Chapter 52 Sawyer
Chapter fifty-two
Sawyer
By the time our guests left the orchard, the snow had stopped. By then, we’d already received notification from the school declaring that campus is officially closed for the week.
Since we have no reason to rush back to school, Tytus and I agreed to stay another couple of nights.
He has an evaluation with the head athletic trainer on Thursday where they’ll assess his recovery and talk next steps.
His hope is that he can get back out on the ice when the rink reopens next week.
After discovering that his teammates had been concerned about his whereabouts, he made sure to check in with his coach as well.
This storm has been a massive disruption in a lot of ways, but I, for one, am grateful for it.
Life won’t always be perfect. We’ll have our ups and downs, and the four of us still have so much to navigate. We’re bound to stumble and backslide. Progress isn’t a one-way street, and we all have significant work to do on ourselves if we want to keep growing as a unit.
It’s the commitment to try that means more to me than anything. It won’t be perfect. It’s bound to be messy. But as long as the four of us are unwaveringly and profoundly committed to making this work, I have faith we can do it.
I finish my reheated cup of coffee, rise up from the kitchen table, and rinse the mug in the sink. Shiloh trots after me, nudging my hand until I put the mug in the dishwasher, squat down, and give her the head scratches she craves.
The house is quiet now that all our friends have cleared out.
Tytus mentioned needing to catch up on schoolwork, and Mercer immediately offered his room as a workspace and insisted Ty use his laptop.
It’ll keep him from having to traverse up and down the stairs more than necessary.
It’s satisfying, watching the two of them get along.
The novelty will wear off eventually, but for now, I’m reveling in the gentle domestic bliss we’ve stumbled upon.
Merce has a virtual session with his therapist this afternoon and plans to take the appointment upstairs.
I’m not sure where Noah’s hiding, but there are still chores to be done around the property, even during a snowstorm.
I trail down the long hallway, walking past Mercer’s door quietly to avoid disturbing Ty and slowing in front of the gallery wall of Meg’s photos.
Carefully, I trace the delicate wing pattern of one of the bees.
The macro shot is so detailed that each line and junction in the translucent wings is visible.
There’s an understated grandeur to all of Meg’s art.
These images alone tell me that no detail was ever too small or insignificant for her lens.
That level of appreciation feels sacred.
What’s easy to overlook is often the most striking representation of life.
Despite never knowing her, I feel a kinship to this woman. She loved Noah so deeply. Mercer, too, by the sounds of it. I never want to let her memories fade.
I trace the body of the honeybee, making a mental note to find out exactly when Meg died.
I want to be prepared to support my guys as best as I can during that time.
I also need to talk to Tytus about Noah’s loss.
It’s better if he’s aware. While Noah has been steadfast this weekend, holding this group together in significant, essential ways, he’s human, and he’s hurting.
We have to hold space for him when he hits an inevitable low.
A throat clearing at the end of the hall breaks me out of my reverie.
Shiloh, who’s been sniffing at my feet, scurries over, eager to greet Noah.
He’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest, focus fixed on me and expression gentle.
“She would have loved you.” With a low laugh, he shakes his head. “I know that’s an odd thing to say. I wouldn’t have even met you. I mean, I would never…”
I close the space between us and push up on my tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his lips. “I know what you mean,” I assure him. “And I love you, too.”
I’m done holding back. Life is short. Relationships are complicated. But there’s nothing timid or fleeting about my feelings for this man.
“I love you so much, honey.” He weaves his hands into my hair and kisses me again. “So, so much,” he emphasizes when he pulls back.
I sink into his hold, pouring every ounce of hope I possess into our embrace.
Keep me.
Love me.
Thank you.
Let me be here for you, always.
When we break apart, he cups my face and traces the freckles on my cheek with his thumb. “I’m heading out for a little bit. Since your friends said the roads were clear, I’m going to check on Edna. Want to come with me?”
Always.
Forever and always, I want to be with this man.
“I’ll tag along,” I reply. “Let me give Mercer and Tytus a heads-up so they know where we’re going. Give me five minutes?”
“I’ll find some layers that’ll fit you,” Noah says. “We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.”