Page 197 of In at the Deep End

He stood near the edge of the patio with a drink in his hand and watched his guests, feeling as though he were observing his own party from somewhere outside himself. Every time someone addressed him, Owen smiled automatically, not hearing a word they said.

His mind was in Scotland.

For two weeks I did exactly what I’d told myself I would do.

He’d been careful. He’d stopped asking Matt to come over. He’d stopped finding reasons for him to stay. He’d replaced kisses with brief touches of affection that could be explained away as friendship, and whenever Matt had gazed at him with that uncertainty in his eyes—yes, and hurt—Owen had smiled and pretended not to notice.

I was kind.

That was the word he’d used to justify it. The trouble was, kindness wasn’t supposed to feel this much like cruelty.

Owen took a drink and glanced towards the house where he’d stood and watched Matt retreat slowly over those two weeks. Matt hadn’t confronted him or demanded an explanation. He hadn’t even asked whether something was wrong.

He’d simply… stopped. And Owen saw it happen and told himself he was doing the right thing.

I hurt him.

There was no getting around that. He’d taken something warm and uncomplicated and turned it into uncertainty, all because he’d been too frightened to admit the future he was trying to protect Matt from was the future Owen himself wanted.

I thought ending things before they became serious would spare Matt pain.

Instead, he’d spent two weeks teaching Matt that loving him was something to regret.

“Dad?”

He turned. Callum stood beside him, holding a beer, frowning.

“You all right?”

Owen raised his eyebrows. “I’m fine.”

“Then you might want to tell your face.” Before Owen could tell him where to get off, Callum gazed across the garden. “Where’s Matt?”

Owen’s stomach clenched. “Edinburgh. He’s visiting a friend and handing in his dissertation.”

Callum was still frowning. “He should be here.” Then he sighed. “He would’ve wanted to be.”

Owen tightened his fingers around his glass. “Maybe. I’m not so⁠—”

“I thought I was helping,” Callum blurted.

Owen went still.

Callum stared down at his beer. “When I talked to you after the island, I thought…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I thought. That you were getting in too deep. That you were going to get hurt. That Matt would get hurt too. I thought he’d eventually realise the age difference was more complicated than it seemed.”

Owen said nothing.

Callum swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d do this.”

“Do what?”

“Turn yourself into someone who looks like he’s waiting for his own funeral.”

Owen gave a short laugh. “Bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.” Callum gazed towards the house. “But you’re miserable. Don’t tell me you’re not.” He scraped his fingers through his hair. “And if you’re miserable, I’m guessing Matt isn’t exactly having the summer of his life either.”

That was the part Owen didn’t want to think about.