Chapter 32 Sawyer
Chapter thirty-two
Sawyer
Noah’s charged question is followed by a sinister silence.
He’s sitting ramrod straight at the head of the table, a scowl plastered on his face. I’ve never seen him this unyielding about anything.
He said the F-word. Twice.
I had no idea breakfast would include an interrogation. Sure, I assumed it would be awkward, maybe even contentious. Never in my wildest dreams did I suspect Noah would call us out and demand answers.
The demand isn’t unwarranted.
It’s just… not possible.
I stare at the table, at the edge where Ty’s gripping it so hard his knuckles have turned white.
The charged air is thick like honey, but there’s nothing sweet about Noah’s demeanor. His accusations linger, causing the oxygen in the room to grow heavier. Making it harder to breathe.
Swallowing, I chance another look at the man still waiting for an answer.
An answer he feels he’s owed.
An answer I can’t ever give him.
I look away quickly. Because he does deserve answers. If we’re going to do this, then he is entitled. He deserves so much more than this.
I press my lips together, a lone tear rolling down my cheek. I quickly swipe it away and swallow past the emotion clogging my throat, trying like hell to ignore the urge to open up and tell Noah everything he wants to know.
But I can’t. The potential repercussions are too great, should anyone ever discover our secret. Even so, holding back this kind of information from the man—no, men—I’ve come to trust and cherish and love is physically painful. A burning sensation rages in my chest.
It doesn’t matter. There can be no conversation. So I suck in a shaky breath, preparing to mediate the fallout of turning him down.
Before I can formulate a response that makes any sense, Ty shifts beside me, turning to face Noah head-on.
“We shot my father.”
Shock grips my insides and my ears ring. I choke out a sob, slapping my hands over my mouth. More tears form, pouring now, blurring my vision.
“Ty,” I hiss, reaching out blindly, searching for his hand under the table.
“What did you just say?” Noah asks, brows furrowed.
Mercer sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, mirroring Noah’s position. “I heard the words, but I don’t understand. You shot your father? Please tell me that’s a euphemism.”
Ty laces his fingers with mine under the table and turns to me, swiping at the tears cascading down my face with his thumb.
He appears overwhelmed and despondent in a way I’ve never seen before. He looks young. And scared. On the cusp of defeat.
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, the motion causing him to wince. “You trust him, mon ange. You swear he’s a good guy. That they both are. Let’s fucking see if you’re right.”
He angles in and kisses my cheek. “We’re okay,” he whispers.
As he pulls back, he says, “It’s not like keeping this secret is doing us any good.
I don’t see how we can ever move on if we keep operating the way we have.
Not after the last few weeks. I’m done trying to keep my shit locked inside. I’ve never been any good at it anyway.”
I open my mouth to object—to tell him to take it back, to reel this in. But words fail me. And then Ty is talking again.
“We killed my father,” he repeats.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then another.
No one moves. No one breathes.
With an ominous edge to his tone, Mercer asks, “What do you mean, ‘we’?”
Ty shrugs again. Winces again.
“I aimed the gun. Sawyer pulled the trigger.”
My stomach plummets to the floor.
Good grief.
Those are the mechanics of what happened, but he isn’t providing context whatsoever.
“Ty…”
More tears leak from my eyes as I sniffle.
“Come here.” He grips one of the legs of my chair and pulls until it’s flush against his seat. Then he loops one arm around my hips and pulls gently, encouraging me up.
“Wait, I don’t want to hurt—”
“Just get over here,” he huffs. “Let me hold you while I try to get through this.”
Bewilderment washes over me. In all my wildest dreams, I never thought Ty would willingly and openly talk about this. He and I don’t ever talk about it. Not even Atty knows the whole truth.
Trembling, I climb into his lap, taking care not to lean back or put too much weight on his chest.
Once I’m settled, he hooks his chin over my shoulder. “Okay?” he murmurs, the word quiet and timid, like he knows this is all extremely risky.
What he said rings true: we’ve kept this secret for long enough and neither of us has fared all that well with it. Maybe it’s time to try a different way forward.
I nod, then rest my head against his. We sit like that for a few breaths.
For the final seconds before we aren’t the only people who know the details of that fateful day.
We never told Atty the mechanics of who did what and how everything happened.
I’ve never shared my narrative of the events with anyone, ever.
Once we open up to Mercer and Noah, everything will change.
As if he can read my mind, Ty brings his lips to my ear. “It’s okay, mon ange. We’re okay.”
It’s a lie we’ve been telling each other for years.
It’s a lie I desperately wish could be true.
I nod and sit up in his lap, encouraging him to go on.
“My father killed Sawyer’s parents,” he says.
“Both of them. They were my legal guardians. The Davvies family took me in when I was eleven. They were the only adults who ever saw me as a human. I wasn’t a case number, or a troublemaker.
I wasn’t a hockey player or another mouth to feed.
To them, in their house, I was just a kid. ”
Ty’s voice trembles on the last few words.
