Chapter 7
Sawyer
When Bruce asked me and Quinn to come over on Saturday morning and help set up for the party, we were more than happy to lend a hand. Tanner and I had already promised to help McKenna and Reeve with decorations, which meant I’d be at the Parsnip anyway. And heck, I love a party. But I especially love a party that Ivy Caswell will be attending because I love Ivy Caswell.
I think I’ve been in love with her since I was a little kid, and my feelings for her only deepened during the summer we spent together. And yes, I felt the heartbreak of loss after that summer, but if the kisses we’ve been sharing on stage this week are any indication, the feelings we shared are still very much alive. I just have to figure out a way for those kisses to happen outside of the theater in real life.
And what better opportunity to tip the scales than at a party? Good music, strong drinks, tasty food, and a slow dance sounds like the perfect recipe for Ivy to find herself by my side, in my arms, and hopefully, one day soon, back in my bed where she belongs.
“Dear boys!” says Bruce. “We need a dance floor. Use those muscles to move these tables!” He turns his attention to McKenna, who’s arranging centerpieces at the bar. “Oh, my stars! These are just gorgeous…”
“You get that side, and I’ll get this one,” says Quinn, picking up the lip of a large six-person table.
We move it to the side, then bring the chairs over and push them in.
“Hey,” says Quinn, looking atypically sheepish.
“What?”
I swear to God, if he’s been giving Parker a hard time, I’m going to—
“I heard from Connor.”
“Who?”
“My friend in Juneau. The one we asked to—”
“—keep an eye on the douchebag!” I finish for him. “Right! I almost forgot. What did he say?”
Quinn winces as he pulls his phone out of his back pocket. “It’s not good for your girl.”
And this is how I know I love her—that I really, truly love her. My heart drops. I don’t feel happy or victorious to hear that Clark’s cheating on Ivy. I feel rage. I feel frustrated. I feel a jolt of intense sadness for her.
“Tell me, Quinn.”
“I’m forwarding the pics to you now.”
My phone dings a second later, and I swipe open Quinn’s text. Scrolling down, I feel my stomach drop, and my blood start to boil. There are at least a dozen pictures of Clark Clement Rupert III with six different women. In the first of each duo, he’s talking or drinking or dancing with her, and in the second, he’s got his tongue down her throat and his hands on her body.
“This guy’s a serial cheater,” says Quinn, his voice heavy. He clears his throat. “I don’t know whether to say I’m sorry for her or happy for you.”
“I’m not happy,” I tell him. “This guy has her—she’s his fiancée, for god’s sake—and he’s throwing it all away? For what? A piece of ass here and there? Fucking idiot. He has a goddess ,and he’s cheating on her with…with…”
“Everyone,” supplies Quinn.
I scroll back quickly, then look closer at each duo. “Yeah. Looks that way.”
“Sorry, man. He sucks.”
I look up at my oldest friend. “Do I tell her?”
Quinn exhales a deep breath and shrugs. “Don’t ask me, man. I don’t know.”
“Who sucks? And tell who what?”
Apparently, Reeve has been standing behind me, eavesdropping in her usual annoying way. I look at her over my shoulder.
“Have you ever heard of privacy?”
“I’m the youngest of six siblings. What do you think?”
“Hey, Reeve,” says Quinn.
“Hey, jerkface,” says Reeve, looking up at my friend, who’s at least a foot taller than she is.
Reeve has balls. I’ll give her that.
“You’re so fuckin’ rude,” he says.
“Don’t swear at her,” I warn him.
“You and your sisters are—”
“Watch it, Morgan,” warns Tanner, who appears out of nowhere, putting a beefy arm around Reeve’s shoulders. My older brother glances at me, then back at Quinn. “You’re big, but you can’t take us both.”
Reeve crosses her arms and gives Quinn a shit-eating smile. “You were saying?” Quinn smirks at Reeve. “…such charming young ladies.”
“Shut up, Quinn,” she says, giving him a noogie in the arm. As he rubs the spot that will likely bruise—Reeve gives a mean noogie—she turns to me. “Now, spill it. Who sucks? Besides you two, of course…”
“Ha ha,” I deadpan. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Clark Rupert sucks.”
