Page 2 of The Big Fix

“And, I found a guy they didn’t even know they lost, so…I should be forgiven. But even though they have, even though they’ve asked me to do some consulting with them, you’re not satisfied. You want me to writhe in despair over my trespass, self-flagellate for good measure, and repent.” He was glaring at me when he finished. “Well, you know what? Fuck that. I chased a lead, I went too far, it’s over, I’ll really try not to do it again, but in the meantime, you can take your sanctimonious bullshit and—”

“Owen, it’s not about me needing you to writhe in agony, though some self-reflection might not be a bad idea. But—”

“You want me, and everyone—and I mean everyone who works for you—to share your vision of service and making the world a better place. The thing is, if the help we give, the help we offer, isn’t done in the way you would do it, you can’t handle that.”

“You’re so wrong about—”

“You were Army Intelligence, for fuck’s sake. You have to realize that not everything is perfect.” He sounded both angry and defeated at the same time. “Life is messy, and sometimes we do imperfect things that end up being right and give us the best result possible.”

“I’m not arguing that outcomes can be for the best even when getting there was bad. What I’m telling you is that instead of just diving in, you have to look first and figure out what the hell you’re doing.”

“Oh, now I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“That’s all you got from that?” I was indignant. “Are you serious?”

“It’s just one more fucking thing for you to use!” he snarled at me.

“What are you—”

“I can’t take this anymore,” he yelled, pacing on his side of the kitchen island. “I’m not perfect, so I’ll keep screwing up, and you’ll keep seeing me as the little ten-year-old boy you rescued, and I—”

“I don’t think of you as a ten-year-old boy,” I corrected him, “or even as the eighteen-year-old who needed saving for the second time in his life. But maybe that’s where I fucked up, because I thought you had more sense.”

Owen blew out a long breath, standing there, shaking with fury, hands fisted at his sides. I was surprised that steam didn’t shoot out of his ears, as pissed as he was.

“I see you as the young man you are,” I added, hoping to ratchet down his anger.

“You don’t!” he roared back. “I’m thirty-two years old, for fuck’s sake, but you only see me as your dead friends’ son.”

Why were Ronan and Sara Moss being thrown in my face? “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now, and I’m sorry I screwed up your date, but—”

“David was not my date,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t date anybody until I figure out what I’m doing with you!”

It took a few moments for that to sink in. He’d roared the words at me. “I don’t understand.” There was no intuitive leap to be made. He’d completely lost me.

“And that’s the problem. You don’t get it because you don’t see me, Jared.”

“Of course I see you. What are you—”

“Not how I want you to,” he said miserably. “Not how I need you to.”

I shook my head. “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”

But instead, he charged out of the room.

Nothing made sense.

I’d come home and heard him and a young man talking in my kitchen—well, his too; he’d lived here since he was twenty-four, when he’d returned to Chicago to work for me after getting his master’s degree.

I’d tried to be quiet, give them space, and was on my way back out when he’d called to me.

“I forgot I had to see friends,” I’d yelled back and was almost to the front door when he caught up with me, having had to jog. It wasn’t a small house—close to six thousand square feet, all one level, built in a U-shape, with a flower garden and patio in the middle. My bedroom faced the kitchen, and the space from the kitchen to the front door would have normally allowed for my escape. But he’d run.

“Where are you going?” he’d asked, and already, he was scowling.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

“You didn’t. David brought me files I needed from Aaron Sutter’s office. I’ve been doing some contract work for him.”