Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
PRESTON
“You’re wrong! Sawyer’s not nothing! He’s everything!” Words are coming out of my mouth, but the voice doesn’t sound like my own. It sounds commanding, intimidating, fierce. It sounds like Dad’s voice—but it’s mine.
Dad has said a lot of shitty things about me over the years, about my decision to go into academia, about my inability to live up to his expectations and be the son he’s always wanted.
It hurts, but I bear it because it’s easier to let it wash over me than try to confront him.
This time, though, he’s gone too far and I can’t let it go unchallenged.
I won’t let him say all those awful things about Sawyer. I won’t.
“Sawyer’s kind and thoughtful. He’s smart and strong and funny. He’s responsible and compassionate and never complains. He’s the best person I know.”
Mom’s eyes are wide with shock and Dad’s jaw is practically on the floor. I’m just as surprised, but for the first time in my life, I don’t have to struggle for words. They flow out of me like new neuropathways have suddenly flickered to life in my brain.
“He takes care of me. He makes sure I don’t work too hard. He protects me and never lets me down. Everyone loves him and wants to be friends with him, and he’s fucking hot!”
Dad’s jaw snaps shut as he grows red with anger. Mom closes her eyes like she’s trying to calm herself.
“He’s amazing and I’m not ashamed of him.
I love him. I’m going to stand next to him everywhere, every day, for the rest of my life, whether you like it or not!
” I stop long enough to suck in more oxygen.
“And not only that! I’m not working for you.
Not when I graduate. Not ever. I’m staying in academia.
I’m going to be a professor, and you can’t stop me. ”
Dad jumps to his feet to stare me down, his face so red it might explode.
For a split second, I cower, a trained response to his temper.
But then I steel myself and stare back at him.
He tried to attack Sawyer’s character. He tried to denigrate him.
I won’t sit by and let him get away with it.
I take a step forward, putting myself in front of Sawyer.
“No, you are not. You are my son and if I say you’re working for me, then you’re going to damn well work for me.
My father built this company out of nothing and he passed it on to me with very specific instructions.
It is your duty as a Boyer to take over when I step down and that is non-negotiable. ”
“Then I won’t be a Boyer anymore!” I have no idea where that comes from, but once it leaves my tongue, I know it’s the best idea I’ve ever had. “I’ll be a Paige!”
Dad really looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“I don’t need your name. I don’t need your money. I have a trust fund. I can take care of myself.”
Mom rises slowly to her feet and places a hand on Dad’s arm.
“I think we’ve had enough yelling for one morning,” she says, voice calm and soothing. “Preston, perhaps you and Sawyer can go cool off somewhere else.”
When she looks at me, there’s something surprisingly soft in her eyes.
Mom is so perceptive, so shrewd. She can dissect me with nothing more than a single glance, crack open my skull and analyze every awkward, uncomfortable part of me.
She always sees more than I want to reveal, but I’ve never felt truly seen by her until this moment.
She gives me a minuscule nod that seems to speak volumes. I think she understands. I think she’s trying to be reassuring.
Sawyer tugs on my hand and I follow him out of Dad’s office. Mom closes the door behind us. We don’t stop until we’re up in Sawyer’s bedroom again, and he collapses into the armchair by the window. He hunches forward, shoulders slumped, head bowed. He looks so defeated, so devastated.
No, that’s not okay. Sawyer’s not supposed to be crushed. He’s supposed to be resilient and confident and self-assured. I drop to my knees in front of him.
“Don’t listen to him,” I say, pressing my forehead against his. “Dad doesn’t know what he’s talking about. And besides, I don’t care about any of that. I only care about you.”
Sawyer chuckles softly, but it sounds a little pained. “I know you don’t care about that stuff, Pres. But it’s still hard to hear it laid out so plainly.”
“Well, Dad can… go fuck himself.”
This gets a genuine chuckle from Sawyer. He pulls back to look at me. He’s got such beautiful eyes. Blue and green swirls that dance in the mid-morning sun streaming through the window.
“I love you, Pres.”
“I love you too, Sawyer.”
