wasn't distasteful to her. It was reassuring. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her.
"What do you WANT?" She brushed her nose against his.
"All of you." He was breathing hard.
"So, we want the same thing."
"Two apex predators," he sighed. "How are we going to make this work?"
Claire closed her eyes and whispered, "Together," before bringing her lips to his. He deepened the kiss while pushing her against the wall. His touch sent electrical shocks through her body everywhere his hands traveled. Just when she thought her knees might buckle, Owen's moaning with pleasure turned into grimacing with pain.
"What's wrong?" she asked with alarm.
"Fuck," he groaned. "It's my sports cup." He braced himself against the wall and looked down. "Damn." He winced then continued breathlessly, "It's very effective at protecting me from hits to the groin." Claire started to imagine how such sturdy construction would impact an erection.
She stopped herself from laughing but couldn't hold back from joking, "I guess it doubles as a chastity belt."
"That's a good one," he smirked. "I'm not even mad." He grimaced again and breathed out slowly. "Wait here. I'll change."
They walked silently to the ferry landing. Claire could tell that Owen was relaxed. They were holding hands, and he intermittently squeezed hers - as if to let her know that he was still there. It was adorable and endearing. While they waited for the ferry in the relative darkness, he turned to her and said, "I'm sorry I was such an ass in your office."
She leaned into him when she responded, "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you sooner than that day. I hated myself for being jealous. It wasn't fair to you." Owen put an arm around her as they stood in the moonlight, listening to the water lapping rhythmically against the dock. The moment was as close to perfect as anything Claire could imagine. An adult relationship. Maybe it could be better than her romance novels.
The next day, Claire was driving along the back roads of the park, making visits to various attractions. Her thoughts were not focused on work. She was thinking about Owen. His graceful touch while they rode the ferry. The tender but chaste kisses on the boat until she fell asleep in his arms. Their reluctant goodbye in the employee parking lot. Their plans to see each other on Saturday night. She was so distracted that she didn't realize how fast she was driving.
She took a turn too sharply and felt the tires skidding slightly in the dirt. Her heart raced, and her limbs trembled. By the time she noticed the downed tree stretched across the road ahead, her hands were still shaking. She knew it was too late to come to a complete stop. She slammed on the brakes, and her vision blurred with panic. Her last conscious thought was to swerve, so she turned the wheel to one side.
I warned that I don't make things easy for these two, but I hope you enjoyed this chapter nonetheless (and your hearts tolerate another cliffhanger). Please review!