4. Sawyer
Sawyer
Where the hell did Owen go? We went our separate ways to use the bathroom and suddenly he evaporates into thin air. Maybe Giggles abducted him and he’s hanging by some cotton candy cocoon in a circus tent lair.
And why is every guy I see suddenly wearing a backwards cap? I reach for my phone in my cross body bag when Knox’s low timbre sounds from behind me. “Lose something?”
I spin around, trying to keep my heart from physically exiting my chest, and am met by a towering asshole standing way closer than I expected. I have to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. He’s taken off the aviators, and without them as a barrier, his gaze is unsettlingly direct.
“Your brother,” I say, aiming for a certain nonchalantness but landing somewhere near defensive. “We were supposed to meet back here.”
“He’s with Ella. They called our table.” Knox jerks his chin toward the Big Top Grill across the walkway. Through the fingerprint-covered window, I find Owen’s profile at the hostess stand. Ella’s beside him, gesturing with her hands while talking.
“Oh.” I should walk over there and join them. Knox’s scrutiny is making me feel…things. I don’t know if I want to pummel him or hug him or chew his ass out. “Thanks.”
I start to move past him, but he doesn’t step aside. He’s not exactly blocking me but he’s not making it easy for me to get by either.
A woman wrangling two toddlers shoves past us on her way out of the bathrooms and still, he doesn’t move.
“You’ve been quiet today.”
I let out a short laugh. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve barely said five words to me.”
“I’m saying them now.”
“Wow, congratulations.” I clap my hands in the most slow and condescending way I can. “Want a medal?”
He exhales a deep breath that sounds suspiciously like suppressed laughter. “Still a brat, I see.”
“Still a raging asshole, I see.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Some things don’t change.”
“Apparently not.”
I cross my arms over my chest and step back until I hit a pillar. Knox follows. He’s so close…too close for two people whose partners are mere feet away.
“You’re scared, aren’t you?”
He doesn’t specify what I’m scared of…He doesn’t need to. He’s not wrong. I am scared. Of so many things. Things that I’d never admit to anyone at any time, ever.
I narrow my eyes, and suck in a breath, getting a full inhale of his scent. It’s subtle but it’s there, like an ocean breeze.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He huffs a laugh. “For one, the Sawyer I know wouldn’t be scared of riding a fucking roller coaster.” His gaze trails down as I clutch my arms tighter around my chest. “Or being close to me.”
My breath hitches. “I’m not scared of you.”
“No?” He leans in, just slightly, and I hate that my stupid pulse jumps in response. “Then why are you pressed against that pillar like you’re willing it to open up and swallow you whole?”
“Maybe I just don’t want to be near you.”
“Liar.”
The word lingers between us, thickening the air every second it hangs there. My fingers dig into my arms, and I don’t realize what I’m doing until pain from my nails biting into my skin registers. And that look he’s giving me…his pupils so blown they’re like black holes threatening to suck me in.
“You don’t know me anymore, Knox.”
My words must hit since he steps back, hanging his head. I almost feel bad, but it’s true. He doesn’t know me and that’s on him.
I’m grateful for the space…for the air that I can suddenly gulp down normally again.
He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, his words stuck somewhere between his throat and lips.
“Knox!” Ella’s voice cuts through whatever he’s about to say. She’s waving from the restaurant entrance. “They have our table!”
His gaze holds mine for one more loaded second before he looks away. “You coming?”
There’s nothing else to say so I just nod.
He walks away without waiting for me, his shoulders rigid, and his hands shoved in his pockets. I watch him go, my heart hammering against my ribs, my skin still buzzing from whatever the fuck that was.
My phone chimes from my bag.
Owen: Where’d you go? We got a table by the window. Can’t wait to destroy those onion rings!
God, he’s too sweet, too good. I feel like shit almost instantly. I type back a quick On my way and force my feet to move.
When I reach the entrance, I take a moment to collect myself, watching them through the smudged window.
They’re sliding into a booth, Owen first, already grabbing the menu. Ella sits across from him, and Knox stands glancing behind him like he’s just now realizing I didn’t follow.
The last time we sat at that booth, I was fourteen and trying not to cry.
We’d gotten to the park early that morning, both families piling out of separate cars in the parking lot like we always did. But the mood was off. I may have been a dumb kid, but I felt it.
I’d heard my parents arguing the night before. They tried to keep their voices down but the walls in the vacation cottage were much thinner than our walls at home. My father’s tone was so sharp. So defensive. And Mom’s was pleading and desperate.
“Just tell them the truth, David. Before it gets worse.”
I didn’t know what truth she meant. And I guess I didn’t really care. I was too busy planning out my outfit for the park the following day.