“Duh.” She shrugs. “Everyone knows that.”
“Clark Rupert the congressman?” asks Tanner.
“You mean lieutenant governor,” I correct him. “And no, not him. His son.”
“Oh!” says Tanner. “The douchebag from TikTok?”
Reeve nods approvingly at Tanner. “That’s the one.”
“What did he do now?” asks Tanner.
I hand over my phone. “More of the same. He’s cheating again.”
“Oh, wow!” says Reeve, leaning in to look at the pictures as Tanner scrolls through them. “What an asshole.”
As Tanner scrolls, he works his jaw. The pictures are pissing him off. And he barely knows Ivy. Finally, he hands me back my phone.
“I know she did you dirty last year,” says Tanner. “But that’s bullshit, right there.”
I nod. “Yeah. It sucks.”
“Are you gonna tell her?” asks Reeve. “You have to tell her.”
“Shut up, Reeve,” I say, shifting my gaze to Tanner. “Should I tell her?”
Tanner grimaces. “Shit. I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?” asks McKenna, who appears at Tanner’s side.
Tanner puts his arm around his wife, grinning down at her adoringly. Before he can answer her, Reeve peeks around Tanner’s chest. “Sawyer hired someone in Juneau to follow Clark around, and it turns out he’s been cheating on Ivy. We saw the photos. Should he tell her?”
McKenna’s face falls. “Oof.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Oof.”
“What are you gonna do?” she asks me.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s pretty cool that you hired someone to follow him,” says Tanner. “Baller move.”
“He didn’t,” says Quinn. “I had a buddy of mine do it.”
“Look at you, doing something nice for once,” says Reeve, all sassy.
Quinn’s reputation as Parker’s biggest tormentor in elementary and middle school has never really been forgiven by my family.
“I’m not that bad a person,” he whines.
“Yeah, you are,” says Reeve. “Just ask Parker.”
“What are you going to do?” asks Tanner.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I have to give it some thought.”
“You’re in a tough spot,” says McKenna. “She’s going to be upset either way. You invaded her privacy by having him followed. And what you found out is really going to hurt.” She leans closer to Tanner, resting her head on his chest. “It’s a pickle. Sorry, Sawyer.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s a no-win—”
“People!” cries Bruce, entering the Parsnip with shopping bags from the local hardware store. “Why are we just standing around doing nothing? We are hours away from a gala!”
Reeve and McKenna head back to the bar to finish their centerpieces, and Tanner climbs back up on the ladder to keep stringing lights. Quinn lifts up a small table and finds a new spot for it, and I follow after him with the chairs.
But my heart is heavy.
McKenna’s right.
It’s a pickle.
***
Eight hours later, I’m back at the Parsnip for the party, and the only thing I’ve decided is that I’m not saying anything tonight. Tonight’s a rare opportunity for me to spend time with Ivy outside of rehearsal, and I’m not ruining it by dropping a bombshell on her.
Clark’s a cheater. He’s always been a cheater, and he always will be a cheater.
That sort of incendiary information will keep for another day.
I’m standing by the bar, nursing a beer and waiting for her, when she walks through the Western-style double doors with her uncle and cousins. I push away from the bar to meet her, watching her face brighten with a smile the moment she sees me.
“Sawyer!”
“Hey, Ivy,” I say. “You look beautiful.”
She’s wearing jeans and a cream-colored wool sweater with a flannel collar peeking out from underneath, the pink and tan of the plaid like peaches and cream against the delicate skin of her neck.
“It’s just jeans and a sweater,” she says with a shrug, but her smile tells me she’s pleased with my compliment.
“Hey, Coach,” I greet her uncle. “Hi, girls! There are punch and cookies over by the dance floor.” Jenny and Vicky head for the sweets, and I turn back at Coach Caswell. “How’s Mrs. C. doing?”
“Better and better, Sawyer,” he tells me. “Thanks for asking.”
“She’s on target for remission,” adds Ivy. “Starts her last round of chemo the Friday after Thanksgiving.”
“Amazing news!” I say. “I’m happy for you, Coach. And for Mrs. C.! Let her know I was asking about her, okay?”
“You got it,” he says, spying Quinn’s mom and dad at a nearby table. “I see Skip Morgan. Catch you kids later.”
