Chapter Twenty-Nine Sawyer
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sawyer
Examining herself in the little compact mirror, Dixie runs her finger along the bottom edge of her lip and turns to me as the Uber rolls to a stop in front of the busy house. “Do I have any lipstick on my teeth?”
I shake my head, having to force myself to really look. It took everything in me to still come out tonight when my physical and mental energy was spent. “You’re good.”
We get out of the car, saying our goodbyes to the woman who may have been judging us for the obvious party going on, and straighten our outfits. Dixie took hours figuring out the perfect look, which makes me think she either really likes Miles or really wants Dawson—who I’m not even sure will be here—to regret his choice. I don’t know the last time I saw her leave a cardigan behind, but tonight she’s wearing a short denim skirt that I’m pretty sure she bought specifically for the party, a tight long-sleeved shirt that she borrowed from my closet and looks way better with her boobs, and heeled boots that make her look taller than she is.
“You look hot,” I admire, giving her an impressed once-over. Compared to her, I look as frumpy as I feel. Even though I attempted to put effort into the braided hairstyle and makeup, I can still see the bags under my eyes from the string of nightmares that had me up at three in the morning. It’s always the same one, with my mother looking through me and relaying the same message, and I find myself reacting the same whenever I’m woken from it.
My jeans and sweatshirt are a far cry from the clothes Dixie’s wearing, which I knew must have looked rough when she asked if I wanted to borrow something the second I showed up to her dorm holding the shirt she wanted from me.
But I don’t care how I look.
I don’t want to impress anybody.
Especially not after letting go of the one person I would have dressed up for.
Dixie blushes, moving a curled piece of hair behind her ear, which I spent over an hour on because of how much she was fidgeting on her bed. “I hope Miles thinks the same thing.” Her eyes go to the crowd gathering around the house. “Are you sure you’re okay being here? I understand if you want to go. We can eat ice cream and sulk.”
After Banks dropped me off at the apartment building yesterday, we went our separate ways. He stayed in the truck as I walked inside, and I felt his eyes on me the entire time. I watched from my window as he sat in the parking lot for ten minutes, slammed his palms against the steering wheel, and drove away to who knows where.
I laid in the dark for three hours before Dixie called me about the party. I didn’t have it in me to lie when she asked me to ask Banks to tag along. I simply said I couldn’t do that. My tone apparently said it all because she came over with two milkshakes, two fries, and three sappy movie options that she said she loved watching when she was sad.
Banks never came home that night.
I didn’t want to think about where he was.
Or whom he was with.
“I’m sure,” I promise now, stomach dipping at the thought of Banks showing up. What would I do if he did? What would I say to him to make him understand?
I want to be there for him, especially after he confided in me about his father. But if I agreed to go out with him, it would make ending things later on so much harder. It could only last so long before it had to end. Before feelings complicated it.
I didn’t have time for feelings.
Or for complications.
“This will be good,” Dixie states, but I don’t know if it’s her or me she’s trying to convince. “I think it’ll be a distraction for the both of us. You can meet Miles, and maybe one of his friends—”
“No. No boys. It’s the last thing I need.”
She peeks at me with a subtle frown. “Maybe you and Banks can fix things.”
Pressing my lips together, I stare at the house. I wait a moment before shaking my head. “He deserves better than me, Dixie. I said some… I wasn’t nice to him. I said some awful stuff.” She’s about to argue, be the kind of good friend I can’t be, but I stop her. “Let’s just go inside and find Miles. Okay?”
Reluctantly, she starts walking with me toward the house with our elbows linked. “Thank you for coming with me,” she says under her breath. “I don’t think I would have worked the nerve up if you didn’t tag along.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Isn’t this the least I can do? I want to be her friend, to offer her what little of myself I can. Since I wasn’t around for Dawson thanks to my own selfishness, I wanted to be for Miles.
She sighs. “I know, but you haven’t been feeling well lately, and now with B—er, well, you know who, I felt bad asking you to come.”
