22. Sawyer
CHAPTER 22
Sawyer
SLIP AND FALL
I lay down a blanket and tell Ava to relax while I set up.
Of course she doesn’t listen, and instead helps me set up a fire in the makeshift pit my brothers and I dug a few years back.
“Y’all come here often?” Ava carefully angles the larger pieces of firewood to create a little pyramid. Then she tucks the smaller sticks and bits of kindling inside the pyramid, careful not to overpack it.
“Before Ella was born, we did. Back when I had the energy to stay up past seven thirty. I mean, there’s not much else to do on a Friday night in Hartsville. Or any other night, for that matter.” My knees crack when I crouch to light the fire. “So you grew up on a ranch too.”
She grins, shaking her hair out of her eyes. “What gave me away?”
“The fact that you’re a barrel racer.” I nod at the wood, which crackles as the fire starts. “And that you know how to build a bonfire.”
“Gotta get that airflow going underneath the big pieces,” she says. “My dad loves a fire, even during the summer. I was very popular in high school because I could build a legit fire for our field parties.”
I grin. “I remember those. Good times.”
“This is better.”
“Much better. Now would you sit the fuck down?”
“Let me help you set out the food first?—”
“Sit.” I point to the blanket.
She tilts her head. “Sawyer, you’ve already done so much.”
“Ava, you started this date with my dick in your mouth. You’ve earned your rest, so sit your free-spirited self the fuck down.”
She laughs. “You really are very rude.”
“Yes ma’am, I am. Now sit, or so help me …”
She looks at me. I look back. I’m gripped by the fierce urge to grab her. Kiss her. Make her come again.
She got emotional a little while back. I don’t mind that. What I do mind is people lying about what they’re feeling. Covering up that shit, or sweeping it under the rug.
Ava, though, came right out with it. Her honesty, her vulnerability, is a nice change of pace. It’s also the world’s biggest turn-on. If she wasn’t starving and clearly in need of some food, I’d definitely be inside her right now.
I never knew I had this kind of stamina until I met Ava Bartlett. I barely need any time at all to recover when we’re together.
I wonder if your dick really can fall off from fucking too much. Guess I’m about to find out.
Rolling her eyes, Ava finally sits. “But I’m helping you clean up.”
“No you’re not,” I call over my shoulder as I head for the truck.
Patsy let me borrow a big wicker picnic basket, which I grab from my truck along with the reusable wine carrier Wyatt filled with several bottles that, his words, “are so good that they’ll definitely get you laid.”
He waved me away when I told him I didn’t need help in that department. “No pressure, but Ava’s a gem. Don’t fuck this up.”
Gotta love my brother for telling it like it is. He’s changed so damn much in the past few months, and it’s for the better.
I set everything down on the blanket. Then I run back to the car and grab my rifle from underneath the seat. Ava eyes it as I return to the fireside.
“Just in case,” I explain, double-checking that the safety is on before setting it down beside me. “We spotted a bear earlier this week. But it was about ten miles east of here, so it shouldn’t be anything to worry about.”
Ava’s eyes glimmer, reflecting the light of the growing fire. “That’s not terrifying at all.”
“I’m a good shot.” I pluck a corkscrew from the wine bag. “You wanna start with white or red?”
“Oooh, red, please.”
I open the bottle Wyatt told me to start with. Apparently you always drink the best wine first, because you remember it the most. A couple of glasses in, you might not care as much.
Or, in my case, you might be naked with your date by that point, so really, who gives a fuck what bottle you’re on?
Hold your horses, you horny bastard.
I’m wildly attracted to Ava. No question about that. Of course I want to fuck her tonight, preferably multiple times.
More than that, though, I want to get to know her. Learn her. Who she is, where she’s from, what her story is. Why she felt the need to bury her true self. The time we have together tonight—alone—is precious. As much as I wanna put my head between her thighs and stay there, we should talk.
I want to talk. Mostly because Ava makes me laugh. She also makes me feel like I can do no wrong. Conversation with her is effortless. Fun.
She also keeps it real.
So I pour us some wine and we cheers to the miracle of making it out on a date together, how many months after we first met.
Then I unpack the picnic basket.
“Sorry about the paper plates.” I set a pair out on the blanket. “Mollie was horrified, but I thought her grandmother’s china was a little much for our first date.”
Stretching out so that her legs are straight and she’s supporting her weight on one arm, Ava scoffs and rolls her eyes. “That’s it. I’m outta here. Paper plates? Really, Sawyer, what kind of girl do you think I am?”
“Hopefully the kind who likes fried chicken.” I lift the container out of the basket. “It’s my first try making it, so be kind.”