But when their mood didn’t shift that morning, and they barely looked at each other until they slipped on masks of happiness as soon as the Aldrichs knocked on our car window, then I started to care…more than I wanted to.
At the restaurant that afternoon, I’d ordered my usual, chicken tenders with honey mustard, but I mostly pushed the food around my plate while Knox goofed around, teasing his brother about which ride would make Owen puke first.
“I’d bet my next paycheck it’ll be the Starship 3000,” he said, stealing a fry off my plate and drenching it in my sauce. “You always get that look right after, like you’re about to blow chunks.”
“You’re full of shit,” Owen protested.
“Wanna bet? This is you…” Knox made this ridiculous exaggerated queasy face that had me almost smiling through my bad mood.
“You look constipated,” I muttered.
“And you look like someone kicked your dog.” He studied me with those sharp eyes that never missed anything. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Before I could snap back, Mr. Aldrich appeared at our table. “Owen, your mother needs you outside for a second. Coach just called about next season.”
Owen slid out of the booth without question, leaving Knox and me alone. Without him it was too quiet. Even the oldies music playing from the speakers couldn’t break the weird silence.
Knox didn’t say anything at first, he just sipped from his chocolate milkshake, watching me until the quiet got to him too. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“I said nothing. Just leave it alone.”
“And I said you’re a liar.” He pushed his milkshake across the table. “Here, drink some. Sugar helps.”
I stared at the glass, at the straw sticking up the top, already used by him. “I don’t want your milkshake.”
“Yeah, you do, Thorne. You always want chocolate when you’re upset.”
Dammit, he was right. I hated that.
I took a sip, letting the cold sweetness settle the tightness in my throat. Knox watched me, then reached into his pocket and pulled out something small. I looked closer, seeing a cheap plastic ring with a fake ruby that glinted in the overhead light.
“What’s this?”
“It’s nothing really.” He slid it across the table and pulled his hand back. “Won it from the claw machine near the bathrooms. I thought you might want it.”
“Why would I want a ring from a claw machine?”
He shrugged, looking at the ketchup bottles at the end of the table like they were fascinating. “I don’t know. You collect weird shit. I just…figured you’d like it.”
I did like it. I liked it more than I should have.
“It’s kinda hideous,” I said, even though the corner of my lip tipped up.
“Yeah, well.” He stole another fry and tossed it at me, that annoyingly cocky tone back. “So are you…It works.”
I batted the fry away, and met his gaze, slipping the ring onto my pinky, the only finger it fit on. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned back against the booth and crossed his arms. “So, are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to keep buying you rings and milkshakes?”
I sighed and finally relented. “I heard my parents fighting last night.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Something about telling the truth before it gets worse.” I twisted the ring around my finger, something to keep my hands busy. “They sounded pissed.”
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he lost some of that Knox edge. “Parents fight sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It sounded like it meant something.”
“They’ll work it out.” He said it with such certainty that I wanted to believe him. “And if it doesn’t, fuck them. You’ve still got us.”
Us. Him and Owen. The three of us against everything.
I looked up at him and something unspoken passed between us. I couldn’t name it, but I could feel it. It made my chest tight and my face hot and my stomach flip.
“Knox—”
“Don’t get all weird and sentimental about it, Thorne.” He grabbed his milkshake back, pulling at the straw my lips were just wrapped around. “I’m just saying. Whatever happens with them, you’re stuck with us. So stop looking like someone died.”
Owen came back then, sliding into the booth and immediately launching into a story about his upcoming football season. Knox made fun of him for being the most insufferable jock known to man, I laughed, and the moment Knox and I had dissolved as quickly as it came.
I kept that ring. For months, I wore it on a chain around my neck, fidgeting with it until the plastic cracked and the fake ruby fell out.
I never told Knox about that.
I never told him how much it meant to me.
And I really never told him that was the moment I realized I didn’t just love him like a friend.
When I reach the door, I’m startled by someone holding it open for me, even more so when the cheery hostess asks if I need a table for one.
“I’m meeting someone,” I say, my voice sounding far away.
Each step I take, I bury the memory deep where it belongs. Hidden by better judgement and smart, safe choices.
“There she is!” Owen beams up at me. “Where’d you get lost to?”
I plaster a smile on my face and slide into the booth next to him, across from Knox, laughing about how there was a line at the bathroom. I can’t meet Knox’s gaze. I won’t. But a small traitorous part of me wonders if he ever thinks about that day.
If he remembers the milkshake and the ring.
If he still plays the scene back in his mind, remembering how he felt when he said “You’ve still got us,” like it was a promise he’d never break.