“I’m fine,” I reassure her, although it takes everything in me to accompany the statement with a smile. One I’m sure she sees right through because she’s seen what my real smile looks like.
The music drowns out our conversation when we walk inside and get pushed together by the packed bodies. I’ve never seen so many people in one place before.
“Whoa,” I faintly hear Dixie say, looking around at the crammed people dancing and drinking among friends.
I nod silently, cringing when I see a couple in the corner putting on quite the show for everybody. The last party we went to seemed so tame compared to this one.
Tightening my arm around her, I say, “We should stick together. Do you see Miles?”
She gets on her tippy toes and starts searching the crowd, frowning. “No. Let’s go find some drinks and then we’ll look for him.”
It doesn’t take long to get to where two giant kegs are set up in the corner of what I’m assuming is the living room. There are two boys pouring drinks and passing them out to everybody who comes up.
Dixie leans into one of them. “Do either of you know where Miles is?”
The boys flash each other a grin before the one with moppy brown hair points behind him. “I think he went into the kitchen.”
My eyes narrow at the glimmer in his eyes, which look like my brother’s when he’s up to no good.
Tugging on Dixie’s arm to get her away from the table, I suggest staying put. “Let him come to you.” I gesture toward a small opening on the opposite end of the room. Something about those boys doesn’t sit well with me, and Dixie is way too excited about Miles to think rationally.
She looks down at her drink. “What if he doesn’t find me?”
With the amount of people here, it’ll be hard, but not impossible. “If he knows you’re coming, then he will.”
At least I hope.
I’m not sure how long we stay in that spot for, but it’s clear that Dixie’s anxiety is getting the better of her when she finishes her drink and takes mine. I watch as the petite five-foot-nothing brunette guzzles it down, earning a few appreciative glances from the guys dancing around us. She’s oblivious, the worry in her eyes growing as she gazes over the various faces.
Taking the empty cups and putting them down on the nearest table, I pull her into the middle of the room that people are using as a dance floor. “Let’s dance! You love this song.”
She nibbles her lip, letting me get her into the center of the crowd despite her hesitancy.
“Relax your arms,” I direct, showing her what I mean. “And smile. You look miserable right now. At least try pretending like you’re having fun.”
She feigns a smile that resembles more of a flinch, making me snort. I’m hardly the expert on how to get a guy, considering the one I like isn’t even here thanks to our circumstances, but Dixie has a lot going for her that Miles would be stupid to miss out on. If it takes a little encouragement to get her there, I’ll be her wing woman for the evening.
Three drinks later, which we’ve been fetching every few songs, Dixie is spinning around and dancing with guys who are most definitely not Miles. But she’s happy and having fun, so I choose not to point it out as the popular pop song plays.
When the guy who came up behind me spins me around, I stop facing the window to see a familiar truck pulling up outside. Stomach clenching, I grab Dixie’s arm. “I think Banks just got here.”
Dixie stumbles, giggling as one of her dance partners catches her. “Ooooh. What are we going to do?”
My feet stay planted where they are, trying to weigh my options. Nausea balls up in my stomach. “I’m not sure.”
“We could go out there and talk to him,” she suggests. “But then we need to find Miles.”
The guy still holding onto her arm speaks up for the first time since coming over to us. “Miles is with his girlfriend upstairs.”
Dixie freezes, her eyes widening as she looks between me and him. “What?”
He nods, having the decency to look apologetic for being the bearer of bad news. “They’re on and off, but she showed up earlier and we haven’t seen either of them since. That usually means that they’re, uh…preoccupied.”
I reach out for Dixie’s hand the second I see her crestfallen expression. “I’m sorry, Dixie.”
She looks down, her cheeks darkening.
I squeeze. “We can ditch if you want. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to Banks anyway.”
The guy she was dancing with says, “I’m single.”
Dixie locks up, stepping toward me.
“Me too,” my dance partner says with a wink.
I cringe at the opportunists. “Maybe another time.”