“You weren’t serious about changing your name, were you?” He quirks his lips at the suggestion.
I shrug as I turn the idea around in my mind. “I kind of like the sound of Preston Paige. The alliteration is nice.”
Sawyer’s teasing smile dims and he’s silent for long enough that I second-guess myself.
“Unless you don’t like it. I just spat out the idea without really thinking. I don’t actually have to change my name.”
Sawyer smiles again and this time I feel the love shining through his eyes just as potently as I feel the sun on my skin.
“I like the sound of Preston Paige too. Maybe we can come back to it at some point.” He straightens then, taking a deep breath. “How about we go to my mom’s? I think we’ll both be more comfortable there.”
Mom’s in the foyer when Sawyer and I get downstairs with our bags. “Going to your mother’s?”
“Yes, she’s expecting us,” Sawyer says.
“I understand.” The smile Mom flashes at us is filled with resignation and sadness. “I’m sorry things unfolded the way they did. Your father… well, in the long run, I think this was for the best.”
Mom pulls me into a hug. Not the ones she usually gives where she holds my elbows and gives me air kisses. This one is a real hug with full-body contact.
“Give him time, Preston. He’ll come around.”
And suddenly my eyes are prickling with tears.
Mom steps back, her eyes also not entirely dry. “In case I don’t see you, have a wonderful Christmas.” She picks up a bag I hadn’t noticed sitting next to the door. “For you both, and your mother, Sawyer.” Then she leaves us to see ourselves out.
“That was… unexpected,” Sawyer says when she’s out of earshot. “I think she’s on our side.”
“Yeah, I think she might be too.”
I’ve never been to Mrs. Paige’s apartment before. She’s always come to my parents’ house or visited Sawyer in New York. But after the confrontation with Dad, I have a feeling I’m going to love her place.
The snow starts falling during the drive and by the time we arrive, there’s already some decent accumulation on the ground.
“The snow will be a good excuse to stay here for the night,” Sawyer says as he leads me from the car to the building. “Mom’s got a pull-out couch.”
Mrs. Paige flings open her door before we even manage to knock. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart!” She gives Sawyer a bone-crushing hug before turning to give me one as well. “And merry Christmas to you too, Preston!”
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Paige.”
She ushers us into her cozy one-bedroom apartment with the same type of enthusiasm I’m used to from Sawyer.
“Okay, you two get comfortable. I’m making hot cocoa for us.” She disappears into the little alcove kitchen and Sawyer leads me farther inside.
The place is small with a single space for living and dining.
Windows line the far wall, with a door leading out to a balcony.
Two more doors are tucked into a mini-hallway—one stands open, revealing a bathroom, so the other must be Mrs. Paige’s bedroom.
The walls are lined with photos, the furniture is well-loved, and there’s a warmth that makes me feel like I’m walking into a hug.
Beside the window is a large fake tree, already strung with lights, and a few wrapped presents sitting underneath. Sawyer crouches down, unzipping the bag with the presents we brought from New York. He adds them to the pile, along with the random ones Mom unexpectedly handed to us on our way out.
“Do you think she’ll like what I got her?” I ask in a whisper. I’m terrible at picking out gifts and Madison usually takes care of it for me. But this time, I wanted to choose something myself for Mrs. Paige.
Sawyer chuckles. “For the millionth time, yes. She’ll love it. You probably got her too much, to be honest. You’re going to make me look bad.”
“They can be from the both of us.”
Sawyer pauses, turning to look up at me from the floor.
The love shining from his eyes makes the love in my heart swell in response.
I’m still jittery from the confrontation with Dad, but as Sawyer takes my hand to plant a kiss on my palm, much of the tension melts away.
I’m safe here. I’m loved here. This is the only place I want to be.
“Hot cocoa!” Mrs. Paige announces as she brings in a tray with three giant mugs on it. There’s also a plate with several different kinds of cookies.
“Thanks, Mom.” Sawyer stands and takes one of the mugs, handing it to me before grabbing a second one for himself.
I wrap my fingers around the warm ceramic and bring it to my nose. It smells chocolatey and sweet, the top covered in a layer of mini marshmallows.
