4. Sawyer #2
We stay for another hour after that. I learn that Ella grew up mostly in the city, that she has a complicated relationship with Ashford, that she fills silences with charm the way some people fill them with noise.
She asks about my mom, my job, and what I’ve been doing with myself since the accident.
She laughs and listens well and refills my water glass before I realize it’s empty.
And goddamn, I think I like her.
She’s not really who I came here for anyway. I know that now. Knox is the one who should feel my wrath.
Neither of us say Owen’s name again. We don’t need to. He’s sitting at the table with us anyway, in the chain around her neck and the questions I’m not asking and the answers she’s not giving. He’s present the way only the dead can be…everywhere and nowhere all at once.
By the time we hug goodbye on the sidewalk, I’ve accomplished one thing, even if it wasn’t the way I initially intended. It’s true. I don’t need confirmation from her lips.
Maybe I’ll do more, say more. But for now, I have her number saved in my phone and a standing invitation for brunch next week and the image of Owen’s ring burning behind my closed lids.
It’s ironic that he left both of us with rings that belonged to him. I want to be angry, or at least angrier, but I can’t find it in me. There’s just curiosity about her and Owen. And hurt, because how could he be so completely different than who I thought he was?
But mostly, what I feel for Ella has more to do with her current situation than anything that may or may not have happened with Owen. Does that make me a monster? Someone who’s lost her mind? Or maybe just delusional?
I’m halfway to my car when I hear heavy footsteps behind me.
“Thorne.”
I stop in my tracks. Of fucking course.
I turn around slowly. Knox is closing the distance between us, jaw set, eyes doing that thing where he’s memorizing every detail of my face before he’s even reached me.
He’s in a button down, tie loosened, pants wrinkled.
He looks like he’s been through some shit and came here straight after without stopping to put himself back together first.
Seeing him up close like this steals the air from my lungs. My legs feel heavy and weak all at the same time. I need to stay strong. To hold myself together, at least until I get back to the car.
“You’re following me again?”
“I was in the area.”
“Knox.” I narrow my eyes, bringing up the anger from my gut so it shows on my face.
“Yes.” He stops close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to hold his gaze. “I’m following you.”
At least he’s not pretending anymore.
“What do you want?”
He holds onto my shoulder and moves us against the brick facade, away from passing pedestrians. I stumble on a crack in the sidewalk but he keeps me upright. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing much. We had brunch.”
“Sawyer.”
“Brunch…you know what that is right? Overpriced coffee, eggs, mimosas.” I cross my arms. “She’s lovely, by the way. Really. You’re a lucky man.”
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I hold back a scoff.
“Don’t stand there and perform for me. Not you. Not after everything.”
Damn him for knowing exactly where to aim his words to make them hurt. I breathe out. “I didn’t say anything to her. About us. About any of it. Is that what you want to hear?”
He searches my face looking for the lie. He won’t find one. I’m telling the truth.
“Why not?” he asks.
That’s not the response I expected. It takes me back for a second. “Because after everything, I realized it’s not her fault. She’s not the person I should focus my anger on.”
He blinks in realization.
“You, though.” I take a step closer and jab him in the chest and it feels good to let some of it out. “You’re a completely different story.”
His eyes drop to the ground. There’s no comeback. He doesn’t defend himself, doesn’t redirect. He just stands there and takes it, which somehow makes me angrier than him fighting back.
“You lied to me.” I keep my voice low so the couple walking past can’t hear. “You looked me in the eye and you fucking lied.”
“Sawyer—”
“No.” I cut him off. “You don’t get to say my name like that right now.
You don’t get to do that thing with your voice.
” I press my back against the brick and cross my arms because I need something to do with my hands or I’m going to put them on him and I can’t do that, I refuse.
“In the hotel room. You said all the right things, and you had your hands on me, your cock inside me, and you knew. You already fucking knew what you were about to go downstairs and do.”
His jaw tightens and fists clench at his sides.
“Did fucking me make you feel better?” I ask. “Was that the plan? Get it out of your system before you go and do the right thing for the family?”
“That’s not—”
“Because that’s what it felt like Knox.” My voice almost breaks and I hate myself for it. I swallow it down hard. “That’s exactly what it felt like.”
He looks up at me and the expression on his face squeezes my chest. I wish I could slap it off. He doesn’t deserve to look at me like that.
“You want to talk about what it felt like?” His voice is rough in a way I haven’t heard before. “You want to have that conversation right here on the sidewalk? For every gossiping cunt in this town to hear?”
“I want you to admit what you did.”
“I know what I did.” He takes a step toward me and I hold my chin high. “I know exactly what I did, Sawyer, and I have to live with it every single day. You think I don’t—” He stops himself to breathe deeply. “You think any part of that was easy for me?”
“Why the hell should I care if your choices were easy for you? It’s always been easy for you to use me as collateral, Knox. I’m the idiot who let it happen again.”
He flinches and I can’t help but feel good that my words hit him deep.
“And while we’re talking about choices,” I uncross my arms and tilt my head slightly, “maybe ask your fiancée about the ring she wears on a chain around her neck.”
I watch the color drain from his face. “What ring?”
“Oh, and what happened to you telling me about the shit with Owen and her, huh? That another thing you said to placate me?”
“What ring, Sawyer?”
“Owen’s ring!” I yell, causing a jogger to turn and gawk at us.
Knox crowds against me, but I shoulder check him, pushing him back an inch. The jogger moves on, but Knox is still just standing there, quietly working through something.
“She’s wearing his class ring,” I say, lower now. “On a chain under her shirt.” I hold his gaze. “So don’t stand here and tell me you have no idea what was going on between them. Don’t insult me like that.”
“I didn’t know about the ring.” He shakes his head. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
“But you suspected what was going on.”
He doesn’t answer, which is its own answer.
“You read those texts with me, Knox.” My voice cracks on his name. “You sat at my kitchen table and you read them and you said—” I stop, pressing my lips together. “You said he didn’t deserve me. And then you walked out and you never brought it up again.”
“I was trying to protect you.”