Ava blinks. “You made it?”
“From scratch. It’s Sally’s mom’s recipe. Patsy did give me a major assist. Ella did too. We also made this cheesy jalapeno corn bread that’s out of this world if I do say so myself.”
Ava’s smiling as she sips her wine. “What’s the secret?”
“Patsy jazzes up plain old Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix. You know the kind in the?—”
“Blue box?” Ava nods. “My mom uses the same thing.”
“Patsy adds eggs, sour cream, and a shit ton of butter and cheese. She swears freshly grated is best.”
Ava sits up, cupping her hand underneath the spatula I use to scoop a square of corn bread onto her plate. “You really went all out.”
“Mollie helped me mastermind everything. Please tell me you’re impressed.”
Leaning in, she kisses the underside of my jaw. “So impressed. Thank you. I feel very special and very hungry.”
I pile our plates with chicken drumsticks, thick slices of corn bread, and the bean and green onion salad I threw together earlier today.
Ava bites into the chicken and moans. “ Sawyer .”
“That’s the porniest sound I think I’ve ever heard.”
“That’s because this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten. Like, seriously. Wow.”
I tear into a piece myself. The coating is crunchy, just the right amount of flavor and salt, and the meat is perfectly cooked.
“That is good,” I say, taking another bite.
Ava sits cross-legged as she drinks her wine and cleans her plate. When I give her another plate, this one filled with a nice slab of brownie that I frosted with buttercream and drizzled with semisweet chocolate, she literally whimpers with delight.
She’s quiet as she eats. Can’t help but notice how adorably content she looks, wine in one hand, brownie in the other. The golden light of the fire catches on her eyes and hair, illuminating her against the darkness that surrounds us.
I’ve got a full belly. A happy woman beside me. A sky full of stars overhead, and a night to myself.
Have I ever been happier?
When can we do this again? Is a once-weekly date night too much? I’m not sure Ella would love it, but she’d definitely love having a daddy who’s happier, more patient. Maybe the girls could even join us once in a while. A family date could be cute.
All of a sudden, I wanna do everything.
Would my brothers hate me if I asked for more help? What if I asked Miss Caroline to babysit every Saturday night, a standing reservation of sorts? Ava and I could go riding. Go to The Rattler to dance. We could fuck in my back seat, make out in my bed. Cook a meal together. Watch a movie. Drive to Lubbock and go to the movies.
Now that I’m thinking about it, there’s so much to catch up on. Ava and I have had sex in almost every position under the sun. But I don’t know much about her family, or how she became a barrel racer, or why she transitioned into the role of a trainer. Why’d she pick the name June for her daughter? What’s her favorite color? Her favorite movie?
I can’t remember the last time I asked someone those questions. I feel like I’ve spent the past three and a half years buried in parenthood. I’m finally able to come up for air—I’m finally getting a taste of freedom again—and it feels fucking good .
The hard part is behind you. The good part is ahead.
“Really, I don’t get how you haven’t been wifed up yet. Or would it be husband-ed?” Ava wipes her mouth with a napkin. “You’re an incredible cook. You’re excellent at duck duck goose. You look super fucking sexy in all kinds of hats.”
I touch the brim of my Stetson. “Thank you kindly, Miss Bartlett. And you know, I’ve been a little busy raising Ella on my own. Her mom isn’t super involved, so …”
The light flickers across Ava’s face as she reaches for the wine bottle and refills our glasses. “You ready to talk about it? I totally understand if you’re not comfortable sharing that stuff with me, but I’m here if you need someone to listen.”
Sipping my wine, I lick my lips. Wyatt really does know his shit when it comes to this stuff. The wine is delicious, intensely flavorful but not too sweet. I like the mellow buzz it gives me too.
With a groan, I stretch out on my side, my feet toward the fire. Its warmth radiates up my legs. “Is this the part of the night where we tell each other things we’ve never told anyone else?”
“I’m game if you are.”
“How are you so willing to just, yeah”—I sigh—“go there?”
She laughs. “Go where?”
“You have no problem accessing your inner child. You can be silly, but you can also be soft. You’re not terrified of the past—the truth—the way I am. I’m not good at being vulnerable.”
Ava’s eyes take on a thoughtful gleam as they search mine. “Just the fact that you can admit that means you’re not as terrified as you think. But really, give yourself more credit. As parents, we’re rewarded for being overachievers, like you mentioned. We’re made to feel like the more we do, the better off our kids will be. It’s hard not to get stuck in the mode of just, you know, getting shit done. Becoming a taskmaster machine.”
