Page 82 of In at the Deep End

Maybe that was the difference.

Casual wasn’t replacing the great love of Owen’s life. It was what remained after it.

I think I understand him a little better.

His thoughts went to the digital photo frame hidden in his laptop bag, the one he’d bought that morning, with the intention of giving it to Owen the following day before they went to the reunion.

Owen was going to love it.

Matt had already loaded about sixty photographs onto it. He’d selected a variety. Ben was in quite a few of them. Callum and Cyn were there too, along with images of Owen’s friends crammed together outside pubs. Pride. Brighton. That ridiculous photograph with the bunny ears.

He couldn’t think of a better thank-you for everything Owen had done to make the reunion evening special.

“Time to take a break,” Owen called out from the kitchen. “Do you want a beer? A glass of wine? A snack?”

“A beer would be great.” Matt loaded another photo into the scanner.

“And would you mind if I put some music on?”

He chuckled. “Can I remind you it’s your house? Put on whatever you like.” He grinned. “Unless you and my dad have similar tastes in music, in which case I draw the line at most of the groups from the nineties.”

Owen walked into the room, carrying two glasses. “Hey. What’s wrong with the nineties?” He placed them on coasters on the table, then picked up a photo from the pile. He peered closely at it.

Matt smirked. “Whenever Dad looks at photos, he does an impression of playing a trombone. You know, holding it further and further away?”

With a sigh, Owen reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, removed a pair of glasses, and put them on. “It comes to us all, eventually.” Then he snorted. “You know what I found myself doing this morning? I was looking at one of the photos, and I pinched out, trying to make it bigger.” He gazed at the photo. “I remember this day. My forty-sixth birthday. We spent it with friends.” He smiled. “One of those days that felt as if it would never end, and I didn’t want it to.” Then his face tightened. “A few days later, all I wanted was a time machine to go back to it and stay there forever.”

“Why? What happened?”

Owen bit his lip. “Ben had started suffering from seizures, along with severe persistent headaches that were at their worst in the mornings. So we went to see a specialist.” He swallowed. “They diagnosed glioblastoma, an aggressive brain tumour. Then they told us he could have twelve to fifteen months left.” Owen’s gaze met Matt’s. “Six months later, he was gone. Turns out their prediction was based on averages.” He huffed. “Trust Ben to be different.”

There was a rock in Matt’s throat. “I’m sorry.”

Owen sighed. “I try not to think about those months. I won’t talk about them either. It was a hideous, painful time. Our friends wanted to be there for us, because I was all Ben had, but most of the time it was just me.”

Matt’s vision blurred.

Owen stared at him, then covered Matt’s hand with his own. “Hey. It’s all right, really. He’s at peace now. He’s not in pain, and he’s safely locked in here—” He tapped his temple. “—and in these.” He gestured to the photos.

Matt didn’t want to wait until London.

He pulled his hand free of Owen’s, reached into the laptop bag beside the table, and took out the box. He held it out.

“This is for you.”

Owen frowned. “What is this?”

“A gift,” Matt said simply.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift. Hell, I should be the one giving gifts. You’ve done so much. And I’m not talking about the stuff I pay you for.” He opened the box, and the frame slid out. Owen stared at it for a second.

“Here.” Matt stood it in its stand, then turned it on. The screen lit up, and a heartbeat later, the first photo filled it.

Talk about some things being meant to be.

It was a photo of Ben and Owen.

Each photo lasted about ten seconds before morphing into the next.