Owen wasn't about to agree to some pseudo-therapy session where everyone aired their dirty laundry, or deeper, most-inner feelings. No, he wasn't on board with that, although he didn't think that was what anyone was suggesting. At least he hoped not. He took another pull from his beer bottle, feeling a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Were they all damaged? Was he? Sure, why not. Anyone could look at the last five years of his life and see that. Just like he could look down the table at Marco and apply that same description to him. And maybe a handful of others at the table. Nobody there was perfect, no matter how wonderful they thought their lives back home were.
But were personal issues the thing tying everyone together? Owen wasn't so sure. But he sure as hell knew it wasn't something so simple as their hometowns or their jobs.
"Maybe it's just a quality," Owen said, speaking up for the first time since he'd sat down to eat. "Either something we all share, or just something they saw in each of us as an individual. As far as I can tell, there ain't much connecting any of us in an obvious way." He paused and glanced at Jack. "Beyond physical attractiveness," he added dryly.