8. Sawyer
Sawyer
Knox’s jaw is set in a way I’ve seen one too many times before. Fingers clenched around his phone, he moves to slide out of the booth.
I reach across the table and close my hand around his forearm.
He stops, straightening his back.
“Stay,” I whisper.
I know what happens if he gets up and puts physical distance between us. The night was just starting to feel like something real and I’m not ready to watch it end.
“Yes, sir,” he says to Moretti. He looks down at my hand on his arm. Then at my face. He covers his speaker with his hand. “I have to take this, Sawyer.”
“I know.” I don’t let go. “Just stay with me.”
For a second, I think he’s going to pull away, but he doesn’t. He sits forward a bit, phone still in his hand, and speaks without breaking eye contact with me.
“I remember,” he says, setting his lips in a hard line.
Moretti’s voice is faint, but I can make out his tone and there’s nothing friendly about it.
“I’ll speak with her.”
There’s a long silence where he’s clearly being talked at. His eyes leave mine and settle on the wall behind me.
“I understand what’s expected of me. Yes. She won’t be a problem.”
He ends the call and puts the phone on the table face down. Sounds around us go on like normal. The cash register beeping, Sally taking orders, outdated pop music coming from overhead speakers.
I let go of Knox’s arm, and pull my hand into my lap.
She won’t be a problem.
Why do I feel like he was talking about me?
The chicken finger churns in my stomach. I want to say something. Ask questions. But I know, by the way Knox looks alone, that it’ll be for nothing.
Sally stops at the edge of the table to grab our plates. “How about a slice of our homemade pie?”
“Yes—”
“No,” Knox cuts me off. “Just the check, please.”
Sally’s gaze lands on me, so I shake my head and give her a small smile. One that says sorry he’s being rude.
“I’ll be right back with the check.”
Knox doesn’t wait for her to return. He already has his wallet in hand, pulling out a hundred dollar bill.
“We should go,” he says, apparently done with the night and me.
There’s no reason for me to argue. What can I say? So I grab my purse and slide out of the booth, following him to the door.
Back outside, the air feels warmer than it did before, or maybe just thicker and more oppressive.
Knox waits for me to reach his side, then starts walking with his hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead.
I haven’t seen him walk like this since that day, walking through the park, the chip on his shoulder practically visible.
In a way, this side of Knox is almost comforting. I know this Knox. I spent years learning to read him. He needs time to process whatever’s going through his head.
I’ll let him have it.
We walk the blocks back toward Grand Central in silence.
My skin prickles with an invisible awareness that I’m being watched, but I guess that’s just another effect of Knox’s eyes on me.
I steal glances at him when I can without being obvious about it.
His jaw is still clenched. Whatever Moretti said is weighing on him and I know he’s not going to share it with me. Not yet.
I replay the snippets of their conversation again and again, trying to make sense of it alongside everything else he told me tonight. An arranged engagement. A business deal he can’t explain. A man his father clearly answers to, and now Knox does too, whether he’d admit it or not.
What could Moretti possibly have on the Aldriches that would make Knox—Knox, who doesn’t bend for anyone—say yes sir and mean it? Commit to something as huge as marriage? Lose me?
Once the thought hits me, I struggle to hold back tears. He’s lost me over this. Whatever shred of something we had, I can see now that it’s gone.
Then I think about Ella. About Owen’s ring hanging from her neck. About the way Knox said he had everything and it still wasn’t enough. About all the things he’s carrying that I still can’t fully piece together.
It makes me tired and sad and angry all over again, though I can’t decide who any of my feelings should be directed at so I just hold it inside.
The entrance to Grand Central is already in front of us and without more than ten words spoken, we board the train back to Ashford.
My apartment is exactly how I left it—messy, cold, and empty. But why wouldn’t it be? That’s my life now.
Owen’s phone is on my nightstand, the table lamp I forgot to turn off casting a dim glow over the screen. The pull to hold it, to go through his photos and texts again is stronger tonight than it’s been in weeks.
