Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
PRESTON
The room is dark when I blink my eyes open. At first, I can’t figure out where I am. Then it all comes back to me.
Thanksgiving at my parents’ house. The football. My face.
I’m in Sawyer’s room, and my head is propped up at an awkward angle with a pile of pillows. Sawyer’s next to me, fast asleep.
I lift my hand gingerly to my face. I’m all swollen and disfigured, and my sinuses feel inflamed. The painkillers must be wearing off.
Moving slowly, I slip out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, making sure the door is closed before flipping on the light. It’s bright and I wince, then hiss as the muscles in my face protest.
Bracing myself on the bathroom counter, I peer at my reflection in the mirror. My face is double the size of what it’s supposed to be. Black splotches cover my cheeks and eyes. The stitches in my lip pull uncomfortably. I look hideous.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes as I lower myself onto the covered toilet seat. I’m not even sure what I’m crying about. I don’t usually pay attention to my appearance, never mind actually care about how I look. But maybe I’m vainer than I originally thought because I’m ugly now.
Sawyer’s so perfect. Handsome and athletic. Charming and smart. Everyone loves him.
Meanwhile, I can’t even duck an incoming football. I’m not athletic or charming, and now I’m not even handsome. I don’t know how to socialize, and people think I’m weird.
I’m no match for Sawyer. I’m not strong or confident like he is. He knows who he is and what he wants and he’s not afraid of what other people think. He’s so sure of himself.
I’m not sure of anything. I don’t understand emotions, forget about expressing them out loud.
I don’t know what I want and have even less clue about how to get them.
I’m afraid of standing up to people, so much so that I’d rather sabotage my academic career than tell my parents that I don’t want to join the family company.
I’m not good enough for Sawyer. He deserves so much better than me.
“Preston?” A quiet knock sounds at the door before it’s cracked open. Sawyer slips into the bathroom, sleep-rumpled with his hair sticking up in all directions. “Why are you sitting in here?”
“Sorry for waking you,” I say. I sound nasally and my voice is slightly slurred.
“Don’t worry about that. What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
I shake my head and the tears stream down my cheeks at his kindness, his attentiveness. Sawyer is so good. So wonderful. What is he doing wasting his time with me?
“Babe, hey, it’s okay.” He grabs the toilet paper and winds a wad of it around his fingers. Gently, he dabs at my face, careful not to press too hard. He lets me cry and doesn’t try to stop me or force me to talk. He just waits until the tears dry up on their own.
“I know this sucks,” he says when I’m reduced to hiccups. “We’ll get through it, though. And I’m sure Madison will love to teach you how to use makeup to cover up the bruises.”
I shake my head again, and Sawyer sits down on the floor in front of me.
“What is it?” he asks, holding both my hands in his.
His fingers wrap around mine, firm and sure. He’s got tiny golden-blond hairs on his knuckles and his nails are cut short. His hands always make me feel safe. I love his hands.
My heart beats faster, drumming against my ribs so hard I can feel it in my face. I keep my gaze glued to our clasped hands as I whisper, “Why are you friends with me?”
Sawyer stills, his fingers tightening a fraction. “What?”
“Why are you—” My voice breaks, but I suck in a breath and force myself to keep going. “You’re so cool. You’ve got so many friends. Any one of them would want to be your best friend. I’m nothing compared to them. Why do you even bother with me?”
“Are you serious? What kind of question is that?” There’s a hardness to Sawyer’s voice that I’m not used to hearing. “Pres, look at me. Please.”
Slowly, I work up the courage to meet his gaze. What I see there takes my breath away. The blue-greens of his eyes are vibrant under the bathroom’s fluorescent lights. There’s such intensity in them, so much determination and fierceness it takes my breath away.
“Preston.” Sawyer’s voice is thick with emotion, and even though I don’t understand why, my eyes start tearing up again.