A deep, noxious ache twists my insides. He loved them so much, and they loved him.
He drags his hand over my hip and settles it on my stomach, holding me steady.
“My father murdered them. In their own home. It happened a few days before my eighteenth birthday. Money is the only motive that ever made sense. But we’ll never know for sure why he did it.”
I hold my breath and dig deep for the strength to get through this. Or at least to dissociate while he does.
“We found them,” he chokes out. “Sawyer’s parents were both dead by the time we got home, but my father wasn’t. He was hurt and drunk, but he was very much alive.”
Inside, I’m frozen. Hollow. Detached. Successfully checked out of the conversation. I pick up my mug of coffee, letting the heat from the ceramic seep into my fingertips and warm me from the outside.
“My father was just coming to when we found him in the study. He was on the floor. He and Mr. Davvies had clearly been in a struggle.”
Atty and Ty had gone into the room long before I arrived on the scene.
Snapshots of my mother and chocolate frosting and glistening pools of blood dominate my memories from that day.
It’s rare I think about anything except my mom, the hallway outside my dad’s office, and that last part of the night.
When I wrapped my arms around Ty and pulled the trigger.
Ty’s body is rigid as he says, “My father was trying to get up when we found him. Then he threatened Sawyer.”
A rumbling growl comes from Noah’s side of the table. The charged silence is back now, too, as the guys’ protective compulsions activate.
I only vaguely remember Tytus’s father threatening me.
I believe he did, but so much of that day lives in compartmentalized flashes and soundbites in my mind.
I never allow myself to fully sink into the memories, for fear that if I let myself go back there, I’ll never resurface.
They’ve faded into background music that’s constantly playing but indescribable.
The memories have become inescapable haunting melodies that are just part of who I am.
“Your father—” Mercer starts. “He had a history of violence?”
“He was mentally, physically, and psychologically abusive,” I offer, knowing this part will be exceptionally hard for Ty.
I peer back at him, taking in his hard-set eyes and the way his jaw works back and forth. I search his face, asking the unspoken question. Can I tell them more?
This was his idea, after all. But I don’t want to overshare or provide information Ty would rather Mercer and Noah didn’t know.
His Adam’s apple bobs, then he nods.
I sit up straighter, steeling my shoulders.
They need to understand the severity of the situation, but the faster I get through this, the better.
“Ty’s dad used to force him into a metal kennel.
He’d lock him up for days, deny him food and water.
He’d cover the kennel with blankets when he didn’t want to deal with him.
Sometimes he’d flip over the cage without warning.
He still has scars from where the grates pressed into his skin and created sores. ”
Ty’s hold on my stomach tightens. I place my hand over his, smoothing over his knuckles until he spreads his fingers and lets me hold his hand.
“His father abused him for sport, but when authorities stepped in, he fought like hell to keep custody. He didn’t give him up willingly. Ty went through…” A wave of grief washes over me. “He went through a lot just to get away from his abuser.”
A heavy silence surrounds us.
It hurts. Sitting here, casually sharing our darkest truths. But I focus on my breath, keeping my inhalations slow and steady.
We survived that night.
We can survive this, too.
Mercer clears his throat. “So when you were stuck in the storage locker…” His cheeks are soaked with tears, the realization of the extent of the damage he caused finally starting to sink in.
Ty keeps his head down, his body tensing beneath me, chest shuddering with each breath.
I squeeze his hand. “We’re okay.”
He nods, but he doesn’t lift his head.
Noah sighs. “So that’s where the marriage bit came from. If the authorities believe you’re married, you wouldn’t have to testify against each other, if it ever came to that.”
I still.
That’s not where the marriage bit came from.
But discussing Ty’s abusive father and the trauma we endured together when we killed him has caused enough pain. We don’t need to rehash Ty’s darkest delusions. At least not right now.
Ty took things too far with the whole marriage bit, and it’s going to take time and concerted effort on his part to prove he’s not going to pull shit like that again.
“Just so we’re all clear, you’re not actually married, right?” Noah asks, his voice low.
With a watery smile, I shake my head. “We’re not.”
“But that can’t be fact-checked or verified,” Ty adds. “Only the people listed on the marriage certificate can request a copy of it in the province of Quebec.”
I scrunch my nose. I didn’t know that, and I don’t want to think about why Ty did.
As if sensing my discomfort, he wraps his free arm around me. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, the words just for me.
The apology is a balm.
It doesn’t change what he did. It doesn’t erase the mistrust, stress, and dysfunction that he created when he spent weeks insisting I was his wife. As much as I wish there was an instant solution to the heartache we’ve both caused, a simple apology can’t magically make everything better.
But it’s a start.
“I think that’s enough for now,” I say softly. “Nothing we just shared excuses everything that happened over the last few weeks, but hopefully it sheds some light on what we’ve been through.”
“It does,” Noah quickly replies. “Thank you for telling us.”
I rise up out of Ty’s lap, making eye contact with him. “I’m going to lay down for a little while.”