Page 9 of Ship Happens

So that settles it. Owen’s not going to let Jacob get to him. Not tonight, and certainly not for the remainder of his stay, however long that ends up lasting.

And just as Owen has come to this conclusion, pulling the brownies out of the oven, the doorbell rings.

“Owen?” Kaitlyn shouts from her and Abby’s bedroom. “Can you get that? I still don’t have pants on!”

“Like that’s ever stopped her before,” Owen murmurs to himself, washing his hands quickly and patting them dry on his apron.

Owen flips the stand mixer off before he spins into the hallway and toward the front door, cursing softly as his socked feet nearly slip on the hardwood floors.

In hindsight, Owen should’ve seen what was about to happen coming from a million miles away. It’s almost too perfect, like it’s some cruel joke specifically planned by the universe just to torture him a little more, twist the knife a bit further.

As Owen reaches for the door handle, he doesn’t for a second think the person on the other side is someone other than one of his friends. Either Ravi and Hailey, or maybe Kevin beat traffic on his way up from San Jose. Or Abigail’s back with dinner, and her hands are full so she can’t unlock the door.

But it’s none of them.

The door swings wide into the apartment, and standing right there, bag thrown over his shoulder, dressed in a loose-fitting Duke hoodie and matching gray sweatpants, is Jacob Morrison.

He stares at Owen with those soft brown eyes, as if it takes a moment for him to process that Owen is the one standing in front of him.

Then he smiles at Owen, full lips mostly hidden by a beard.

Beard.

It’s full and bushy, with a few stray hairs that stick out, like he hasn’t had a chance to groom himself in a few days.

Left standing there, Owen’s forced to process Jacob in pieces, the ways he’s changed and the ways he hasn’t. There’s an exhaustion to him—probably partly from traveling, but the faint circles under Jacob’s eyes feel worn in, like they’ve been there for a while. There’s a new length to Jacob’s hair, more weight on his broad shoulders, more muscle and fat on his body.

Owen wonders what Jacob thinks of his own changes, of the longer length of his own curls, bleached to hell so long ago that his dark brunet roots have grown back in by inches. There are new tattoos, a few new piercings in his ears that Jacob probably can’t see.

Do I look tired too? Owen wonders.

“Owen!” Jacob says his name with a sleepy gentleness that Owen hasn’t heard in what feels like a lifetime. Then Jacob’s eyes drift down to the blinking nose of the sweater. “Taking ‘don we now our gay apparel’ literally, huh?” His joke is accompanied by the most affectionate laughter. Another thing Owen hasn’t heard in forever.

Owen feels stuck in place, unable to move, unable to breathe, as he takes Jacob in, unblinking, his heart picking up pace in his chest as he realizes that Jacob is actually here.

So naturally, the only reasonable reaction is to slam the door in Jacob’s face.

Chapter Three

The Migration Pattern of Some Stupid Squid

Owen doesn’t mean to, it’s just . . . he’s here.

Jacob is back.

He can’t rationalize it, can’t understand it, it’s just what his brain needs. Some kind of separation between himself and the reality of the moment. And, well, the door was right there.

“Everything okay?” Kaitlyn comes racing from the bedroom, this time with pants on. “What was that noise?”

“I slammed the door . . .” Owen stands there, still shell-shocked.

“What? Why?”

“Beard!” Owen blurts out, because he’s apparently incapable of forming any rational thought.

He can still see the silhouette of Jacob standing behind the door, his outline misshapen thanks to the frosted glass.

“Beard?” Kaitlyn repeats, confused, just as a small furry black object races from the living room to the door, chirping as he trots. Kaitlyn lets out a deep gasp and she yanks the doorknob.