36. Owen

36

OWEN

“Can’t you two pluck any faster?” I snap.

Dax is gabbing away on his phone and Lance is de-petaling the roses a little too gingerly. He’s a hockey player, for Christ’s sake. He shouldn’t be ginger about anything.

“I’m trying not to tear them!” he fires back. “They’re fragile.”

As we sit in my apartment with a funeral home’s worth of roses on every surface, I’m starting to think I am in over my head.

Dax hangs up and tosses his phone aside. “You’re the one who ordered whole roses instead of just the leaves?—”

“Petals,” Lance corrects him.

Dax rolls his eyes. “ Petals. You don’t have to be a dick to us. Besides, I’m sure Kennedy will keep her out long enough that we can get this done.”

I did tell Kennedy to keep Callie busy for the better part of three hours. But now, as I sit surrounded by at least twelve dozen roses that all need to be plucked because, yes, I fucked up and ordered actual roses and not just the petals, I am starting to wish I’d told Kennedy to take her to a restaurant on the other end of Houston. Or San Antonio. Maybe a girl’s weekend trip.

“Callie barely even wanted to go. I had to force her out to dinner. I could see the countdown text from Kennedy coming in at any time, and we aren’t even halfway done.”

“Do you think she knows you’re going to propose?” Lance is still pulling at the roses with the urgency of a ninety-year-old woman admiring the monarchs at a butterfly pavilion.

“I haven’t hinted at it at all, so I’m hoping to surprise her.”

Dax, in stark contrast to Lance, is yanking at the roses with his fist and scattering crumpled petals every which way.

I should’ve asked for Summer’s help, but my sister can’t keep a secret to save her life. Unless, of course, it’s who the father of her baby is. Ironically, telling me that secret might have saved her life, but she stayed tight lipped about it until the bitter end. And for those reasons, she didn’t make the cut when it came time to choose proposal assistants.

“Even if she knew you were going to propose—because women do have a sixth sense about these things—when she walks in here and sees the clusterfuck of violated flowers all over the place, she will be surprised.”

I ignore him.

Mostly because I’m already nervous.

“What if she says no?”

“To the proposal?” Lance asks, reaching for another rose. “You think she doesn’t love you?”

“No, it’s not— We haven’t exactly said that yet, but I know she wants to be with me. But it’s also been a weird year. We just moved in together. The Miles stuff. I don’t know.”

“You just dropped one thousand bucks on roses and made me rip the petals off of every single one, and you aren’t sure she’s gonna say yes?” Dax flings another fistful of petals into the air. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

Good question. I stopped knowing what I was doing the second I opened my balcony door and saw a pantless Callie standing in the moonlight. It’s been a wild few months.

“She wants to marry me. It’s going to happen… at some point. I’m just saying, there’s a possibility I might be jumping the gun here.”

“Obviously!” Dax snaps. “I’m not a dating guru, but even I know you’ve missed some steps here, bro. The Gen Eds of happily ever after, if you will.”

“Saying ‘I love you’ would probably be one of those Gen Eds.” Lance looks sorry he has to agree with Dax.

Dax points at him, nodding. “One-hundred percent it is. As is hearing her say it back. That’s the kind of thing normal people do before they get engaged.”

Yeah, but Callie and I aren’t normal. We got pregnant before we knew each other’s names. We moved in together before we were dating. We’ve done everything else backwards—why not this, too?

I spread a bouquet worth of rose petals on the floor and reach for the next one. “You guys are terrible wingmen. When she says yes, I’m making Heath the best man.”

“If you want a PowerPoint presentation of every woman you’ve ever been with, ranked on a scale of one to ten, then go for it,” Lance says. “But if you want someone who will bring the crowd to both laughter and tears with a heartfelt speech, I’m your man. I killed at my brother’s wedding last year.”

Dax doesn’t even toss his hat in the ring, which is for the best. He’s going to be an usher, at best. “I just want to know what the rush is. Y’all have been a thing for four months? Five? I know you’re decisive, but even for you—” He stops, whipping around to stare at me. “Is she knocked up?”

I throw my bouquet at his face. “Shut the fuck up, man.”

After the pictures of Callie outside the doctor’s office leaked, there were rumors. But Lance is the only one who knows the truth. I don’t think Dax would blab—mostly because he probably doesn’t actually care if she’s pregnant—but Callie wants to keep it a secret for some reason. Until she gives me the all-clear, I’m not going to breathe a word.

“People are talking, that’s all. And hey, even if you did knock her up, marrying her is pretty honorable of you.”

“I am not marrying her because I knocked her up!”

“So she is pregnant?” he asks.

I open my mouth and close it. “Just shut up and help me.”

I want to punch him in the face. But honestly, I have to admit, this is all a little weird to me too. I never thought I’d get married. I also never thought I’d be a dad.

Yet, here I am, about to be both.

