Chapter 55
We talk on the walk back to his dorm, but not about anything important.
Mostly about Gus, who’s planning to visit before finals.
He shares a few updates on Wade and Cammie.
Tells me his mom has started dating, which he’s pleased and a little grossed out by.
We pass a few people once we’re inside Faber Hall, two guys who fist-bump him and one girl who gives me an envious look.
And then we’re alone. I browse around his room a little bit, even though I was in here earlier, noting the signed baseball on his desk and the Duomo di Milano postcard attached to the bulletin board.
Sawyer pulls a bottle of water out of the mini fridge, offering me one too.
I accept, mostly so I have something to do with my hands.
“I need to tell you something,” I say finally, taking a seat on the edge of his mattress.
His bed is neatly made. I bet, if I pulled up the comforter, the sheet edges would be tightly tucked.
Sawyer sits next to me. “You sound serious.”
“I am.”
“Okay.” He glances at the water bottle he’s holding, rolling it between his palms. “I’m listening.”
“Okay.” I blow out a breath. “Remember when I called you … after New Year’s? I was at a club, and I—”
“You were with your boyfriend,” he says flatly.
I swallow. “Right. Except I, uh, embellished that bit. There was a guy I met that night that I kissed; he touched me a little, and I … I couldn’t get into it.
I told him I was going to throw up so he’d leave, and then I went outside.
Called you. And also, you were right about Aaron.
Nothing happened with him at that party when we went upstairs.
I mean, we kissed once. But that was it. And I—” I risk a glance over.
Sawyer’s head is down, but he lifts it a little when I stop talking.
I swallow hard, glimpsing his expression. “You’re mad.”
He tosses the water bottle toward Wesley’s bed. It lands upright on the mattress, which is impressive, but I doubt he’d appreciate me complimenting his aim right now.
“Of course I’m fucking mad, Wren! You lied to me!”
“I know. I’m—”
“Earlier, should I have told you I was fucking Lillian? Is that what you want from me? Is this some fucked-up game to you?” He stands, shoving both hands in his hair.
I stand too. “No! That’s not—I wasn’t trying to—I was hurt, Sawyer.
I was hurt after New Year’s, and I was trying to get over you, and I thought that was what you wanted from me.
I thought you wanted casual, and I thought you wanted me to be unavailable, and I thought you would want me if you thought I’d moved on.
I’m not proud of it, okay? Both times, I was planning to go through with it, if that makes it any better. I didn’t make it up entirely.”
“Better?” He scoffs. “That makes it worse, Wren!”
“I can’t change it, Sawyer. I’m trying to be honest—”
“What else have you lied about?”
“Nothing.”
“You promise?”
“I mean, nothing major is coming to mind.”
He snorts.
“It’s not like we met tonight,” I say defensively.
“I’m aware,” he says tersely. “You’ve lied for years.”
“We weren’t even talking for two of them!”
“And whose fault was that?” he shoots back, which shuts me up fast.
Mine. It was my fault.
Silently, I sit back on the edge of his bed.
After a few minutes and a couple of long exhales, Sawyer does too. “Why are you telling me now?” he asks quietly.
“I wanted to be honest with you.”
True. But not quite what needed to be said.
I chew on the inside of my cheek a couple of times, then add, “And it felt like it mattered that you knew the truth.”
“And it didn’t before?”
“It didn’t seem like you cared before. Care in the way I wanted you to. And now, I thought … but maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s been too long or too much has happened or …” I sigh. “I just needed to tell you. You deserve to be mad about it. I’d be mad if you lied.”
“Figured it was because you’re my girlfriend now.”
My brain fixates on those last four words, not catching up to his teasing tone for a few seconds.
“You shouldn’t kiss girls hello,” I say. “Or they’ll all get that impression.”
“I don’t kiss other girls, Wren.”
He’s not teasing anymore. Sawyer sounds serious. Very serious.
“Since-since when?”
“Since you kissed me, in case you died.”
“But I—but that was … I said that … I kissed you the night we met.”
He nods.
“That was almost five years ago.”
He nods again.
“You … you’ve done other stuff—I don’t want details—right? Like, you’ve been with other people since we met?”
“No.”
I blink at him. “Don’t you dare fuck with me, Sawyer. Not about this. If this is your way of getting even because I lied about—”
“No, Wren. The answer is no. I haven’t kissed, sucked, licked, touched, fucked, done anything with anyone else since we met. If it wasn’t with you, nothing happened.”