As he sidles away, I turn back to Ivy. “Hi, again.”
“Hi, again,” she says, her cheeks flushed and rosy from the cold, or the party, or maybe even from being close to me. We sure have been kissing a lot lately.
“Want a drink?”
“Sure,” she says, letting me lead the way to the bar.
At the Fish Company last week, we drank beer, but I know from spending time with her that she also likes a cocktail now and then.
“What’re you drinking tonight?”
“Hmm.” She props her elbows on the bar, her eyes flicking over the bottles of liquor before returning to me. “Something fun! How about…a French martini?”
“Fancy!” I say. “What’s in that?”
“Vodka, Chambord, and pineapple juice.”
“What’s Chambord?”
“A French liqueur. Raspberry-flavored.”
“Sounds great!” I say. The bartender stops in front of me, eyebrows raised. “Two French martinis, please?”
“You got it,” she says, grabbing a martini shaker. I turn back to Ivy. “I haven’t seen you since Thursday’s rehearsal. How’ve you been keeping busy?”
“Hmm. I’ve done about a thousand loads of laundry, gone grocery shopping twice, cleaned the house, made two dinners, and worked for four hours on Friday morning. Did I tell you I got a job?”
“You did?”
She nods. “I work part-time at city hall.”
“Really? What brought this on?”
“Need.” Her smile fades. “My father cut me off. You know when I got all quiet on Monday night? I got a text from him. He froze my credit cards and bank accounts. He yanked my health insurance. He—he’s very angry with me.”
“For helping your aunt and uncle? That’s crazy, Ivy!”
She nods, and my blood boils with the injustice of her being punished for doing something good.
“He thinks differently from me. To him, I’m crazy for letting an internship slip through my fingers.”
“Well,” I say, “his values are really screwed up then and really different from yours. And mine, for that matter.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not backing down,” says Ivy, nodding in thanks when our drinks arrive. She slides the pink beverage closer, then carefully lifts the very full, y-shaped glass. “I got a job, and I’m staying in Skagway until Aunt P. feels better. That’s all there is to it.”
I lift my own drink and gently clink my glass against hers.
“To you, princess,” I say. “And to Mrs. C. I’m so glad she’s feeling better.”
The drink is delicious. The way she’s looking at me is even sweeter. And just when I think the moment can’t get any better, the band finishes a rowdy country song and starts playing a slow one.
“Dance with me?” I ask her, holding out my hand.
“Sure,” she says, taking it.
Bruce dims the lights for slow songs, and a bunch of other couples take to the dance floor, making it feel full and intimate at once.
I pull Ivy into my arms, looking down at her lovely face as the lead singer does a passable imitation of Neil Young.
“ Because I’m still in love with you ,” he croons. “ I wanna see you dance again. Because I’m still in love with you…on this harvest moon .”
“You know all the words?” she says, watching my lips as I sing along.
“I know them,” I say, pulling her closer.
She clasps her hands at the back of my neck, and I lock mine on her lower back.
“Who’s song is this?” she asks. “Who wrote it?”
“Neil Young,” I tell her. “One of my dad’s favorites.”
“It’s pretty,” she says, leaning her head toward mine.
I lean down until our foreheads touch. Her chest pushes into mine with every shallow breath she takes.
“ When we were strangers, I watched you from afar. When we were lovers, I loved you with all my heart ,” I half-sing, half-speak. I draw back a touch to find her eyes, to hold her gaze. We sway to the music, our bodies flush, our faces close. “ Because I’m still in love with you … I wanna see you dance again. Because I’m still in love with you…on this harvest moon .”
Suddenly, she blinks her eyes rapidly, her body losing the rhythm of our dance, and her hands unlocking. Her arms fall limply to her sides as she looks up at me, her face a mask of misery. I let go of her, and she bolts from my arms, beelining to the exit, and disappearing through the double doors.
“Damn it,” I mutter, chasing after her.
I find her on the boardwalk, several feet away from the entrance to the Parsnip, where a small group of folks are smoking and chatting.
