The Magic of Light

Chapter

Nine

Sawyer

(Present)

A truck door slammed. I flinched, unaware that anyone had driven up, lost in the fog of my memories. I could sense his eyes boring into me before I ever looked up. I clutched the dog tags in my hand for their initial purpose. Bravery. I knew now they weren’t magic, but somehow, I still treated them like they were. His long legs ate up the ground as he stalked toward me. What was he doing here?

The scowl on his face sent a shiver through me and reminded me that I didn’t completely know him. My past told me to make myself small, even though my logical brain told me that I didn’t think I had to fear him. Sure, things were awkward when I dropped off the cookies earlier, but they weren’t unsafe. The headstone dug into my back. My arms were still wrapped around my knees. Previous therapy told me to regulate each respiration to calm my nerves before they completely took over. My brain was racing as to why he was here and why he was furious.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but that wasn’t it. I sank even more into myself if that was even possible. Grief and confusion warred in my mind. I simply wanted to say goodbye to my childhood friend. My throat tightened and the words wouldn’t come. Blood roared in my ears, drowning out his voice. My fingertips began to tingle as dark spots danced in my vision.

“You have no right to be here,” he gritted out in my silence. His eyes burned a bluish and amber flame. I knew I needed to talk, but I also knew the logical part of my brain was slipping away.

My throat closed. My thoughts raced, and all I could hear was my adrenaline telling me to run. RUN. I had been labeled a runaway my entire childhood. I often ran before even acknowledging the decision.

I didn’t remember making the choice to stand, but the next thing I knew, I was standing and backing away. His eyes glinted in anger. His hands fisted by his side. My hand squeezed around the military tags. The metal cutting into my palm. He took a step toward me as larger dark spots clouded my vision. I raised a hand to ward him off. All logical thoughts vacated my mind. My years of experience handling angry people were tossed out the window. My ability to calmly handle disgruntled people had disappeared. Between discovering that Abel was gone and having flashbacks of the horrific abuse I had endured, my mind raced with old memories that I had wanted to forget long ago. I didn’t feel like the independent, kick-butt-and-take-names kind of social worker anymore . . . I was that little girl that needed a social worker, one that’d stand up for her. He raked a hand through his thick chestnut hair. His lips that were set in a firm line parted as something unrecognizable passed across his face. I took another step back. His hand came toward me and then everything went black.

Soren

Something wasn’t right. Why was she raising her hand toward me? Did she think I was going to hit her? I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I would never cross that line and lay a hand on a woman. Then the sickening thought flashed through my mind. She had indicated she’d been hurt before. I remembered the flinch at the creek when I squeezed her shoulder after we’d found Connor. I had asked her shortly after if anyone was hurting her, and she had said not anymore. Air whooshed out of my body in a rush. My stomach bottomed out when I saw her eyes roll back in her head, and I reached to catch her before her head connected with another gravestone behind her. When I stepped forward a moment ago, I had been trying to stop her from tripping on another gravestone. Her sunshine blonde hair spilled all over me and her as I fumbled to ease her body to the soft green grass. It was difficult catching someone while you were facing them, especially when they fell back instead of forward. Confusion didn’t begin to explain my state of mind. Hell. What had I done? Had she just fainted? I pushed the hair away from her face as it puddled around her small body like liquid gold. I was angry with myself for being the world’s biggest jackass. What was it about this woman that entangled my thoughts? And why did she keep showing up on the worst days? I had been caught off guard earlier when she stopped by my house and was angry at myself about something else. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her. Her presence had been unexpected both days, and these days were the hardest to face every year. I didn’t think I’d see her again, especially here. Why was she leaning against my brother’s grave? Her long eyelashes laid against her pale cheeks, and there was no doubt she had been crying. There was a dusting of light freckles across her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Her lips were notably full, and there was a crease in the center of her bottom lip. She was an angel, except for the wet lashes. She’d gotten under my skin in a way that no one ever had before, and it unnerved me. Sawyer made me off-kilter. I once lived for one-night stands and too much whiskey that would drown everything out. I used to be able to walk into a bar and leave with whatever woman I wanted without even trying.