“But …” I start crying. Not delicate tears. Sobs that shake my shoulders and don’t stop, even when I press my palms against my eyes.
Sawyer grumbles something I can’t hear over my hysteria, then pulls me onto his lap. Right next to my ear, he says, “Wren. Fuck. It’s fine. Forget I said anything.”
I cry harder, turning my face against his shirt, breathing in his scent and trying to exhale my frustration.
All this time, I was entirely convinced I cared more. That I’d always care more. That something was seriously wrong with me for only wanting one person, especially when that one person didn’t share the same mindset. I’m so relieved, so floored, that I was completely wrong.
I snuggle closer, my head nestling naturally against his shoulder, mouth even with his collarbone. I kiss him there first, then higher, working my way up the column of his throat, shifting so I’m straddling him.
“Wren. Wren.” His hands are on my cheeks, thumbs swiping away the salty tracks, expression concerned. “We’re not—you’re upset.”
I shake my head. As much as I can with his hands bracketing my face at least. “I’m not upset. I’m happy. Overwhelmed mostly.”
“Well, I’m confused.”
I exhale. “I spent years thinking I couldn’t move on from someone who never got attached to me. Finding out you never moved on either was … a lot.”
He scoffs. Grabs my hips, like he’s about to lift me off him.
“Stop,” I say, planting my hands on his chest. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Sawyer huffs. “Never got attached? I wasn’t sure what any of it meant, Wren.
I kept waiting for you to get bored. To forget about me.
To never come back. I was so certain I’d never get to keep you; I never let myself consider the possibility.
And the only time I did … you left like it was nothing.
You show up here, and I’m—what does it mean, Wren?
Are you here because it’s almost summer again?
Italian guys weren’t doing it for you? Fucking Pierre isn’t trying to get you back? ”
“Has it really—” My voice comes out hoarse, so I try again. “Has it really never occurred to you that I’ve been in love with you for as long as I’ve known you? And that I’ve spent all that time trying to figure out if you’ll ever love me back?”
If this was a fairy tale, he’d say it back.
If this was a fantasy, we’d already be naked.
But this is us, so Sawyer barks a low, disbelieving laugh before he says, “You loved me, Wren, when you flirted with my friends? When you left the day after I almost died? When you planned to fuck the guys you told me about and when you actually fucked—”
“I didn’t actually fuck anyone.” I drop my hands from his chest, sitting straighter.
“You want the full truth? I’ve never had sex with anyone else, Sawyer.
Every time it could happen, I’d freeze. And not because of what Third did.
Because of you. Because I’m yours, and you’ve never ever acted like mine. ”
I fight the urge to flee. To leave him alone with that knowledge rather than facing his reaction. But we can’t continue in this cycle. I need closure, one way or the other. For us to move forward or be final.
All I get is silence.
“I knew that would freak—”
“Remember when you said your degree was just something your family wanted you to get and you had no idea what you’d do after college?”
I scowl. “What does—”
“You said you didn’t have a plan after college. Is that still true?”
I nod stiffly, annoyed by him changing the topic.
He nods, too, meeting my gaze. Holding it captive. “Is there room in that non-plan of yours for me?”
The bed tilts beneath me. A flash of vertigo, another moment of falling when I’m certain I’m not. This time, there’s no chilly water to center myself.
But there is Sawyer. Under and around, catching me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “There’s a lot of room. All of it really.”
He smiles, a slow, steady one that spreads across his face and stays in place.
“I love you, Wren Kensington. I’ve loved you for a long, long time.
I love you so much that it scares me. So much that it took a while to wrap my head around the size of it.
And I’m really sorry for not saying it sooner. ”
I’m crying again, which is embarrassing. At least they’re gentler tears this time. I’m probably dehydrated; I never drank any of the water he gave me.
“I’m sorry too. I should’ve said it—”
“You did.”
I stare at him. “What?”
He smirks a little, reaching up to brush my hair off my forehead. “Last summer, the night you got wasted at Lucky’s, you said, ‘I love you,’ after I carried you up to your room.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were drunk, Wren. I didn’t know if you meant it, and you never acted like you remembered. But technically, you told me.”
“I meant it.” I give him a lingering kiss. “I”—kiss—“love”—kiss—“you.”
My lips move lower, sucking on the skin of his neck in one spot. Then another.
“I can just tell people I have a girlfriend. You don’t have to cover me in hickeys.”
“Shut up,” I say, smothering his grin with my mouth as I tug at his shirt. He helps me pull it over his head, and I start working on his pants next.