“Hey,” I say, putting my hand on her shoulder to turn her around to face me. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes slam into mine, and she pauses for just a second before reaching for my face. Leaning up on tiptoes, she presses her lips to mine. As she whimpers into my mouth, my body finally catches up with what’s happening, and I grab her in my arms, holding her tight against me as our lips meet again. We gasp and pant, desperately trying to get closer. Her nails curl into my cheeks, and I turn us around, pushing her into the shadows, against the front wall of a business closed for the season. I press against her, wanting her to feel my hard cock, wanting to remind her of how it felt every time I slid inside of her. I reach for her face, threading my fingers through her hair, and she moans, rotating her hips into my erection.
“Ivy,” I whisper near her ear, licking the tender skin of her earlobe, then dotting kisses down the column of her throat. “Come home with me. Please, princess…”
“Wait,” she pants, lowering her hands from my face and flattening them against my chest.
“Come with me,” I murmur, my lips still skimming her warm skin. “Come with me.”
“N-No!” she manages to choke out, pushing me away.
I stumble backward, dazed and confused.
“We can’t! I’m—I’m not a-a…a cheater. I don’t…” She backs away from me, clearly horrified by what we were just doing. “I—I’m sorry. I’ve got to go! Don’t follow me, Sawyer!”
She turns and runs away from me, in the direction of her aunt and uncle’s house.
I stand still, my lips slick and my body on fire. I watch her go until I can’t see her anymore. Then I walk to my truck, swing my body into the driver’s seat with a frustrated grunt, and drive myself home.
***
Ivy
While we were kissing on the stage, no matter how steamy things got, I could tell myself that it was all in pursuit of art. It wasn’t me and Sawyer—it was Catherine and Heathcliff. It was a convenient little lie that allowed me to indulge my feelings for Sawyer and kiss him within the bounds of propriety.
But the way I threw myself at him tonight? The way I mashed my face into his and ground my hips against his…his—ohmygod, it was wanton. It was desperate. We weren’t on a stage. We weren’t Catherine and Heathcliff. We were Ivy and Sawyer. And I was kissing him like my very life depended on it.
There’s no way around it.
I’m an engaged woman who just kissed someone who is not my fiancé.
I cheated on Clark.
I’m a cheater.
And the right thing to do—the only thing to do—is to break off my engagement. I can’t marry one man when I’m obviously in love with another.
Because I’m still in love with you.
Truer lyrics were never written, it turns out. I’m still madly in love with Sawyer Stewart. There’s no way I can marry Clark Rupert.
I check my phone. I was barely at the party for half an hour. It’s just seven-thirty.
Early enough to get this over with , I think.
I grab my phone and click on the text icon.
ME:
Hey…are you around? Can we talk?
Three dots appear immediately, letting me know he’s reading.
CLARK:
I’m going out in half an hour, but sure. Is everything okay?
ME:
Give me two minutes, and I’ll call you.
My heart races unpleasantly, and I take a deep breath and close my eyes, trying to calm down before I dial his number. But I only feel more nervous as the seconds tick by. No matter what, this is going to be a giant shit show.
Just get it over with, I think again, tapping on his phone number.
It rings once.
“Hey, babe! You just caught me!”
“Hi,” I say. I clear my throat and sit up straight against the pillows on my bed. “How are you?”
“Um…fine.” He chuckles, matching my businesslike tone. “How are you?”
He’s making fun of me, and I get it. I’m being weird.
“I need to…um, talk to you.”
“Sure. Of course. Is everything okay, babe?”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s…Clark, it’s not you. You’re great. You’re fun and smart, and I know you have a great future—”
“Babe!” He laughs again. “It almost sounds like you’re breaking up with me.”
I gulp. “I am.”
Silence. More silence. Ohmygod, I think this is the longest silence Clark and I have ever—
“WHAT. THE. ACTUAL. FUCK, IVY?!”
His voice booms so loudly over the phone, I jerk it away from my ear and hold it a few inches away from my face.
“What are you saying? What are you even talking about? What the fuck? You’re breaking up with me?” he demands. “Are you out of your fucking mind? We’re engaged, Ivy. We’re getting MARRIED.”
“No,” I say softly, but firmly. “We’re not.”
“Your dad is going to SHIT,” he explodes.
My phone dings, and I swipe the screen to read an incoming text.
SAWYER:
Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.
