12. Sawyer
Sawyer
Mom finally left, thank God. I had to practically force her to go by telling her I needed rest and space to process everything. She protested—of course she did—but my nurse touched her arm, making her flinch like she’d been shot, and she finally relented.
If I’m honest, she looked relieved to escape. Seeing the Aldrichs again was probably a lot for her.
And now I’m alone with nothing but the beeping machines, and this disgusting tray of food, and my circling thoughts.
Knox thinks I’m nothing. Worse than nothing.
It didn’t mean anything.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars.
The pressure helps to keep the tears from falling.
How I have any moisture left in my body is beyond me anyway.
But I can’t do it anymore. I’m so close to falling apart in this fucking room with these yellow walls and this fluorescent lighting and the sterile smell clinging to me from this hospital gown.
But he looked right at me like I was a stranger and I can’t let that go. How those moments on Velocity—when his hand was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, when his voice was the only thing keeping me sane—were in my head.
I would have held anyone’s hand in that situation.
I shouldn’t be surprised he’s treating me this way. This is exactly what Knox does, yet I keep falling for it like a fucking fool. He finds something real and vulnerable and then he destroys it before it can destroy him first.
My chest aches and it’s not from the bruised ribs or the cuts or the general battering my body took in the accident. This ache is different. It’s an ache no amount of medicine will fix. The kind that spreads through your chest cavity and takes root in your bones.
Owen is dead.
The thought hits me again, stealing my breath. When mom was here, chit chatting, and nurses were in and out, and the police came to take my statement, I almost forgot. But it’s real and Owen is dead and I’m lying here obsessing over his brother.
Owen, who loved me so fucking much. Owen, who never made me feel small or broken or like something to be ashamed of.
Owen, who I should have loved better.
The guilt is a corporeal being, sitting on my chest, squeezing my throat until it chokes the life out of me.
I wish I had my phone for distraction, but instead I flip through every channel the hospital TV provides just to give my hands something to do. It doesn’t help. I fear nothing will.
Just go.
If Owen were here, he’d wrap me in his arms and tell me it’ll be okay. I inhale, pretending I can still smell him…wishing to hear his voice.
He can’t make it better this time. He can’t call Knox a dick for hurting my feelings and distract me with a funny story.
I cry for what feels like hours with only the beeping and some Food Network show for background noise. I cry until my vision clouds and my pillow is soaked and snot clogs my nostrils.
Eventually, the tears slow. My body must have run out of whatever it needs to produce them. I’m drained. Hollow. Empty.
I stare at the ceiling tiles and try to remember when this pattern started. Because yeah, Knox was always different from Owen, but he wasn’t always cruel. That was new, and it became a cycle—Knox drawing blood and Owen bandaging the wounds.
It’s been years.
A memory forms in my mind. Six years ago.
The summer after everything fell apart and I learned exactly what Knox Aldrich thought of me.
The last thing I ever expected was an invitation to Rachel’s birthday party. When the text came through, I thought it was spam at first. I stared at it for a solid ten minutes, thinking of all the excuses I could give to get out of it.
I was sick. I had a summer job. I’m actually going to be out of town.
I’d have said literally anything to avoid facing everyone from the Ashford social circle. But then another text came through. Rachel begging me to come.
“Please come. I miss you. Everyone misses you.”
Everyone definitely did not miss me, but I agreed anyway. When the day came, I put on my best bikini, spent extra time on my hair, even though we’d be swimming, and walked through her door faking as much confidence as I could muster.
I hadn’t been to Rachel’s house since high school, but it was exactly like I remembered.
White columns, perfectly manicured lawns, a pool area about the same size as the one from the last resort I’d been to.
Fairy lights glittered overhead as the sun set, and pop music pulsed from speakers masked as landscaping rocks.
Everywhere I looked, people were laughing, drinking, beautiful and carefree in their expensive swimsuits and easy privilege.
That was me not too long ago. I used to belong here. Even if a lot of them were pretentious asses anyway, it was nice to fit in.
Now I was the girl whose father had destroyed half the families in this town. The poor scholarship kid at community college while everyone else was away at prestigious universities, living their best lives, knowing nothing of scandal or family ruin.
“Sawyer! You made it!”
Rachel spotted me from across the pool area, and her face lit up.
