Chapter 18
IVY
S awyer dropped me off at my house after breakfast but wouldn’t leave without putting my number in his phone. He sent me a text so that I had his.
Unknown: You’re so beautiful.
A blush blooms across my cheeks. This morning didn’t go at all how I had pictured it in my head. I spent the last decade villainizing myself to the point that I genuinely believed the narrative I had created—that no one in this town would accept me back into it. Being met with kindness was a shock to my system. When I left Aspen Ridge, leaving Sawyer and everything I’d ever known and loved behind, I didn’t get any closure. Everyone’s lives kept going without me, as if I had been erased altogether. Every step I was forced to take on my own, a brick was laid, building my wall higher and higher.
I expected heartbreak and fear.
I didn’t expect to lose myself entirely in the process.
Meeting Zoe saved me from years of complete loneliness. But overall, I learned to function, holding myself together but always living on the edge of uncertainty, walking through a life that I didn’t want for myself.
Seeing Sawyer again has thrown me completely off my axis, rattling the foundation of the structure I deliberately placed to hold me together.
After so long on my own, to be seen, feel safe, secure, and protected? It’s messing with me. The memory of Sawyer’s filthy words and the feeling of his arms wrapped around me have been on repeat all day.
“Tell me, butterfly, if I touched your pussy right now, what would I find? Would you be dripping wet for me?”
He wasn’t wrong. Being in such close proximity to him again lit my body on fire. It didn’t matter the weight that hung between us like a heavy cloud before a storm. The tension and chemistry is stronger than anything else. He stokes a need in me that only he can sate.
Warmth pools between my legs, my core aching and pulsing in need at the thought of being with him again. If he had followed through on his threat to touch me, he knew the truth as much as I did. I was dripping for him, even while we fought and I poured my heart out. My hand creeps up under my shirt to touch my breasts. I pull at my nipples, twisting and pinching, knowing that they are a direct line straight to my aching center. I imagine it’s Sawyer’s mouth over my nipples, sucking and biting lightly, pushing me right to the brink of needy insanity. Closing my eyes and picturing him hovering above me, his hands all over my body, the rough feel of his beard on my soft, smooth skin, my clit throbs in need. I shimmy my leggings down past my knees and let my legs fall open, trembling slightly in anticipation. Lightly rubbing my fingers up the insides of my thighs, working myself up further, I’m lost to the desperate desire that it’s Sawyer touching me instead of myself. I imagine his praise, something that I had no idea would feel so good to hear. I let his words from my panic attack wash over me, imagining the situation differently.
“You’re doing so well.”
“That’s my girl.”
I let my imagination spiral, adding some of my own that I would want to hear—“Such a good girl. Do you want to come, baby?” So, so badly.
I finally slip my fingers down my seam and dip them into the wetness at my center. I press in two fingers and pump them a few times before I slide them up to my sensitive, swollen clit and swirl them in firm, slow circles. Moans escape me as my hips and body start to chase the impending orgasm. My free hand continues to pinch and twist my nipples as I slip my fingers back down to press inside me. My orgasm builds and builds as I let myself go. I rub my clit with my palm as I fuck myself with my fingers, hips gyrating, Sawyer’s name on my lips.“Come for me.” I hear him whisper as if he was really here with me. “Come for me, baby.”
I combust. I’m washed away with wave after wave of pleasure that rocks through my body. My pussy pulses around my fingers as I come harder than I have in years. Once I’m too sensitive to be touched further, I remove my hand and catch my breath. Sex was good with Sawyer, but we were fumbling teenagers who had no idea what they were doing. The thought of him touching me now? Fucking hell. If it was even half as good as just the thought of him was, I wouldn’t survive it.
I pull up my leggings and go to the bathroom to wash my hands as my phone starts to ring with Zoe’s incoming video call.
I dry them quickly before returning to the couch and answering her. Her smiling face greets me, her short hair pulled in a half-up top knot that I swear only she can make look cute.
“Hi, ZoZo!”
“Holy shit, babe, you’ve got that ‘I’ve been fucked’ glow.”
Nothing gets past her. I wiggle my fingers in front of the camera and give her a little smile.
“Ahh. A self-induced digit fuck. Whatever works.”
I laugh at her.
“I miss you!”
“I miss you more. Now tell me all the things.”
“I don’t even know where to start. It’s been a long two days. How has it only been TWO days!?”
“I’ve got the time, so spill it all.”
I go into the details of the last forty-eight hours, my mental breakdown at the beach with Reid, finding out the hard way that Reid happens to be Sawyer’s best friend, Sawyer showing up at my parents’ house, the explosive conversations, breakfast, seeing some people from town. I verbally vomit all of it.
“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”
“Yeaaaaaah.”
“K, first thing. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know, honestly. It’s been emotionally draining and so much about it has been unexpected. Sawyer’s reaction to me? Zo, he’s never gotten over me. He’s not married, not in a relationship, which is fine, but the way he stormed over here, the way he holds me and looks at me. It’s not at all what I expected.”