I swipe the message away. I can’t deal with Sawyer right now. I’ll see him tomorrow at rehearsal.
“I’ll handle things with my father,” I tell him. “I’m sorry, Clark. I really am.”
“Fuck your sorrys. I don’t understand, Ivy. I sincerely don’t get it. You forced me not to cheat on you anymore, and I—”
“I…Wait. I forced you?”
“You made such a big fucking deal about Mandee, so I gave her up, and I—”
“I made a big, fucking deal about it?” I cry, righteous anger flaring up within me. “You were dick-deep in her, Clark! It was, in fact, a big fucking deal !”
“You know what I mean,” he says. “It didn’t mean anything. It was just a fling. It shouldn’t have mattered so much.”
“It did matter! I don’t want to be with a guy who cheats on me! I don’t want to marry someone who thinks cheating doesn’t matter.”
“It wasn’t cheating! It didn’t mean anything!”
“Then why did you do it?” I demand.
“I was bored!” he bellows. “You’re…you’re…vanilla. God, you’re so fucking vanilla. You’re a perfect choice for a wife or a—a mother. And your dad’s fucking awesome. But…you’re boring, Ivy. Sorry. You just are.”
Not gonna lie. This hurts. It’s painful feedback. I’ve never thought of myself as “boring.” Quiet, yes. Bookish, sure. But maybe if Clark had shared my interests instead of belittling them and laughing at them, he would’ve found me more interesting. God, we are so miserably mismatched, it’s not even funny.
“Clubbing and drinking and cheating on your girlfriend, and…and…and mooning people from the passenger seat of John’s car doesn’t make you interesting, Clark! It makes you an asshole. It makes you pathetic.”
“ I’m pathetic?” he yells. “You’re a poor little rich girl who’s got mommy and daddy issues and a giant STICK UP HER ASS.”
My eyes burn with tears, but I blink them back. I’m not crying. Not now. Not because of him. I won’t give him the satisfaction. No way.
Besides, he’s not wrong. I do have mommy and daddy issues. Of course I do—my shitty childhood ensured that I would. I barely know what a healthy parental relationship feels like, and I’ve really only seen one via my aunt and uncle’s example with my cousins. And I mean, I can work on that—on my “mommy and daddy issues”—but it’ll always be a part of who I am, like loving theater and caring about people who are kind to me and reading good books and feeling too much. And the sooner I can find someone who values me for who I am and respects my interests, even if he doesn’t share them, the sooner I’ll find myself in a loving, functional relationship.
“I’ll send the ring back certified mail,” I tell him.
“That little piece of shit? It’s worth peanuts. Throw it in the trash for all I care.”
I look at it, sitting by itself on the bedside table. I was sure it was real. Stupid me.
“Fair warning,” I say. “You should find somewhere else to live. My father said he’d throw us out of the apartment if I didn’t come back by January 1.”
“Oh. Great. Awesome. Now I’m homeless. You’re such a fucking bitch.” He pauses. “What am I supposed to do with all of your shit, Ivy?”
I have my favorite things in Skagway with me. My favorite clothes. My favorite books. My laptop and the phone that I now pay for. The only picture I have of myself with both of my parents sits on my bedside table. Anything else can be replaced. I don’t want anything from Juneau.
“Get rid of it,” I say. “Have Goodwill come and take it all.”
“I’m keeping Feisty,” he says, his voice thick with spite. “You can’t have her.”
“That’s only fair,” I say, though it makes me sad to think I’ll never see her again. “I haven’t seen her in months. She’s more yours than mine now.”
“Your dad is going to kill you,” he says, leaning into his meanness. He’s enjoying the thought of my dad and I falling further off the rails. What a sick fuck. “He had big plans for us. Big plans for Caswell Coal. You can bet your ass my dad won’t be helping with that ‘special’ legislation now.”
“What ‘special’ legislation?” I ask.
“Oh, shit! He didn’t tell you?” Clark chortles. “You’re so fucking stupid. Did you think he wanted us to get married because he thought we’d be happy? He couldn’t give a shit about your happiness, Ivy. He wanted a close, personal contact in the capital. Well, he can say sayonara to that, now. My dad’ll fuck coal legislation every chance he gets from here on out.”