But that was before and this was now. I felt a pit in my stomach when I reflected on my previous behavior. Shame poured over me as I remembered my words to her. Did I scare her to the point that she fainted? Hell. Was there something medically wrong with her? I brushed my thumb across her rose petal soft cheek as I knelt beside her. The soft scent of strawberries clung to her. I wished I could explain why today was so heavy, even though I knew it wouldn’t excuse my words or actions. My earlier anger had completely dissipated. I had to fix this.

“Wake up, Sawyer. Come back to me.” I reached for her hand and placed it in mine. Her heartbeat was strong. That was when I noticed it. Her hand had fallen open and twisted around her wrist and hand was a chain. A chain attached to old military identification tags. As I lifted her hand, I noticed the name. Henry Abel Roberts .

What the hell?! Why did she have my grandpa’s dog tags? I thought I’d had enough surprises this week. Once she came to, we were going to have a nice long talk about what was going on. I tucked the tags into my pocket and slid my arms under her knees and back. I had jumped out of my truck quickly, and as a result left it running. I didn’t want her laying on the cool ground. Maybe the warmer air of the truck would make her wake up, and if she stayed unconscious too long, I could get her to the clinic more quickly. She was small in my arms. I juggled her slightly, hooked my index finger under the handle and opened the passenger door. I settled her in the seat and, for good measure, reached to recline it some so she wouldn’t fall forward. Cupping her cheek as gently as my calloused hands could, I rubbed my thumb across her chin. Her skin was like silk.

“Everything is going to be okay, Sawyer. Please wake up.”

If I accomplished anything today, I was going to get down to the bottom of what was going on. Her eyelashes fluttered.

“That’s it. Pretty Girl. Wake up.”

Her shattered, light-wash denim eyes met mine. I saw emotions cross her face in rapid succession. Confusion. Surprise. Awareness of her surroundings. Fear. Then absolute terror overtook her before she began attacking me with as much force as a one hundred and twenty-five pound woman could. Until this moment, I’d never truly appreciated the time spent boxing with Lane and Jonah at the gym. I swiftly blocked the strikes and gently secured her wrists, taking care to not hurt her with too much pressure. Her chest heaved with exertion and, most likely, adrenaline.

“It’s okay. You passed out. I brought you to my truck so you wouldn’t be on the ground.”

“Let go of me!” she spit out, squirming to get loose.

“I am. I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Her brow lowered in anger but her movements ceased. She breathed in a pattern I was intimately familiar with.

Sawyer’s voice was strained and timid when she explained, “I’m not going to be able to calm down until you stop touching me.”

Her voice sounded more level. I took a step back and released her hands as if they had burned me and held my hands up in surrender. She sat straight and stared out the windshield, as if to verify she was still at the cemetery. After a moment, her breathing slowed, and she turned to me with accusation in her eyes.

“Why were you yelling at me?”

I ran my hand through my hair in frustration and she flinched again.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I asked, exasperated.

She ignored my question and went to get out of the truck. I held out a hand to stop her. Not touching her, but blocking her path because I didn’t want a repeat of her fainting again, especially from the height of my truck.

“Sit down before you pass out again. You’re not going anywhere until we talk.” I scowled.

I didn’t know it, but that was the worst thing I could have said at the moment. Her eyes blazed before she started flailing with everything inside her. That temporarily stunned me, and she fought to get around me again. I stumbled back in surprise.

“Get outta my way!” she screamed, fighting with everything inside her. It was as though she was somewhere else, with someone else.

“Hell, Sawyer! I’m trying to help you,” I barked.

She made it around me and turned to face me, as though preparing for a duel. My lip smarted in pain. I tried again, desperate to understand. There was a wildness in her eyes that I’d never seen before.

“Sawyer. I’m sorry I yelled at you. Today was a rough day, and I took it out on the wrong person. I’d really like to understand what you’re doing at my brother’s grave.”

She completely froze. Her shoulders dropped as a wheeze of air left her body.

“Abel is your brother?” Her eyes tracked between mine as if searching for the truth.

“Yes, he was.”

“I’ll stay, but I can’t think when you’re touching me.” Her hands came up to her face to cover her mouth that had fallen open. Her eyes widened with surprise.

“Oh my gosh! I busted your lip. I’m so sorry!” she gasped. I hadn’t even realized it.

I rolled my bottom lip and noticed the copper taste of blood.

“It’ll be alright. The guys are going to give me grief for getting taken by such a lightweight. I shouldn’t have scared you.”