“I could never not be friends with you,” he says. “You’re so fucking smart. When you nerd out, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but your eyes light up and you become so animated—it’s captivating.”
Every word he utters hits me like raindrops falling from the sky. They hurt a little when they land, stinging and sharp. But then they seep through my skin, penetrate my bloodstream, and speed through my body, warming me from the inside out. I can’t help but squirm a little under the onslaught.
“You’re wonderfully honest. It’s a little brutal sometimes, but also super refreshing. There’s no guessing with you. You don’t try to be someone you’re not. You’re gorgeous. Beautiful.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, turning my head away.
“Yes, you are.” Sawyer takes my chin and nudges me to look at him again. “Even like this, you’re stunning. But more than that, you’re beautiful in here.” He flattens his hand against my chest. “Your heart is so pure, simple, and good.”
I sniffle. “Simple doesn’t sound good.”
“It is.” He laughs. “Simple, uncomplicated, unpretentious. Innocent. Wholesome. Good.”
Then he pauses with his lips parted, like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if it’s a good idea. “Preston—” He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Preston, I… I love you.”
I cock my head at his admission. From the expression on Sawyer’s face, I think it’s supposed to be significant, but I’m not sure how. He’s my best friend. Of course he loves me. “I know. I love you too.”
“No, that’s not—” Sawyer closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I mean, I’m in love with you. Like romantically.” The last word comes out a little strangled and it takes me a moment to decipher it.
Sawyer’s in love with me—romantically. That’s different from friendship. It’s more than friendship. It’s—Madison’s question from the car comes back to me. Are you together now? She meant whether Sawyer and I are a couple, dating, like I was with Madison in high school.
“Oh.”
Sawyer hangs his head and a dry laugh escapes him. “Yeah, oh.”
Am I supposed to say it back to him now? I love him as a friend, as a best friend. That’s never been in doubt and I just told him that. But do I love him more than that? Am I in love with him? I don’t know—what does that feel like? How do I tell?
Sawyer tilts his head and gives me a wry smile like he can hear the flurry of thoughts in my mind. “It’s okay, You don’t have to say it back if you don’t feel the same way.”
“No, I just… I’m not sure. I’ve never really thought about it.” I grip his hands tighter, hating that I don’t understand my feelings as well as Sawyer does, hating that I don’t know how to express them as eloquently as he can.
He loves me. I know it’s significant. I know it’s important. I just don’t fully understand what it means.
Sawyer bows his head, burying his face in my lap. Careful of my injuries, I place a small kiss on the back of his head. Silence stretches between us and with every second that ticks by, I feel worse and worse. Sawyer’s right about me being simple. But he’s wrong about it being a good thing.
“I’m sorry.”
Sawyer shakes his head and slowly tilts it up to meet my gaze. “No, don’t be sorry. I don’t want you to say things you don’t mean. And if you need time to figure out how you feel, then we’ll make sure you have time.”
He rises to his knees, cups either side of my face with his hands, and presses a kiss to my relatively undamaged forehead.
“I love you, Preston Boyer. I love you enough to wait. For as long as you need. For eternity.”
We end up going back to bed, me topped up on painkillers and pillows buttressing me on all sides. Sawyer falls asleep while holding my hand and I follow as soon as the drugs kick in.
The next time I wake up, the sun is shining through the window and the spot next to me is empty. The bedroom door opens as I push the covers away and Sawyer comes in carrying a tray with two silver domes.
“Morning!” He smiles, wide and bright, and my breath catches at the sight. “Brought you breakfast. You must be starving. You didn’t have dinner last night.”
My stomach grumbles in agreement. I follow Sawyer to the little sitting area by the window and sit on the loveseat when he nods at it.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Okay, I think.” The painkillers I took in the middle of the night are wearing off again and the space behind my eyes is starting to ache.
“Take this.” Sawyer hands me a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, then shakes out my medication onto his palm.