If it was possible to hear a heart break, I’d hear mine crack and shatter right now because even though I thought I didn’t care about my father anymore, it turns out I did. And it hurts that he’d use me—that he’d encourage me to enter a shitty marriage—for his own material gains. I shake with fury and sadness.
“I have to go, Clark,” I say. “I’m sorry. Good luck to you.”
“Fuck you, Ivy,” he responds. “Fuck you very, very much. You’re just a—”
I tap the End icon.
The phone falls from my hand.
I curl up in a ball and stay that way until morning.
***
Sawyer is waiting for me outside of the theater the next evening, and he’s been there for a while if his pink cheeks are any indication.
“We need to talk.”
I nod. “I agree. We do.”
“Why’d you leave last night?”
“I had to. There was something I needed to do.”
“You’re not a cheater, Ivy.”
My cheeks flush with shame. “Last night I was.”
“He cheated on you ! Way worse than a kiss!” Sawyer bellows. “Right this second, he’s probably…”
“Probably what?”
He looks down at his boots and shakes his head, his jaw tightening and releasing. Tension . “Nothing. Forget it.”
I consider telling him that I’ve broken off my engagement, but I still need a little time to process what I learned about my father last night. He couldn’t give a shit about your happiness . The words have circled in my mind ever since, endlessly, brutally. Here I was, stupidly thinking that marrying Clark might heal something in my father’s heart, in our relationship. But now I have to face the truth. It’s possible, even probable, that my father doesn’t love me. Maybe he never learned how to love, or maybe he just doesn’t care. But if he doesn’t care about my happiness, it means I need to protect myself. Some people are toxic to you, and sometimes those people are your own parents.
“Hey…” Sawyer puts his hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just thinking.”
He stares at me for a second, and I get the feeling he’s gearing up to say something.
“Ivy…I feel like…I mean, I don’t want to miss my chance to make a case for you and me, but I suck at timing. If now’s not the right time…”
A wave of tenderness makes me sway toward him just slightly. Oh, how I wish I could bury myself in his arms forever, shut out the rest of the world, and never think about Clark or my father ever again. Sawyer notices my wobble and moves his hand under my arm, holding me steady.
“Should I be worried about you?” he asks me.
“I want to hear the case for you and me. I definitely want to hear it,” I tell him, reaching for his face with a mittened hand. “But can you wait? Just a little bit? I’m—I’m dealing with something right now…with my dad…and I need to process it before—”
“I’ve got you,” says Sawyer, gazing at me with so much love, I can’t believe I ever thought I could let him go. It seems unthinkable now. Unfathomable.
“I know you do,” I whisper.
Just then, a light snow starts to fall, tiny white crystals dotting his hair and my parka and the boardwalk at our feet.
“It’s snowing,” he says, grinning at the sky like a little kid. My heart squeezes with love for him. “First snowfall of the year.”
I smile at his face, because I’m fairly sure that Skagway’s first snowfall of the season has nothing on Sawyer Stewart enjoying it. Leaning up on tiptoes, I place a mittened hand on one of his cheeks and press my lips to the other. At some point, he covers my hand with his, leaning his face into my touch.
I love you, I love you, I love you , I think, before drawing away.
When I open my eyes and look up at him, his expression is sharp, intense, like he’s trying to figure something out. He reaches for my hand and pulls it away from his face, running his index finger over my mittened ring finger. My now empty finger.
His eyes, wide with an urgent question, flick back to my hand, and he tugs at the tip of my mitten. He pulls it off to reveal my naked finger. Blinking at it, as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing, he jerks his gaze to me.
I nod at him in confirmation.
“You’re not engaged?” he murmurs, his body tense as he waits for my answer.
“Not anymore,” I say.
His shoulders fall, but his cheat heaves with the force of his breathing, with the intensity of his feelings. Slowly lowering his head to my hand, he presses his lips to my bare finger, lingering there as he composes himself. When he looks up again, his eyes are bright and shiny, full of happy tears that I don’t think he can help.
“You’re free,” he says.
I’m yours , I think, though it’s too soon to say it aloud.
“I’m free,” I agree, giggling with happiness when he leans down and kisses my ring finger again.