28. Sawyer
Sawyer
Somehow, I make it past the front desk unnoticed, and head down the narrow hallway that leads from the lobby to the restaurant. It smells like garlic bread and rich marinara mixed with carpet cleaner. A scent I regret inhaling.
When I make it to the hostess stand, I sigh in relief. I’d hate to get caught in a lie when everyone at work’s been so nice. I may be a piece of shit, but I do have a conscience.
Maya is at the stand tonight. We’re not close, more the kind of acquaintances who smile at each other in the parking lot, know each other’s names and leave it at that. Usually that’s enough, but tonight the second she sees me, her face opens into a full smile.
Fuck, I’m in for it.
“Sawyer, hey. Are you eating alone? Do you want a table or—”
“Takeout, actually.” I return the smile with everything I have, which isn’t much. “Just something quick.”
“Of course, of course.” She hands me a menu, leaning against the stand. “How are you doing? I’ve been meaning to ask, with everything that happened…”
“I’m okay.” My practiced response comes out on cue. “Just tired. You know how it is.”
She nods, her face sympathetic, and launches into a full-blown conversation about her cousin who went through a loss last year, while I stand there and hold my smile in place, reading the same three menu items over and over.
I need the simplest possible thing. Something I don’t have to think about.
I don’t even fucking care about eating at this point, but I’m here already so I may as well do what I came here to do.
I interrupt her. “I’ll take the club sandwich. To go.”
“Oh. Perfect.” She takes the menu back. “It’ll be about fifteen minutes. I’ll come find you.”
“Thank you.” The relief when she walks away is wild. I’m so done with this day.
I find a bench near the entrance and pull out my phone. Fifteen minutes. I can do fifteen minutes.
For some fucked up reason, I open up Owen’s text thread. Why not make myself feel even worse, right?
I scroll up until I reach a random day, and reread his words.
Owen: You looked so good last night. God, I love you.
I stare at it until my eyes blur. Then I close it. Yup, I do feel worse.
Sighing, I open Instagram and scroll.
Someone’s vacation photos.
A sponsored ad for a weighted blanket.
A girl I went to high school with announcing her engagement with a ring photo, her hand splayed across her boyfriend’s chest.
I keep scrolling. A recipe. A sunset. A dog wearing a Halloween costume that won’t be relevant for another three months.
The mundanity of it all pisses me off. The world just keeps spinning, completely indifferent. Don’t they all realize that we’re plummeting to our death second by second?
Fucking dog Halloween costumes and sunset pictures is all they have to show for it.
I swipe the app away.
Knox’s contact is sitting there when I open my messages. I hover over it for way longer than I should, my thumb doing nothing.
What would I even say?
No. I won’t do it.
Fuck this. I need a drink more than I need a sandwich. The bar is just around the corner, visible from where I’m sitting, and it’s empty right now. I’ll order something and wait there and be out in ten minutes and home in twenty and this day will finally, mercifully be over.
I round the corner and find a seat near the end, scanning the bottles behind the bar, when something in my peripheral vision snags my attention.
It’s Knox, sitting with his back partly to me. He’s at a table toward the back of the dining room, sitting with his parents, two others I don’t recognize, and Ella.
He told me he had a business meeting. That’s what he said, and I stood there and believed him.
It’s not that he’s here. That he lied. It’s the way they all look together. So normal and happy. Even Richard is laughing at something, wine glass raised. The candles on the table make them all look so warm and glowing, like a photograph of a family that has never known a difficult day.
It feels like a fist is closing around my throat.
“What can I get you?” I turn and find the bartender in front of me, polishing a glass. I stare at him for a second, not registering his question. “Did you want a drink?”
“A drink…yes.” I hesitate, knowing I should get up and leave. There’s no reason to watch whatever that is. But I can’t move. “Vodka cranberry…please.”
“Coming right up.”
He turns to make my drink, and when I glance back at them, my stomach drops to the floor and heart shatters all at once.
Knox is on one knee in front of Ella.
The unthinkable, happening in the space of a breath.
Again.
The ring shines from the candlelight as he holds it out in front of her. Ella’s hands are pressed to her mouth. Victoria is crying, reaching for Richard’s arm. The woman I don’t know is beaming and holding out her phone to record.
Knox says something. I can’t hear it, but I already know.
Ella nods and wipes tears from the corner of her eyes.
Oh my God. Oh my God. What the fuck is happening?
I hate that I’m here. That this is in front of my face. I hate that my feet refuse to move.
Then he slides the ring onto her finger and their table erupts with hugs and tears and everyone reaching for their wine glasses.
“Here you go.” The vodka cranberry appears on the bar in front of me. I look at it for a moment before picking it up with a shaky hand and downing half of it in one long gulp.
I will not cry here. No. I refuse to give in to it.
I take another sip and keep watching like the masochist I apparently am.
Knox stands, adjusting the tie I fucking tied on him less than an hour ago, and Ella launches herself into his arms. She’s crying and laughing at the same time the way people do in movies, and she looks genuinely happy, and I hate her for it, and then I hate myself for hating her.
But really I hate him.
I leave without my sandwich. I leave without finishing my drink.
I just leave.
Because if I have to look at Knox Aldrich for one more second, I’ll either scream, cry, or walk over there and burn it all down.
Are you screaming, crying, and want to throw the book against the wall? Book 2 is coming soon!