Page 3 of Ship Happens

The less he has to borrow from the bank, the better.

Standing up from his desk, Owen grabs his Tupperware as he starts to do laps around the shop, a dull ache settling in his knees. He can’t disappoint Dr. Brooks, after all; Owen can picture her stern glare with ease as he tells her he hasn’t been doing his regular stretches, similar to the ones she’d first given him as he described how much of his day is spent with his back hunched, constant pressure on his ankles to keep himself still.

Not exactly the dream job of someone with Owen’s brand of psoriatic arthritis.

He turns when he sees his phone light up on his desk.

Kaitlyn: Owennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

He ignores the message, swallowing one last bite before he puts his food down.

“Think you’re ready to start again?” Owen asks as he catches Trevor flexing in front of the large mirror on the wall. He’s not even showing off the arm with the tattoo—he’s got his shorts pulled up to get a look at his thighs.

“Yeah, one sec.” Trevor snaps a few photos with his phone. “The lighting is great here!”

Owen rolls his eyes, grateful that he seems to have pushed through the pain, turning his attention back to his phone just in time to catch the next barrage of text messages.

Kaitlyn: Owen

Kaitlyn: Owen Jimothy Henson

Kaitlyn: Owennnnnnnnn

Kaitlyn: I know you’re getting these

Kaitlyn: I keep telling my phone to notify you anyway

Kaitlyn: what kind of sick fuck keeps their phone on dnd???

Kaitlyn: What if there was an emergency???? What if I was dying???

Kaitlyn: Owennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn it’s an emergency!!!!!!

Kaitlyn: SOS

The last time she sent an SOS message was because Arsicault ran out of their chocolate almond croissants early.

“Are you done?” Owen asks.

“Uh . . . yeah . . .” Trevor’s mood switches in an instant. “You, uh . . . mentioned numbing cream earlier. I was wondering if that was still, you know—”

“It’s too late for that,” Owen tells him bluntly, prepared to give a further explanation when the shop’s phone starts to ring.

“Incoming call from—” The robotic voice of the landline cuts through the mostly empty shop, reading out a number that Owen knows all too well. He crosses the floor in a few quick strides, snatching up the receiver.

“What do you want, Kaitlyn?” Owen doesn’t bother to hide his annoyance.

“Wow, not even a hello?” she scoffs. “Or a ‘Thank you for calling Sunset Tattoo & Piercing, what may I—’”

“I’m hanging up now.” Owen goes to end the call before Kaitlyn shouts, her voice echoing as she pleads with him to wait.

“Did you get my texts?” she asks when she realizes Owen is still on the call.

“Unfortunately.”

“And?” she presses.

“‘And’ what?”