I scoff. “I feel like that’s all I do, get shit done. From the second I wake up to the second I crawl into bed, I am checking things off the never-ending to-do list I keep in my head. Been that way since my parents died. When you stay busy, you don’t have time to think too much about anything, you know?”
“Aw, Sawyer.” She reaches for my hand. “Like you said, it’s been your way of coping. Try not to beat yourself up too much.”
“It’s not a healthy way of coping, though. Rationally, I know that. But tough to get out of get-shit-done mode and deal with your baggage when you live with a toddler.”
Ava nods, thoughtful. “As parents, we really have no choice. Shit does need to get done. But I get what you’re saying about how easy it is to lose our true selves in the busyness. I figured out pretty early that if I spend all my time doing , I feel super productive, but I’m also cranky and resentful and just … unhappy. So I try to let myself be a little less productive and a little more spontaneous—a little more fun. It’s what keeps me sane.”
“See?” I sip my wine. “You let yourself have fun. You’re able to just do that, no angst.”
“Oh, there was angst. I mean, it cost me my marriage.”
My heart dips. From what she told me earlier, I had a feeling her ex was a big part of why she felt the need to bury her wild side. “I’m sorry.”
Ava glances at the fire and lets out a long, low breath.
“It’s a long story. I understand if you’re not up for it.” She glances at me.
I choose my words carefully. “I’ve wanted to know yours since the night we met. I’m ready.”
Her expression softens. “Why are you so good?”
“Because you’re teaching me how to have fun, which makes me happy, which in turn makes me an excellent listener. Talk.”
She smiles, reaching over to give me a gentle push. “I don’t exactly follow that line of reasoning?—”
“Well, yeah.” I’m smiling like an idiot, and I don’t care. “Being around you kind of scrambles my brain sometimes.”
“Didn’t know I had that kind of power.”
“Oh, pretty girl, you absolutely do know that.”
Her eyes get this funny look in them. She doesn’t need to ask me if I’m one-hundred percent sure I want to hear her story. She knows I do.
That simple, silent exchange—the intimacy of it—has me short of breath.
“Okay. Where to begin?” Sipping her wine, she sets it down on the ground just off the blanket. Then she pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs, shaking her hair out of her face. “Dan and I—we were young when we met in high school, and we were young when we got married at twenty-two. I look back and wonder what the hell I was thinking.” Scoffing, she looks down at her legs. “I was so eager to play house, you know? I’d been working my ass off training during the day to stay on the circuit and then going to school at night, and I think I was burned out and looking for a place to land. Looking for an excuse to slow down.”
My heart thumps inside my chest. I don’t love hearing her say another man’s name. But I do love how insightful she is. Like me, it’s obvious she’s turned this particular stone over and over in her mind until its edges have been worn smooth.
“I get that,” I say. “College wasn’t in the cards for me, so I worked my ass off too. A lot of life happens between high school graduation at eighteen and turning twenty-two. I think you start to realize at that point just how tough adulting is. The monotony of it. Thinking, Shit, I can’t do this for another twenty, thirty, forty years. I don’t know if I can do it for another two .”
“Bingo.” She points a finger at me. “I loved racing, but I was struggling to break out. I was on the road a lot, and I missed so much at home. I have no idea how I got a degree, because I never went to class. I didn’t love my major, either, which definitely didn’t help. I mean, what was I supposed to do with a bachelor’s in business? Getting married, setting down roots—it seemed like the answer to all my problems. Dan and I dated all through high school, and everyone always assumed we’d get married. So that’s what we did. Yeah, he didn’t love the fact that I was a bit of a wild card sometimes, but I loved him so much that I was willing to try to be a little less ‘spirited,’ as he called me. A little more … I don’t know, good . Proper, the way a wife should be. A couple of years later, I got pregnant with June. We both wanted kids, so we were excited.” Her eyes get wet, and she looks away. “Really, really excited.”
I reach over and put a hand on her knee. I don’t say anything. Don’t think I need to. Ava knows I’m here, I’m listening.
“Things were ‘fine’”—here she uses air quotes—“before June was born. I did everything, but I thought that was normal. That’s what my mom did, you know? And I wanted so badly to be good to Dan. So I did all the cleaning and cooked all the meals and made sure all the bills were paid. I organized all our date nights. Managed all the relationships with our families. It annoyed me, but Dan worked a lot, so I kind of let it slide. Never mind the fact that I was working too while also going to school at night. Then I got pregnant, and I started to really notice just how skewed our marriage was in terms of workload. I distinctly remember being eight months pregnant and putting together June’s crib all by myself.”
“What?” Anger grips my windpipe and squeezes. “You shouldn’t have been lifting any of that shit. Where the hell was he?”
Ava shrugs. “Working. Where else? I finally got sick of asking him to build the damn thing, so I did it myself.”