“Damn, babe. But are you honestly that surprised? It’s not like you got over him either.”
“What do you mean?”
“Iv, you didn’t. You literally say his name in your sleep. And I know you have a lot of trauma from your parents, but I think he was a major reason you feared going back to that town. You were terrified of facing him. Plus, you’ve had like two hookups and one of those included Fuckface-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named.”
I sit on that for a moment. She’s not wrong. My parents have been gone for well over a year, going on two, and I had no real reason not to come up here and take care of the house. My own fears and insecurities came into play, and sure, some of those were related to how I would be welcomed back here, but a massive part was facing Sawyer. I had accepted the assumption that he hated me for ruining us, but knowing it for certain? I couldn’t bear it.
The fact that I was met with the opposite?
It’s a lot to process, but a part of my heart has healed from the compassion and love he’s shown me. It’s also confused me, forcing me to face things I’ve locked away, and has left me questioning everything.
The sun is setting by the time I hang up with Zoe. I go to the kitchen and pull out one of the wine bottles she packed for me as well as a bag of Chex Mix. Dinner of champions for someone who doesn’t have the guts to return to town for an actual meal. I pour a glass of my favorite red and grab my bagged dinner before snuggling up on top of the sleeping bag on the couch. I can’t bring myself to sleep in my old room. Or even go back upstairs again. The living room is bad enough. It never felt like a home here, and with both of my parents gone, it feels even more empty. Not that their presence filled it with anything other than disappointment and grief.
When I was in elementary school, my mom still had hope. She would make a show of preparing dinner for my dad every night. She turned on music and would dance around the kitchen with me while she cooked a meal. One of two things would happen: my dad would either come home, grab his plate, and eat in his office, ignoring us completely, or he wouldn’t come home at all. My mom and I would eat together, just the two of us, and she would make it magical for me, a queen and her princess eating a lavish meal while the king handles his important work.
The music was the first thing to stop.
Shortly after, she stopped cooking altogether.
The house feels as though all the despair and heartbreak had bled into the very bones of it. It’s gloomy, cold, and I find myself craving the comfort and warmth of Sawyer’s space that I had last night.
“What are you looking at, butterfly?”
“Your parents. Look at them.”
I point to his parents in the kitchen. They host Sunday dinner and I look forward to it every week. His dad is swinging his mom around the room to a Fleetwood Mac song, “Leather and Lace”. One of my favorites. She throws her head back laughing at him. They are so in love and don’t care who knows it. When they’re together it’s just them.
“Your dad looks at your mom like she hung the moon.”
“And how do you think I look at you?”
I glance over to find him looking down at my face.
“I don’t know. How?”
He grabs my wrist, pulls me down the hallway to his bedroom, and lets the door click shut behind us.
“You don’t know? I must not be doing a very good job.”
“Then maybe you should practice in the mirror more often.”
He gives me a look that is all seriousness. A laugh bursts free from me and I clasp my hand over my mouth. My eyes widen as big as saucers. I hate my laugh. It’s loud and people have always made fun of me for it. Especially my dad on the off chance I laughed in front of him.
He walks up close to me and pulls my hand away from my mouth.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Cover your laugh.”
“It’s terrible!”
“It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard, and I love it.”
He steps close enough that our toes are touching, his hand still clasped around my wrist between us. His thumb rubs aimlessly back and forth at my pressure point, igniting heat throughout my body. I meet his eyes and study his face. I’ve known this boy since we were eleven and twelve years old. The last six years has brought a lot of different looks from him, but I’ve seen this look on his face before. I just saw it reflected on his dad’s face as he looked at his mom. He reaches up and drags the back of his knuckles down my cheek and across my jaw.
“How am I looking at you now?”
“I . . .”
“Like you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen? Like the world would come to a complete standstill if you weren’t in it? Like you’re the only girl I’ll ever love? Like you hung the moon?”
I close my eyes and lean into his touch, resting my forehead against his.
“I love you, Sawyer.”
“Good. ’Cause I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”
At what point did I forget that? At what point did I start to question his love for me? I wipe away the tears as they fall. Sawyer only ever had eyes for me from the moment we met. He never wavered.
But most importantly, he always made me feel loved for simply just existing.
He never asked anything of me.
Never asked me to change.
He just loved me. For me. No questions. No expectations.
I know that truth down to the marrow of my bones as an image of Sawyer standing here yesterday flashes through my mind. The look on his face as he stared at me.
It was relief.
And love.
“Ivy, we need to talk. This is going to be really difficult for you to hear, but it’s important that you have all the facts.”
“Okay . . . what is it, Mom?”
“I overheard a conversation today between Sawyer and his father.”
“Okay?”
“You didn’t get into the University of Washington by yourself, honey.”
“Yes I did. What are you trying to say, Mom?”
Her words aren’t making any sense. I got my admission letter a week after Sawyer did. I read it myself. I accepted my admission to go there.