She pushed through a few people I recognized from high school, her white bikini barely holding on as she picked up her pace.
She pulled me into a hug that surprisingly felt genuine, and I soaked it in for a moment.
It had been too long since I felt important to someone.
“You know I wouldn’t miss your birthday,” I lied, feeling guilt weigh on my shoulders instantly.
“Come on, everyone’s in the pool. Ryan’s here—you remember Ryan Morrison? And Madison and Bree and…” She rattled off names, most of which I recognized from our school or the one just outside Ashford. Every name made my stomach squeeze.
I followed her through the crowd, hyperaware of eyes and whispers following me. A few people smiled, but most looked away.
The pool was massive, with a waterfall at one end and a hot tub at the other. People floated on inflatable loungers, drinks in hand, having the time of their lives.
I felt like an actor in a borrowed costume.
“Is Owen here?” I asked, searching the crowd for the one face I knew would be genuinely happy to see me. Even after everything, he promises he could never hate me. I don’t know what I’d do without him in my life.
“Yeah, he’s around somewhere. Oh! And his hot brother’s here too. Knox. My brother invited him, they’re like best friends now or something.”
My stomach went from squeezing to dropping altogether. “Knox is here?”
“Yeah, why? Aren’t you guys practically siblings or something?”
Oh God. I hadn’t seen Knox in months. Not since he looked at me on the courthouse steps and said, “Your family destroyed mine. Stay the fuck away from me.”
It broke me. More than losing our wealth. Having to leave school mid-semester. Losing all my friends. Watching my parent’s marriage crumble.
Knox’s words hit me like an arrow to the chest, but I didn’t argue. I stayed away exactly like he wanted me to.
“Siblings?” I repeated. “God, no. Our families just used to be close.”
She didn’t meet my eyes. “Oh. And now you’re not ‘cause of—”
“Yup,” I cut her off, not wanting to get into it any further.
“Sounds like you need a drink.” She grabbed my hand, led me to a table where champagne bottles were sitting in ice buckets, and poured me a generous glass. “Drink up.”
I drank. Then drank some more. The champagne was cold and crisp and exactly what I needed to face the reality that Knox was somewhere at this party. I could handle the looks from everyone else, they didn’t matter. But I needed liquid courage if I was going to see him.
“Come on,” Rachel said, pulling me toward the pool. “Take off your cover up. Let’s swim before you get too tipsy.”
I took a cleansing breath and tossed my black cover up onto a chair, before following her down the stone steps into the shallow end.
This bikini was my favorite when I bought it last summer—I loved the cherry pattern and the cutaways at the hips.
But now, it’s a size too small, and the strings are fraying.
The water was perfect, cool and refreshing. My nerves simmered down with each minute. I think the humidity was getting to me, on top of everything else.
I sunk down, letting myself feel weightless and free. When I surfaced, Rachel was calling over a group of guys who were treading water while holding beers, near the deep end. Some of them looked familiar, and I tried to turn away, but Rachel grabbed my arm in a surprisingly strong grip.
“Guys, this is Sawyer. We’ve been friends since, like, middle school.”
“I know who she is,” one of them said. It was Brett Dalton. Lacrosse player, trust fund kid, objectively attractive in that country club preppy way. He smiled at me, but there was a hint of pity in his eyes.
Yup, he knows what my father did. Everyone knows, probably.
Two of the other guys said hi, friendly in that same way Brett was being. Rachel started telling them a story about one of our escapades in high school, when Brett pulled me aside.
“You want a drink?” He gestured to a cooler on the edge of the pool. “There’s beer, White Claw—”
“She’s good.”
The voice came from behind me, and every muscle in my body went rigid.
I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Knox. But I did anyway, because apparently I was a glutton for punishment.
He stood at the edge of the pool in dark board shorts, his arms crossed over his bare tanned chest. I hadn’t seen him without a shirt since last summer and somehow in that time he’s become a man.
Turning twenty must have done it. Now he had these broad shoulders and defined muscles that hadn’t been there before, and there was this confidence in the way he held himself that made my face flush.
His dark hair was wet and slicked back from his face, and his eyes were narrowed at me.
I desperately wished I had the bottle of champagne.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said, not really loud enough for anyone to hear me.