Once I’ve swallowed down the pills, he lifts the silver domes with a flourish. Each plate is artfully arranged with a fancy rolled omelet, cubed hash browns, and a mix of fruit.
Sawyer takes the glass of juice from me and replaces it with a plate and fork. He’s just settling in beside me with his own plate when there’s a knock at the door.
“Hello? You guys decent?” Madison’s voice calls out.
“Yes, you can come in,” Sawyer calls back to her.
Madison strolls in, already dressed for the day, hair and makeup perfectly done. She drops into the armchair opposite us.
“How’s your face?” she asks me.
“I’m okay,” I mumble, nibbling on a piece of omelet.
Madison sighs. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but your dad is an ass.”
My gaze darts from the plate to Madison, eyes growing wide at the annoyed expression she’s wearing.
“Hear hear,” Sawyer mutters before shoving potatoes into his mouth.
“Why do you say that?”
Madison waves her hand in the air like the answer should be obvious. “Because he is. And I don’t just mean the whole football situation. That’s just a symptom of the underlying problem.” She leans over the low table between us and snatches a strawberry from my plate.
I’ve only had a few bites of food, but my appetite vanishes. “What underlying problem?”
Sawyer shifts and clears his throat. When I glance at him, he’s glaring at Madison.
“He can’t keep living like this,” she says to him, doing that thing again where they’re talking about me like I’m not here.
Sawyer doesn’t respond, just scowls as he takes a giant bite of omelet.
“What is it?” I ask again, a familiar frustration bubbling up inside me. Maybe it’s the side effect of the medication, but instead of pushing it down like I normally do, this time, I let it out. “You can tell me!”
My outburst stuns them both into silence.
“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here,” I say in a more subdued tone. “I’m not a child. I can handle it.”
Madison’s expression grows contrite and Sawyer moves to set his plate on the table.
“You’re right, Preston,” Sawyer says. “You’re not a child, and we shouldn’t talk about you like that.”
“Sorry,” Madison offers.
“I’m sorry too.” Sawyer lifts his arm and lays it across the back of my shoulders. Even though I just said I wasn’t a kid, I still lean into him, taking comfort in his touch. Sawyer kisses the top of my head. “Madison and I kind of disagree on something.”
“What thing?”
“Standing up to your dad.” Madison gives a little shrug. “Or both your parents. I think you need to but Sawyer…”
“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” Sawyer says, cheek pressed to my hair.
Madison rolls her eyes. “But that’s life! We all have to do things we don’t want to do!”
“Mr. Boyer isn’t that easy to stand up to,” Sawyer argues back. “He doesn’t listen to anyone.”
“I didn’t say it’d be easy!” Madison throws her hands in the air. “He’s a prick. Of course, it’s not going to be easy.”
I don’t need to see Sawyer’s face to know he’s glowering at her.
“Pres, what are you going to do? Stay in school forever so you never have to join your dad’s company? Or, god forbid, actually take a job there and be fucking miserable for the rest of your life? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’d suck at any job they give you.”
“Mads!”
“I’m just laying it out there.” Madison gestures to my face. “This football bullshit? Do you really think it would’ve happened if Preston had just told his dad to piss off?”
Sawyer doesn’t respond, which means he thinks the answer is no.
“Pres, you just said so yourself. You’re not a kid. You can handle it.”
Sawyer’s arm tightens around me, and I start chewing my lip, remembering too late that it’s injured. I did say I could handle it, but I meant with Madison and Sawyer.
Standing up to Dad is something else entirely, something I’ve never been able to do. I wouldn’t even know where to start. He’s always been so forceful and imposing, and he always gets his way.
Your parents just want you to be happy. Mrs. Paige’s words come back to me.
What if I tell them outright I want to stay in academia rather than delaying the inevitable by applying for one program after the next? What if I refuse to join Boyer Pharmaceuticals and stop pretending to go along with their plans?
Will they be happy about that? I want to believe they would be, but a lifetime of experience tells me they won’t.