Chapter 21
Sawyer
Weddings are supposed to be joyful—full of champagne-fueled laughter, bad dancing, and love thick enough in the air to make even the cynics cry into their overpriced cocktails.
A celebration where the stress and chaos dissolve for one perfect night and only the good stuff remains.
But standing here, suited up and going through the motions, I can’t shake the gnawing sense that something’s off.
Like I’m watching it all through a glass wall—present, but not really in it.
From the moment I stepped into my tux this morning, it’s been go-go-go.
Helping Ian get dressed. Keeping his nerves in check.
Making sure the rings didn’t mysteriously vanish between the suite and the altar.
Giving speeches, calming our mother down after she decided the napkins weren’t the right shade of cream.
And now, hours later, I’m still in Best Man mode, shaking hands and laughing at the same toast for the tenth time.
But through it all, I keep catching glimpses of her.
Charli.
She’s been a blur of motion in the distance—in the kitchen, near the serving tables, ducking out of the ballroom with a tray in hand.
We’ve not made eye contact. Not for lack of trying.
Every time I see her, she’s already gone again.
And that smile she usually tosses me when she knows I’m looking? It’s been missing all night.
I tell myself it’s just the chaos. She’s working. I’m working. We’re in two different worlds tonight, orbiting around the same event but never quite colliding.
Still, something doesn’t feel right.
When the music slows and the lights begin to dim, Ian grabs the mic and calls for everyone’s attention.
Mia’s glowing beside him—barefoot now, cheeks flushed from champagne and giddy happiness.
She’s clinging to his arm like she couldn’t imagine being anywhere else, and Ian, grinning like the luckiest man on earth, wraps his arm around her waist and kisses the top of her head with so much tenderness it makes a few people audibly sigh.
"Before we wrap up the most incredible night of our lives," he says, looking around the room, "we want to take a second to thank the people who made this magic happen. The staff has been unbelievable—from the kitchen to the servers to the coordinators. So if you could all come out for a quick round of applause, we’d love to show our appreciation. "
The crowd claps and turns, and slowly the staff emerges.
The kitchen doors swing open and familiar faces step into the light—chefs in crisp whites, bartenders still dusted with citrus zest, servers with tired smiles and wine-stained aprons.
The applause swells with warmth and genuine gratitude.
Ian has one arm wrapped around Mia’s waist, the other lifting his champagne flute as he personally thanks them all.
Mia’s eyes are misty, her free hand pressed to her chest like the moment is nearly too much.
But I’m not watching them. I’m watching that doorway. And Charli doesn’t come through it.
My chest tightens as I wait. My eyes search the group, heart picking up speed. Still no Charli.
I move, weaving through the crowd as Ian and Mia give their thanks.
They’re practically glowing, completely wrapped up in each other—his forehead brushing hers, her hand curling into his chest, the slow-motion, sickeningly sweet love story that belongs on the front of a romance novel.
It should be heartwarming. Instead, it makes my stomach twist.
The applause is loud, but all I hear is the ringing in my ears. I push through the side entrance to the kitchen, but the kitchen is empty. Silent. As if the chaos of earlier never happened.
"Hey," I call out, spotting one of the younger waiters stacking empty trays near the prep counter. "Chef Whitmore—do you know where she went?"
The kid blinks, then shrugs. "She left. Maybe twenty minutes ago? Said she had a flight to catch."
I stop breathing. Left? "A flight?"
He nods, like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just rip the floor out from under me as he returns to stacking empty trays.
My chest tightens, panic blooming sharp and sudden. Something is wrong. Something must have happened. There's no way she would just up and leave... would she?
As I stand frozen in the middle of the kitchen, the memory hits me like a punch to the gut—Ava, five years ago, telling me she needed to use the bathroom at the airport.
Me waiting at the gate with two coffees and a ring in my pocket, heart hammering with anticipation.
And then, like a cruel trick of fate, I saw her on the TSA security screen—boarding a completely different flight.
