Confess(49)

“When I was sixteen,” he says quietly, “my mother and older brother died in a car wreck. I was driving.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t even imagine. Suddenly my issues don’t seem like issues at all.

“My father was in a coma for several weeks after that. I stayed by his side the entire time. Not because I necessarily wanted to be there when he woke up, but because I didn’t know where else to go. Our home was empty. My friends had lives they continued to live, so I rarely saw them after the funeral. I had relatives who would stop by in the beginning, but even that faded. By the end of that first month, it was just my father and me. And I was terrified that if he died, too, I wouldn’t have anything left to live for.”

I slowly roll onto my back and look up at him. “What happened?”

Owen reaches his fingers to my forehead and brushes back my hair. “He lived, obviously,” he says quietly. “He woke up right before the one-month anniversary of the wreck. And as happy as I was that he was okay, I don’t think reality sank in until I had to tell him what happened. He couldn’t recall anything from the day leading up to the wreck, nor could he recall anything after that point. And when I had to tell him that my mother and Carey were dead, I saw it. I saw the life seep right out of his eyes. And I haven’t seen it return since the night it happened.”

I wipe tears from my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

He shakes his head, like he doesn’t need my condolences. “Don’t be,” he says to me. “It’s not something I dwell on. The wreck wasn’t my fault. Of course I miss them, and it hurts every day, but I also know that life has to go on. And my mother and Carey weren’t the type of people who would want me to use their deaths as an excuse.” His fingers move gently, back and forth, across my jaw. He’s not looking me in the eyes. He’s looking beyond me, over my head, contemplating.

“Sometimes I miss them so much, it hurts me right here,” he says, making a tight fist with his hand against his chest. “It feels like someone is squeezing my heart with the strength of the entire goddamn world.”

I nod, because I know exactly what he means. I feel that way every time I think of AJ and the fact that he’s not living with me.

“Every time I get that feeling in my chest, I start to think about the things I miss most about them. Like my mother, and the way she used to smile at me. Because no matter what, no matter where we were, her smile would always comfort me. We could have been in the middle of a war and all she had to do was kneel down and look me in the eyes with that smile, and it would take away every single fear or worry I had. And somehow, even on her bad days, when I know she didn’t feel like smiling, she would anyway. Because to her, nothing else mattered but my happiness. And I miss that. Sometimes I miss it so much, the only way I can make myself feel better is to paint her.”

He laughs under his breath. “I have about twenty paintings of my mother stowed away. It’s kind of creepy.”

I laugh with him, but seeing how much he loves his mother puts the ache back in my chest, and my laugh turns into a frown. It makes me wonder if AJ will ever feel that for me, since I’m not able to be the type of mother I want to be to him right now.

Owen cups my cheek in his hand and looks me very seriously in the eyes. “I saw the way you looked at him, Auburn. I saw the way you smiled at him. You smiled at him the same way my mother used to smile at me. And I don’t care what that woman may think of you as a mother; I barely know you, and I could feel how much you love that little boy.”

I close my eyes and let his words seep over every doubtful thought I’ve ever had when it comes to my abilities as a mom.

I’ve been a mother for over four years now.

Four.

And in those four years, Owen is the first person to ever say anything that makes me feel like I’m capable of being a good mother. And even though he hardly knows me, and he doesn’t know a thing about my situation, I can feel the belief he holds in the words he’s saying to me. The simple fact that he believes what he’s saying makes me want to believe it, too.

“Really?” I say quietly. I open my eyes and look up at him. “Because sometimes I feel like—”

He cuts me off with an adamant shake of his head. “Don’t,” he says firmly. “I don’t know your situation, and I assume if you wanted me to know, you would have told me. So I’m not going to ask. But I can tell you that what I just witnessed was a woman who takes advantage of your insecurities. Don’t allow her to make you feel that way, Auburn. You’re a good mother. A good mother.”