I drop my purse on the couch and stand there in the outfit I felt cute in, more restless than I was when I left hours earlier.
I got on a train to escape Ashford and Knox followed me into the city and we sat on museum steps and laughed about Owen and ate chicken fingers and then Moretti called and just like that I remembered that none of it matters.
That whatever tonight was, tomorrow we’re still in the same fucked up mess.
None of it was real. I can’t let myself get caught up in the fairytale that Knox and I could have a life where nights like tonight happen all the time.
Where we could laugh and reminisce and love freely.
Even if he could, would I even want that?
Fuck. My head is a mess.
I shed my clothes and jewelry, throw on an old T-shirt, and climb into bed. It’s almost 2 AM and there’s no one for me to talk to this late. Instead, I open the notes app on my phone, determined to get some of my feelings out. Dr. Mead would be so proud.
The first bullet point comes easily.
-Figure out what the fuck I want
Maybe that’s too vague. I flop back against my pillows and stare at the ceiling.
-Figure out what the fuck I want when it comes to Knox
Okay, that’s better. The next is a given.
-Start classes. Make that your main focus.
Yes. The thoughts are flowing now. But what else? I know there’s things I need to focus on. My life is a fucking mess. But every thought brings me back to Knox. Stupid fucking brain and its inability to stop thinking about him.
-Figure out the shit with Knox and Ella’s dad…because wtf
Now I need something not Knox related. Come on, Sawyer. Think.
-Find a new hobby
Maybe art or sewing or guitar or some shit. I don’t know…just something, because what did I even do before Owen died? Was I always this pathetic?
That’s a loaded question I can answer when it’s not a 2 AM life crisis.
I stare at the list until the words blur together. Four bullet points. That’s all I’ve got for a plan. Dr. Mead would probably tell me it’s a start. And maybe I do feel a tiny bit more relaxed.
I lock my phone and set it face down on the nightstand next to Owen’s. Two phones. Two men. One giant mess.
I turn off my lamp and close my eyes, willing sleep to come. Maybe two minutes go by before my phone buzzes.
I already know it’s Knox before I pick it up.
Knox: I’m sorry.
Well, color me fucking shocked. I want to say, sorry about what? You’ll have to be more specific about the lifetime of bullshit you’ve put me through. But I don’t…for him to apologize, he’s already beating himself up enough.
I start typing a response, getting only one letter out before another text comes through.
Knox: Tonight was the best night I’ve had in a long time.
I wish I didn’t agree. But there’s no denying it. Before that call from Ella’s father, I was starting to warm up to the idea of having Knox in my life again.
Me: Same
Knox: Thank you for hearing me out about everything going on.
Me: Well, you didn’t give me much choice, Stalker. And everything going on? Not entirely accurate.
I picture him smirking at his phone in the dark, pulling some response that will both infuriate and entertain me. Then I remember that he’s probably laying in bed next to her and my heart sinks.
Knox: Like I said, as soon as I figure some shit out I’ll tell you more. I just need you to trust me, Thorne.
I swipe over to the list, reading my goals off one at a time. I could delve right now. Dig in for more info about whatever’s going on. But hell, I’m tired. And maybe I’m enjoying this banter between us.
My eyes droop and I peek at the time on my phone. It’s close to three now.
Me: Get some sleep, Aldrich. Don’t you have work in the morning?
The phone feels heavy in my hand, so I rest it against my pillow, fighting my heavy lids to stay open for just a few more minutes.
Knox: You expect me to sleep when I can’t stop thinking about you in that skirt?
I—umm…what? I’m awake now.
Knox: How I wanted to hold you. To slip my fingers into that slit and drag them up your thigh. Sitting on those steps was torture. Every time you crossed your legs or moved, I couldn’t stop staring.
Me: It’s just a skirt, Knox. They make millions of them just like it.
