Actually, I hadn’t seen my father since he’d walked out the door four years ago, but what girl wanted to broadcast the fact that her father hated her?
“I’m almost an adult now, Owen. My father travels the world for a living, so it’s not his fault that he’s never back in the States.” I used that excuse a lot.
My father had left my mother right before I’d started high school, and he’d basically left me, too. I’d had to transfer from my private school to the public-school system. The only good thing that had happened during that time was meeting Owen and Andie, once I’d gotten out of the stuffy private school I’d been attending.
“If anything was wrong, you’d tell me, right?” Owen asked suspiciously.
I sighed. It wasn’t the first time Owen had broached the topic of my home life, and I didn’t want to discuss my mother now any more than I’d wanted to talk about her all the other times he’d asked.
Owen would never be able to relate to what it had been like growing up for me. The Sinclairs might be dirt poor, but they were tight, supportive, and loving.
“There’s nothing to talk about, really,” I assured him. “I’m all grown up now, and I’m doing okay.”
I saw Owen get to his feet, so I rose from my swing, too.
“I better get home,” Owen grumbled. “I have a ton of stuff to do for my college entrance.”
I fell into step beside him as we silently headed for the exit to the park. We both lived in the same general area, but Owen always insisted on going a little out of his way to see me all the way home before he went on to his house.
I swallowed hard.
Owen had no way of knowing that when he looked after my safety, it was the only time I actually felt . . . valued. I might tease him about being a worrywart, but it honestly touched me that he cared about whether or not I got home okay.
He’d always been protective, like a big brother or something, and that meant a lot to me.
As usual, he veered toward my home without a second thought once we were out of the park.
“Thanks for all the times you’ve made sure I got home safe,” I blurted out, feeling like it was important that he knew how much I appreciated him.
For once, I didn’t even try to joke around with him about being overprotective.
“Are you kidding?” he asked. “I’d have to be an asshole if I didn’t. Citrus Beach isn’t San Diego, but you have no business walking around here on the streets after it’s dark.”
Didn’t he know that most guys wouldn’t even think about seeing a friend all the way home when it was out of their way?
“No other guys I know would do it,” I told him.
“Then you know a lot of assholes,” he said gruffly. “It would destroy me if something bad happened to you, Layla.”
I felt something tumble low in my belly as I tried desperately not to take his words too seriously. Owen cared about everyone, which was something that made him entirely unique. I couldn’t allow myself to think that I was a special female to him in some way.
He’s leaving, and I’m staying here in California. We can never be anything except friends.
I had to stop wanting more from Owen. In fact, I hated that my feelings had changed at all.
I didn’t want to crave intimacy with him, and didn’t want to wish he’d kiss me just once so I could see how it felt to be closer to him.
Why can’t I go back to feeling the way I used to when I’m with him?
Six months ago, it would have freaked me out if he’d tried to kiss me.
Now it was all I could think about.
“We’re here,” I said with feigned cheerfulness as we arrived at my condo building. “You can go home now.”
He folded his arms in front of him and lifted a brow. “Not happening. You should know the routine.”
My heart in my throat, I nodded. He’d wait here until I went up a couple flights of stairs and turned the light on inside the condo. Owen wouldn’t leave until he could see that light in the window.
I started to turn toward the stairs. “Okay, okay. I’m going. Good night.”
He reached out a hand and grabbed my upper arm. “Wait, Layla. Did you believe me when I said that I wasn’t avoiding you?”
I turned and looked at him. Owen had gorgeous green eyes, but they were obscured by a heavy pair of glasses. Still, there was something in his expression that I’d never seen before.
I stepped closer to him. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Owen. Really. We’re just friends.”
“I want you to understand—fuck! Forget it. You better go up. I guess I just wanted you to know that I care about how you feel.” He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from my cheek.
He was so close that I could feel his warm breath on my face.
Kiss me. Please just kiss me, Owen. Just once.
I closed my eyes as an intense bolt of longing shot through my body.
I opened them again when he stepped away.
What in the hell am I doing?
Unable to speak, I lifted my hand in a brief goodbye as I sprinted up the stairs.
I was panting as I opened the door of the condo and flipped on the light, my heart and my body still longing for something they could never have.
I vaulted to the window and watched as Owen’s figure disappeared into the darkness.
I sighed as I lost sight of him, and made my way back to the door to pick up the mail that the mailman had dropped through the slot.
Picking up the mail from the floor was an ingrained habit. A simple task I did mindlessly nearly every day.
There was no way I could have known that one of those seemingly innocuous pieces of correspondence I picked up that night would change the course of my entire life.
CHAPTER 1
LAYLA
The present . . .
“Everything looks good, Layla,” Dr. Owen Sinclair told me as he closed the last file on his desk and handed it to me. “You’re probably the best nurse practitioner I’ve ever worked with, so I don’t know why you even wanted me to look at these cases.”
I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes at him. Like I really had a choice? Unfortunately, California was still one of about half the states in the country that required a nurse practitioner to work under the supervision of a doctor.
Okay, I didn’t review all of my cases with Owen, but I liked to go through some of the more complicated ones to get his input. It just seemed like the right thing to do, even though I could barely stand to be in the same room with him.
“If I remember right, Dr. Sinclair, I did sign a practice agreement with you when you bought this clinic from Dr. Fortney a few months ago. Until the California laws change, I’m required to work under your supervision.” My comment was a tiny bit sarcastic, but I couldn’t help myself.
Honestly, working under the gray-haired, elderly Dr. Fortney, who had just recently retired, had never bothered me. He’d been my mentor during my first year of practice, and a partner of sorts near the end.
Maybe it rankled just a little that I now had to clear some things with Owen, who was fresh out of his residency and exactly the same age I was right now.
No, correction—he was actually a few months older than me.
No doubt, Owen’s age and lack of experience practicing as a physician probably wouldn’t have been a factor if we hadn’t been friends in high school and the bastard hadn’t been the person who turned my entire life upside down back then.