A picture on the wall catches my attention and I wander over to take a closer look. It’s an old photograph of a young Mrs. Paige and a man who bears a striking resemblance to Sawyer. In her arms, she’s holding a baby, bundled up in blankets.
“That’s the day we brought Sawyer home from the hospital,” Mrs. Paige says quietly.
“And that’s Mr. Paige?” Sawyer’s dad died when he was still a baby and he doesn’t really remember him. But it looks like Mrs. Paige has tried to keep his memory alive.
“It is. Sawyer’s a spitting image, isn’t he?”
I nod in agreement, then drift to the adjacent photo. This is one of Sawyer as a kid, on a tricycle, ribbons streaming from the ends of the handlebars.
“Oh god, please don’t look at those.” Sawyer groans from behind me.
“Do you want me to pull out the photo albums instead?” Mrs. Paige asks.
“No! No, that’s okay. The wall pictures are more than enough.”
“That’s what I thought.”
A smile tugs at my lips at their easy exchange. I’ve always enjoyed listening to Sawyer talk with his mom, and the teasing and banter that only comes with familiarity. I’ve never had anything close to that with my parents. I’ve only had tense, awkward exchanges and then… this morning.
There are more pictures of Sawyer as a child. He’s playing a sport in most of them—soccer, basketball, baseball. Then him in his rugby uniform from Westbourne. He’s got his arm around Mrs. Paige. It must be from one of the tournaments they won because he’s got a medal around his neck.
Then I glance at the next picture and gasp. Sawyer’s still in his rugby clothes, but this time he’s got his arm around me. I’m tucked into his side, with my face upturned to admire him. He’s returning look is doting and we’re both sporting wide grins.
This must have been taken in high school. But the way we’re looking at each other… there’s so much love. The camera has captured all of it. It’s so obvious, even to me. How did it take us more than a decade to realize what was between us?
Big, strong hands settle on my hips and I lean back against Sawyer’s broad chest. He kisses my temple.
“I forgot about that picture,” he says.
“I don’t remember it being taken.”
“We look good in it.”
I nod.
After a moment, Sawyer reaches up and takes the picture off the wall.
“What are you doing?” I ask, alarmed at him so casually removing the photo.
“I’m stealing it from Mom.” He shrugs and goes to stash the picture, frame and all, into his bag.
“Are we allowed?” I glance over my shoulder, but Mrs. Paige isn’t in the room with us.
Sawyer snorts. “Why wouldn’t we be allowed? It’s a picture of us.”
“But what about?” I wave at the empty spot on the wall.
“She’ll fill it with something else.”
“Fill what with something else?” Mrs. Paige comes back, carrying a large plastic container. She sets the container down on the floor and plants her hands on her hips.
“I’m stealing a picture of me and Preston.” Sawyer pulls the photo out to show her.
Mrs. Paige puts both hands over her heart. “I love that photo. And yes, you guys should definitely have it. It’s so lovely.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Paige.”
“You’re very welcome, dear.” She claps and rubs her hands together. “Ready to decorate the tree?”
She pops the lid off the container to reveal brightly colored ornaments in all shapes and sizes.
“Yes!” Sawyer jumps to his feet and rushes over. “Come here, Pres. You’re going to love this.”
He picks up a square frame made of popsicle sticks and decorated with little foam snowflakes. In the middle of the frame is a child’s scrawl that reads, “Merry Christmas!”
“I made this when I was, what… five? Six?” Sawyer asks his mom.
“Something like that.”
Sawyer holds it up for me to take. “Go on, you can put the first ornament on the tree.”
“Are you sure?” I stare at the square spinning on the string loop.
Sawyer gives me a lopsided smile. “How about we do it together, then?” he offers instead.
We turn to the tree and I gingerly take hold of the string. Together, we loop it over a prickly branch. It’s so simple, putting an old ornament on a tree with Sawyer. There’s no real meaning behind it. It’s not a tradition or ceremony in any way. And yet, it’s special.
“I love you,” I say, leaning into him.
He wraps his arms around me. “I love you too.”