“I have no words.”
“I had a lot of them, and they all started with the letter F .”
Leave it to Ava to find humor in a very dark story.
“Did he apologize?”
“He did. He promised to do better, but—spoiler alert—he didn’t. When Junie was born, the wheels just totally fell off on our marriage. I was still trying to do everything on my own, but I couldn’t.”
“No one can. Not with a newborn.”
“Thank God I had my parents. Well, my mom, really. I was drowning in resentment, and I begged Dan to help more. We’d get into these huge fights, both of us just screaming our heads off. He’d be a little more helpful afterward, but then we’d eventually settle back into our roles. I was the doer; he was the provider. That’s one thing I hadn’t expected when I got married and had a kid—all the unspoken expectations that came with being a wife and a mother.”
“I haven’t thought about it like that?—”
“I mean, marriage is kind of a trap for women. A cage that keeps you from flying too far or too high. Really, I found it to be the death of freedom.”
I blink.
“It’s why I never want to get married again,” she continues. “I had to sacrifice my freedom to keep my husband happy, and that’s a crappy bargain.”
Her words are like a punch to the chest.
“Wait. For real? You never want to get married again?”
She looks at me, her eyes going wide as the realization dawns. “Oh, wow, you definitely do, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah I do. I’ve never been married. Lizzie and me—she’s Ella’s mom—we never tied the knot. Hell, we barely even dated.”
“Talk about stories.” Ava raises her brows. “That sounds like one.”
I fight the crestfallen feeling taking hold in my chest. I am skipping many, many steps ahead here. This is my first date with Ava. It’s almost criminal to be thinking about marriage at this point.
Is it, though? Neither of us has the luxury of fucking around. We have kids. Demanding jobs. Lots of people rely on us.
I also know what I want at this point in my life. I want to have the kind of happy, respectful marriage my parents did. Have a family. Have more kids. Do it all with a partner who shows up and keeps her promises.
I want a partner who will stick around. Because this single-parent shit, it’s lonely. And hard. And I would never choose to keep doing it all by myself if I had that choice.
“Finish your story first,” I say, knocking back my wine.
Ava eyes me. “Are you all right?”
“Finish your story.”
“I mean, that’s pretty much it. I needed Dan to step up and help out more. He didn’t. Meanwhile, I quit racing because I couldn’t juggle everything. We went to counseling. Still nothing changed. I always had this secret belief that it’d be easier to raise June on my own, without having to worry about Dan and his feelings and his moods. I tried so hard to keep him happy. Keep him around. But the harder I tried to be the perfect wife, the more miserable we both were. So I let myself off the hook and moved out. Turns out life is easier when I allow myself to have some fun and put my needs first. Well, not easy?—”
“Oh, I know.”
“But better. Now here I am.” She holds out an arm. “I can honestly say I’m happier than I’ve been since before I got married. But Lord, it was a broken road that led me here.”
I squeeze her knee. “It led you to me.”
She searches my face. “How can we have such great chemistry when we want totally different things?”
“Do we want different things?” I resist the urge to refill my wine. Ava can drink all she wants, but I gotta drive. “Ever think it’s not marriage that’s the problem, but the guy you were married to?”
She tilts her head back and forth. “Yes and no. Dan was a shitty partner, no doubt about that. But I also think we’re all socialized to take on shitty roles without realizing it. No one talks about these things, but we live them day in and day out. Minute by minute. It’s really hard to undo all that conditioning. I’m not sure if it will be any different in a relationship where you’re not signing marriage papers. I hope it will be, but …”
“Do y’all split custody?”
“We do. Well, we’re supposed to. I have June during the week, and he’ll come grab her every other weekend. It’s about all he can handle, even though his parents help him out a lot when he has her.”
I slide my hand up her thigh. “I would die if I only saw Ella every other weekend.”
“I know you would.” She meets my eyes. “Most guys aren’t like you, Sawyer.”
“Maybe that conditioning you were talkin’ about didn’t work so well on me.”
“Maybe.” She searches my gaze, leaning in so her mouth is inches from mine. “Or maybe you’re just trying really hard to get laid.”
My eyes flick to her lips. “You’re distracting me.”
“Is it working?”
“You’re one hell of a distraction, Ava. Of course it’s working. I just wish you’d let me pick your brain a little more about all this.”
She extends her legs and lies down beside me. I roll onto my back and she cuddles up next to me, putting her head on my chest.
Above us, the sky is a clear, cold blanket of stars. Nothing quite like the show Mother Nature puts on out here in Hill Country.
“Start by telling me about you,” she says softly, drawing her fingertip across my sternum.