I attempted to lighten the mood. She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her plump lower lip as tears swam in her eyes.

“Have you had lunch?” I asked.

She shook her head, staring intently toward Abel’s grave.

“I was headed to the diner when I saw you. Can I buy you lunch?”

Her almost too big eyes made a study of my face. I didn’t know her well enough to recognize all her expressions, but I could see she was guarded and guilt burned through me again about being such a jackass. After a thorough inspection, she must have decided it was okay.

“Okay. But I’ll meet you there.”

I didn’t blame her. I had given her a shitty impression of me. The worst. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d raised my voice at anyone, much less a woman.

“Okay. Just follow me. Ronnie’s Diner is on Main Street,” I explained.

She turned to walk away, but abruptly stopped.

“Where is my necklace?” She frantically clutched at her neck while scanning the ground, searching.

“These were my grandfather’s.” I held them up as they dangled from my index finger. Tears puddled her eyes again and her head dropped.

“Abel gave them to me,” she whispered, defeated.

As much as I valued sentimental things, there was something in her face that told me she needed them more than I did. I walked toward her and grasped her small hand, placed them in her palm, and closed her fingers over them. A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and I itched to brush it away, but I knew she’d shy away from my touch.

“These mean more to me than anything else I own,” she whispered, clutching them to her chest.

“Let me buy you lunch and we’ll talk, okay?” She nodded, and we both walked to our vehicles.

My mind wandered as I led the way to the diner.

Ronnie’s had been a staple of the community for over fifty years. The red and white awning was dated, but Ronnie made the best greasy cheeseburger around—one that left oil stains on brown paper bags. The milkshakes and homemade onion rings were what drew people in, though. Abel had loved the strawberry milkshake the best. He’d convince Mom and Dad that it was a serving of fruit and, therefore, it was okay to have them as often as possible. Mom would always laugh and tell him to “stop acting like your dad,” and dad would tousle his hair with a chuckle. I was desperate to know how Sawyer knew Abel—especially since I didn’t have any memories of her at all .

The Grand Canyon sized hole his loss had left in our family was evident every single day. Today would have been his twenty-seventh birthday. Abel would have insisted on eating an ice cream cake while drinking an ice cream shake, spouting off about how his birthday was only once a year and it should practically be considered a national holiday. The thing about him though, was that he made the same fuss about other people’s birthdays too. Once, for my birthday, he paid for me to have a hot shave at a fancy barbershop in Kansas City before we went to a Royals game. He was fifteen and the tickets and shave must have cost him most of his lawn mowing money that summer, but he didn’t care. He lived big, but he loved bigger. If you were in his orbit, you felt the warmth of his light. Many people would grumble about having a little brother, but not me. There was a seven-year age difference, but Abel and I had been best friends. He’d hung out with me and my high school friends while we practiced baseball and football. He tagged along with us everywhere. Lane and Jonah had even claimed him, and after we graduated, we still went to as many of his baseball games as possible. Occasionally, only one of us could make it to the game, so we’d update each other on the plays afterward.

I parked at the diner and hopped out, but Sawyer sat in her Jeep, not moving. I tapped on her window and seemed to pull her from a trance. She opened her door but stayed buckled. Damn. I should have never let her drive in this state. What had I been thinking?

“Sawyer, are you okay?” Her eyes became watery again.

“I don’t think I can talk about Abel around other people. I didn’t even know he was gone.” Her voice trailed off at the end.

Grief. I knew it excruciatingly well inside and out, but I knew regret better. She hadn’t even known he had died, and it’d been ten years. Her somber voice held me. I placed a hand on her steering wheel and leaned closer to meet her shining eyes that had been staring at my shoulder.

“I’m going to pick up our food, but I want you to ride with me back to my house and we’ll eat and talk. Okay?” She nodded, knowing the underlying thing I was thinking. It was not safe for her to be driving in this state.

“What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?”

“Strawberry,” she whispered. Of course it was.

“Okay. Let’s get your car locked up. Grab whatever you need. We’ll get you in my truck and then I’ll grab lunch.” I texted Tina—a waitress at the diner who was friends with my mom—our food order while I helped get Sawyer settled in my truck.

Her whole countenance reflected deep sorrow, and if anyone knew heartbreak, it was me.