With a man I didn’t recognize. My stomach had dropped, and I remember the surreal sensation of standing there, completely numb, as the gate closed and she disappeared.
No explanation. No goodbye. Just gone. The betrayal twisted in my gut then, and now, the echo of it roars back like a wave crashing over me, swallowing my breath whole.
It’s the same sick feeling now—an invisible fist closing around my throat.
The echo of abandonment. The betrayal. Except this time it’s Charli, and that thought cracks something deep in my chest. I replay every second of the night, wondering if I missed a sign, a shift, anything.
How could she walk away without telling me why?
It’s Ava all over again—except Charli’s supposed to be different.
She was different. And that’s what makes this worse.
This isn’t just some ex-girlfriend. This is the woman I let in when I swore I never would again.
"Hey," Ian’s voice cuts through the haze, his hand clapping my shoulder as he joins me in the kitchen. He looks relaxed, euphoric even, a man fresh off the best night of his life. "You’ve been amazing today. Seriously. I couldn’t have pulled this off without you."
I nod slowly, jaw clenched, still staring at the door like it might swing open and undo everything.
The weight of betrayal sits like lead in my chest. I can't shake the image—Charli slipping away just like Ava did. My stomach churns, my thoughts a storm. Ian’s smile fades when he really looks at me, his brow furrowing as he takes in the expression on my face, like he knows exactly what memory is replaying behind my eyes.
"What’s wrong?"
I exhale hard, jaw tight, as the words scrape past my throat.
"Charli’s gone. She left." Saying it out loud makes it feel real, like the floor just gave out beneath me. The edges of the moment blur as the words sink in, and the disbelief twists into something sharper—raw, stunned betrayal. It’s not just that she left.
It’s that she didn’t tell me. That she didn’t even give me the chance to stop her.
"She left the kitchen?" Ian repeats, the words catching slightly in his throat.
He glances toward the swinging doors, his brow furrowed.
"She'll be back," he adds, but the hesitation in his voice gives him away.
It's not conviction—it's confusion, worry, the same flicker of disbelief that's been burning in my gut since the waiter said she was gone.
I shake my head slowly, each word like gravel in my throat.
"No. She left the island. Left me." And just like that, it slams into me—the brutal realization that I let myself believe again. Opened my chest wide and handed over my heart, only to have it torn out all over again. How the hell did I fall for it twice? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… damn it, I should’ve known better. My jaw tightens, pulse pounding with disbelief. I swore I’d never let anyone close enough to do this again. But I did. And it’s my fault.
Ian blinks. "What? Are you serious? What did you do?"
I shake my head, my voice rough. "Nothing. She didn’t even say a word. Just vanished like I was a stranger. No note. No explanation. Just… left." The final word lands hard in my chest, a gut punch I never saw coming.
Ian curses under his breath and shakes his head. "Forget her, man. If she walked out without a word, then she wasn’t who you thought she was."
The words sting more than they should because he's right. My fists clench again. I turn to him, "One thing I do know—I’m done letting anyone get close enough to destroy me again. Never again." I then walk past him and out of her world and back into mine.
As I rejoin the reception where the dancing and drinking are in full swing, anger is simmering just beneath my skin.
I plaster on a polite smile for the sake of appearances, but inside, I’m a storm of frustration, betrayal, and confusion.
I can’t believe I let this happen again—that I opened myself up only to be gutted.
I should’ve known better. I swear under my breath, jaw tight, trying to focus on anything other than the hollow ache in my chest. But no matter how many people I nod to or how much noise surrounds me, the only thing I can hear is the echo of Charli walking away.
Still, I’m not going to crumble. Not again. If she’s really gone, then so be it. I’ll survive. I always do.
And that’s when I hear it—a voice slithering in from behind me.
"Sawyer."
I turn to face my past once again.
Ava.
Wearing a silky dress entirely too white for a guest, with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and a hunger that makes my skin crawl—like she thinks tonight is her shot to reclaim something I never offered her to begin with.