Except when I close my eyes, I can almost feel his hands on me. I love that I affect him so deeply. It’s shocking, but I’ll take it.
Knox: Not just a skirt. Not on you. I had to sit on my hands the whole way home so I didn’t reach for you.
I bite my lip. The disciplined, restrained version of Knox confessing he was barely holding it together does something to me I don’t want to think about too closely.
Me: You hid it well, Stalker.
Knox: I’m good at hiding how I feel. You should know that by now.
That lands a little too close to all the things we’re deliberately not talking about. But I don’t let it stop me, not while I have him like this. I roll onto my stomach and bite back a moan when my nipples brush against my cool sheets. I didn’t even realize how hard they got.
Me: So what would you have done…if you hadn’t sat on your hands? If you let yourself be bad?
The three dots appear. Disappear. And appear again. I imagine him deciding how honest to be, how dirty…and the wait alone has my pulse hammering in my throat.
Knox: There she is.
I smile, picturing the exact face he’s making. I’m about to goad him some more when another message comes through.
Knox: Pulled you into my lap, slipped my hand up your perfect thighs, and felt how soaked your underwear were for me.
I bite my lip, letting that picture form in my mind. I grab my pillow and slide it under my hips, needing some kind of friction between my legs.
Me: Bold of you to think I’d be wet for you.
Fuck, I’m wet right now. He knows I’m full of shit.
Knox: I don’t think, Thorne. I know. You forget how well I can read you.
I roll my hips against the pillow and gasp into the dark. He’s not even here and he’s got me like this. I should tell him what I’m doing. Make him jealous that he’s not beside me, under me, over me.
Me: You don’t know anything.
But denying is so much more fun.
Knox: No? Tell me your nipples aren’t hard right now. That your hand isn’t sliding up your nightshirt, rolling them between your fingers.
I freeze, breathing hard. I wasn’t but now I want to. I prop the phone and yank my nightshirt off, then with my back arched, I glide my hand over my heavy aching breasts, until I’m lightly grazing my nipples.
Me: Not hard at all. But I bet you are. Poor, poor Knox.
Knox: Liar. Pinch them for me. Pretend my mouth’s on you.
I do and the gasp that comes out is humiliating. I’m so glad he can’t hear how he’s affecting me.
Me: You’re delusional. I’d never let you put your mouth anywhere near me.
Knox: Oh yeah? And I bet your hand’s not drifting lower? You’re not already wet?
My fingers are there before I finish reading. I press the pillow harder between my thighs and grind down against my own hand, hating him, hating how good it is.
Me: No. Never.
Knox: Keep telling yourself that. Spread your legs. Imagine it’s me…my fingers, slowly circling, getting you ready before I give you what you actually want.
Me: I don’t want anything from you. I hate you.
Fuck. I want his hands on me. His cock in me. I hate myself more than I hate him right now. But I don’t stop. I’m too close.
Knox: I know you do. Now tell me how much while you grind against your hand.
I rock against my hand, the pillow giving me extra friction, and it’s so good. Too good. His name is caught behind my teeth and every filthy thing he’s typed plays on a loop. It’s so clear—his voice in my head saying those things to me. His hands, warm and strong, right where I want them.
Me: I hate you so much.
Knox: I know, baby. Come for me anyway.
“Oh, God.” I come hard, my whole body locking up as I shove my face into my pillow and groan. My clit pulses against my fingers as I ride out every second of bliss.
When it fades I turn to my side, staring at Owen’s phone unlit on my nightstand.
I remember that Knox is lying next to Ella, and I’m alone.
That he may say what I want to hear and it’s fun to play along, but it’s not real.
Owen’s gone and Knox betrayed me and this, my hand in the dark, is all I have.
My phone buzzes again. And again a few seconds later.
I power it off without reading the messages…shoving it off the bed. Feeling both lighter from the orgasm and heavier from the night, I drift into a restless sleep.