Before he can reply, I pull Dixie after me toward the front door. I can hear her sniffling, which means we have a matter of minutes before the tear ducts open.
Once we manage to weave our way outside, the cool air blasts into us and dries the sweat that was sticking to our skin.
I look around. “Do you see him?”
Dixie sidles up beside me. “No.”
Her voice is weak. I turn to block her from everybody else’s sight. “Do you want ice cream? Soda? I heard about this one place that makes the best ice cream floa—”
“Oh God,” she groans, looking at something past me. “As if this night can’t get any worse.”
Confused, I look over my shoulder to see what she’s talking about. It isn’t Banks who gets out of the pickup truck I almost put into a ditch but Dawson. He stumbles around the front and toward a group of guys standing off to the side on the front lawn.
“I’ll go talk to him,” I offer. As much as I would hate to ask Banks a favor, it may be needed based on how Dawson is acting. “Maybe Banks is with him. We can get a ride with the—”
“I am not getting into a truck with him.”
Nodding slowly, I let out a breath. “I get that. I don’t really want to ask Banks for much right now either, but it’s our best shot at getting home. Let me just go make sure Dawson’s okay, and then we’ll figure it out from there. Deal?”
Reluctantly, she nods, crossing her arms and staring down at the ground.
When I turn toward Dawson, he’s already walking away from the guys who call out to him with profanity. He tucks something into his pocket as he makes his way back to the truck, nearly tripping over his feet.
Right before he reaches the side door, one of the guys says, “Marco is always watching.”
A nervous look crosses Dawson’s face as he nods bleakly at them, touching his pocket and whatever he put inside it.
Jogging over, I call out to him. “Wait up, Dawson.” He stops, nearly toppling over again but catching himself on the bed of the pickup. When I get a better view of his face, I gape. “Are you okay?”
His eyes are sunken in and red, his lips are chapped, and his face is a strange pale color that not even mine got at my very worst. “What are you doing here, Sawyer?”
I point behind me. “Dixie and I were invited by someone. We were actually just leaving. Is Banks with you?”
Dawson straightens, his eyes moving to my friend in the distance, and then he hunches over. “No. I borrowed his truck for the night.”
He borrowed…? There’s no way Banks would have let him drive in this condition. “Does Banks know you took it?”
His words are barely understandable when he replies. “I know where Paxton keeps the keys. It’s the least he could do for me.”
My brows pinch, the name stirring something in my chest. “Paxton?” Then I realize the other tidbit of information is a little more important than the name I haven’t heard in a long, long time. “Wait. You stole his truck?”
He snorts, a dark look twisting his face. “Is it stealing if you’re friends?” he questions. “And you don’t even know the first name of the guy you’re fucking, do you?”
I cringe at the hostility in his tone. “That’s not…” Choosing to brush off his crudeness, I sigh. “You shouldn’t be driving. Why don’t you let Dixie drive us back?”
His eyes go back to the brunette, softening a moment before he shakes his head. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”
I look to Dixie, who’s doing her best not to pay us any attention. “Dawson, I don’t know how to drive. I never got my license.”
Thankfully, he’s too high to look judgy. Only surprised, which is reasonable. Most twenty-one-year-olds can drive.
Putting my hand on him, I lift a finger. “Give me one second. Please don’t go anywhere.”
Jogging back over to Dixie, I say, “He can’t drive himself. He’s going to need us. He took Banks’s truck without permission anyway, so I don’t want anything to happen to it.”
Dixie stands straighter, her eyes moving over to Dawson to study him. Whatever she sees, she doesn’t like. “No,” she says, to my surprise. “I don’t want to keep doing this. He needs to figure things out himself without one of us saving him.”
Normally, I’d understand. But I can tell he’s in a particularly bad state of mind tonight. “You know I can’t drive. It’d be safer if you took the truck—”
“No,” she repeats, standing her ground. “I’m sorry, Sawyer, but I’m not doing it. Maybe he needs something to happen for a reality check.”
“You don’t mean that.”