Callie made me break all the rules. She flew across the ice like a puck that was never part of the game. She hit me square in the heart and changed the course of everything.

“Listen, I’d love to sit and chat—” Dax stands up, typing a quick text before shoving his phone in his pocket. “—but I have a fantasy football thing to go to.”

“Fantasy football is more important than this?”

“It is when you’re winning.” He slides a pair of aviators on. “Good luck and godspeed.”

With that, he leaves. At this point, I don’t even care. I’m too far to turn back now—not that I want to—and I just need to get out of my head and get through it.

“For the record,” Lance says now that we are alone, “I haven’t talked to anyone about Callie being pregnant. But people are talking.”

“Which is why, as a rule, I ignore people.”

“Something kind of odd did happen, though.”

I stop plucking to look at him. “With Callie?”

He nods. “Did she mention someone sending her flowers recently?”

“Who sent her flowers? Fuck, was it Santos?” I don’t know their history, but I know there is some kind of history there. That’s probably another thing I should figure out before I propose, but…

“It was Santos… but not Spencer.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Rodger Santos came into the PT room the other day while Callie was working with me. While he was scoping the place out, he mentioned that he’d sent her flowers.”

“Why would Rodger Santos send Callie flowers?”

And why haven’t I seen them? Did he send them to her other apartment? How would he even know where that apartment is?

Lance shrugs. “Beats me. She looked a little confused too. And uncomfortable.”

“Of course she was uncomfortable. That dude’s a snake. I wonder if he’s trying to turn her on me too.”

“What do you mean?” Lance is walking around the room, gathering naked stems to shove them into the trash. I owe this man a beer. Or twelve.

“Well, clearly they hate me. I don’t know why, but I know they’re trying to convince the coach I’m trouble and get the team to turn on me.”

“Not going to happen.”

I give him a small salute in gratitude. “I could see him trying to get Callie on his side, too.”

“Aside from the weird thing with the flowers, he did say she needed her own space for PT stuff. Sounded like he wanted to upgrade her.”

I snort. “He’s trying to win over my fiancée with a fancy new office. They really won’t stop until I have nothing left.”

“Again, not going to happen, bro. We aren’t just a team, we’re friends. You just need to rein in that temper of yours. Fight smart, you know what I’m saying?”

I do know what he’s saying. But it’s kind of hard to put out the fire when Spencer and his greasy dad are fanning the flames with a blowtorch and watering the coals with gasoline.

“In the end, everyone will see that they suck. I just want to make sure you’re still on the team when that happens.”

I rake my hands through my hair, looking around at the floral shop explosion overtaking my living room. Half of the roses have been de-petaled, but the floor is pretty much covered from the front door to the living room. The problem is that the room is still filled with buckets of bouquets.

I grab one and carry it to the far end of the room, prepared to throw a blanket over it and deal with the clean up later. Then I happen to look out the window towards the parking lot. “Shit!”

“What?”

“They’re home.”

Lance jumps up. “Who?”

“Callie!” I check my phone just as a string of texts come in from Kennedy.

Mayday!

I was going to take her out for dessert at the Creperie, but she made me come home.

We are in the parking lot.

I REPEAT—mayday!

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

We are both running around in circles like an episode of Scooby-Doo , picking up stems, throwing away trash, and lighting candles.

“You don’t even have your suit on! Weren’t you going to wear a suit?”

I look down at my track shorts and t-shirt. “Fuck!”

If we ever get a swear jar, I’ll have enough quarters to take the little guy to Disney World by the end of his first year.

Lance shoos me down the hall. “You get dressed, and I’ll finish cleaning up.”

“Right. Thanks.” I leap over the petal path to grab the suit I laid out on our bed. I was going to shower, but there’s obviously no time for that.

I dress in record time and make my way back out. “This look okay?”

“Hang on.” Lance fixes my lapels and then wipes a fake tear from his cheek. “I’m proud of you, man.”

Out in the hall, we hear the elevator ding. Kennedy is talking obnoxiously loudly.

“Alright, WELL, I hope you have a good evening now that we are HOME!”

Callie says something too that I can’t hear—probably about how weird her cousin is acting.

Then I look at Lance, who is still standing in my living room and isn’t across town in his own apartment like I planned. “Shit.”

“Fuck. Where do I go?” he whisper-yells.

I look around in a panic before I shove him towards the balcony doors.

“There’s no fire escape!” he says, looking around and down.

“Jump to Kennedy’s balcony. It’s not that far of a leap. You’ll be fine.”

“No, I won’t. She’s not going to let me in. Are you kidding?”

I hear Callie’s key turning in the front door. “This is your problem now. Goodbye.”

I shove him onto the balcony and rush back to the front door, stopping about three feet in front of it. I rake my hand through my hair and take a deep breath.

This is a good idea. A great idea.

Maybe we’re moving too fast, but it’s also perfect.

I pull the small velvet box from my pocket and drop to one knee just as the door opens.