She pulls out her phone. “I’m getting an Uber. Are you coming with me or not?”
Nervously, I bite my nail as I look at Dawson, who’s walking around to the driver’s side. It doesn’t give me a lot of opportunity to think about my choices.
“Shit,” I curse. I have seconds to decide, and based on the determination on Dixie’s face, she’s not going to break. “I can’t let him go alone.”
Dawson gets into the truck.
Quickly reaching into my pocket where I tucked some money, I pass it to her for a ride home. “Please, please, please let me know when you get back to your dorm. I’m sorry, Dixie. But I can’t let him drive.”
Dixie gapes at me and calls out, “You can’t drive, either!”
Not knowing what else to do, I run over and open the passenger door as Dawson starts the truck up. I know Dixie is upset, so she doesn’t mean any harm. She’d never wish ill will on anybody. And I feel horrible for leaving her here alone, but Dawson is clearly not in his right mind.
He seems surprised as he puts the truck into drive and takes off right as I close the door behind me.
“You shouldn’t be driving,” I tell him, voice pleading. “Pull over and we can call Banks. Then we can get an Uber and come back for the truck tomorrow.”
Whatever logic I throw at him doesn’t seem to work. He keeps driving, making my nerves soar. In a grumbly tone and slurring words, he says, “You shouldn’t have gotten in if you didn’t want to come, Sawyer. I don’t know why you bothered.”
He doesn’t? “Because we’re friends.”
Dawson has the audacity to snort. “Are we?”
I frown, grabbing the seat belt and buckling myself in, keeping a firm grip on the part that goes across my chest. “We’ve never not been. You’re the one who started distancing yourself from everybody.”
His eyes snap to me. “Because you started fucking my best friend.”
“Dawson!” I squeak when the truck veers off the road. He barely corrects it before we hit a parked car. Letting out a shaky breath, I ease into the seat. “You’re right. I do like Banks. I’m sorry if that upsets you. He’s just…” I shrug, not knowing what to say to make this better. “I guess he was what I thought I needed at the time. I never meant to hurt you or lead you on. Banks didn’t either. He cares about you. No matter what fight you two are going through, he’d want you to get home safe.”
He white-knuckles the steering wheel, his jaw grinding. “He said he wouldn’t do this again. Desiree chose him too. He doesn’t care.”
Scrubbing my eyes, I try redirecting the conversation to one less hostile. “I’m the one who pushed for this,” I reason. “If you’re going to be mad at somebody, be mad at me. I deserve it. Not him.”
For a moment, he seems contemplative. “If he didn’t want to, he wouldn’t have. I’m never picked first. I’m too fucked up.”
“It’s not too late to fix things.”
His murmured words hit me all too well: “For some of us, it is.”
It’s a sad truth, but I choose not to press him on it. “Who were those guys back there?”
“None of your business.”
I heard one of them mention Marco, who was the person responsible for Dawson’s initial use. “I want to help you. Let me help you.”
“I don’t want your help. I don’t want B-Banks’s help. I don’t want anybody .” His voice rises. “Can’t you fucking see that, Sawyer? Some of us are in too deep for help!”
His driving becomes more erratic as his head starts bobbing. When I see his nose bleeding, panic seeps in. “Fine. You don’t need me or anybody else. But can you pull over now? Your nose is bleeding, and you’re starting to scare me.”
“I’m f-fine.” His eyes get heavy.
“Dawson?”
Once again, his eyes go to mine. “I told y-you that you s-shouldn’t have gotten in if you didn’t want to—”
Suddenly, headlights flash into the windshield, blinding me as I feel the truck move into the opposite lane. “Dawson, watch—”
The loud screech of bending metal is all I can hear. Not Dawson. Not my own screams as we start to slide and roll.
There’s chaos as my body gets tossed brutally until something heavy crashes into me. It feels like it goes on forever before everything stops.
And then there’s nothing but my ears ringing.
My eyes get heavy.
Then I hear a voice.
My mother’s.
I have a horrible feeling.
My world goes black.