“You didn’t, though. Sawyer was worried you two would be separated. He has to stay in Aspen Ridge because of the distillery. His dad made a phone call, it’s his alma mater. I heard Sawyer thanking him and them discussing it. I’m sorry, Ivy. I know this is probably hard to hear. Men will do whatever it takes to keep the things they want. Remember that. This is a lesson.”
My heart sinks.
My mom was wrong. She had to be. The last two days replay in my mind like a montage. He never got over me. The way he looks at me is still the same. The only thing that’s new is the uncertainty that I put there. I did that. I hurt him and left him alone when all he ever did was love me and want to be with me.
I grab my phone off the coffee table and pull up his text.
Unknown: You’re so beautiful.
I run my fingers over his words before adding him as a contact.
Me: Can we talk?
Three little dots appear and then disappear. My heart sinks. A fresh wave of tears threatens to burst free until there’s a knock at my door. I jump up off the couch, sloshing my wine from the glass and onto my hand in the process. I set it on the table before jogging to the door, licking the wine off my skin, my heart in my throat. I whip open the door to find Sawyer pacing back and forth on the porch, running his fingers through his hair. He stops and looks me over, taking in my black leggings, tall wool socks, and loose tank top.
“Hi, butterfly.”
“Hi.”
Our eyes dance around each other’s faces, trying to get a read on the other person.
“What are you doing here?”
“You said you couldn’t sleep here. I didn’t want you to be alone. I wanted you to have options.”
“Sawyer . . .”
My eyes drift closed. My chest heaves. This man. I open my eyes to where Sawyer stands in front of me, bracing himself on the door frame. The look on his face is no longer of concern and affection, it’s lust filled, unbridled desire, need, and desperation.
I know it matches my own.
We lunge for each other a moment later, coming together in the entryway, my arms wrapping around his neck as our mouths collide. My hands weave through his hair. His kiss is bruising and demanding and his rough facial hair against my smooth skin feels like heaven. I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips, muffled by the press of his.
He wastes no time scooping me up into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist as one of his hands snakes up my side to cup my face and thread through my hair. He angles my face where he wants me while walking us into the house. The door slams behind us as Sawyer kicks it closed before he spins and pushes me against it. He pulls back and I grip his hair tighter, desperate not to lose contact. He doesn’t leave me long enough to disappoint me. His eyes never leave mine as his tongue peeks out and traces the seam of my lips delicately.
“Let me in, baby,” he pleads.
My eyes meet his and the double meaning of his words aren’t lost on me.
My lips part for him and his tongue delves in. He kisses me as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. His hips press hard against mine, pinning me between his body and the door, my legs tightening around his waist to hold myself up. His hands roam everywhere, around my ass and thighs, to the curve of my hips, and up my sides and back down again. It’s all-consuming. He’s everywhere.
His mouth leaves mine to pepper kisses across my jaw and down my neck before sucking gently on the skin where it meets my shoulder. I moan and arch into him.
“Fuck. Ivy. That sound, baby. You feel so good in my arms.”
I rock gently against his waist. He shifts and drops my hips lower, the hardness of his cock pressing right against my core. I rock harder against him and this time it’s him who moans. The fire that started to build deep and low in my belly rises to a blazing inferno.
This.
This feeling that only Sawyer evokes in me. How could I ever walk away from this? From him. He’s only ever loved me. How could I allow myself to believe the toxic bullshit my mother fed me? The epiphany slams into me and the realization of everything I gave up destroys what’s left of my hesitation.
I frantically pull his face back to kiss him, tears streaming down my cheeks now. I grasp at his shoulders and pull him to me, not able to get close enough. Desperation. That’s what I feel. Fuck, what have I done?
He kisses me hard, grasping my face in both of his hands before pulling back and looking at me.
“Do you know how long I’ve dreamt of kissing you again?”
A sob escapes me, and I drop my forehead to his.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh. I know, baby.”
He cradles me in his big arms and takes me to the couch. This time he sets me down next to him before leaning down and wiping my tears away. I pull my knees up to my chest and knead my hands together in front of my shins until I feel the bite of pain.
“Your tears fucking destroy me, Iv. Talk to me.” He reaches for my hands, pulling them apart, and threads his fingers through mine.
“She said you were trapping me, Sawyer. It wasn’t just thinking I could be pregnant. It wasn’t just culinary school. She told me she heard you thank your dad for pulling strings to get me into U-Dub. That you had him pull strings to guarantee I would go there because you knew if I got in I would go, because that’s where you were going. I’m so sorry, Sawyer. I believed her.”
“Ivy . . . Fuck. You aren’t going to ask me if it’s true?” His eyes bounce back and forth between my own, looking for his answer.
I shake my head.
“I don’t need to. I know you didn’t. You wouldn’t. But I believed her. She was my mom, Sawyer. She’s the one who trapped me. She took away all my options. Not you. Never you. I’m so sorry,” I choke out.
“C’mere, baby.”
He pulls me into his lap, my head resting on his chest. He wraps his arms completely around me as I crumble into a million pieces and cry my heart out.
“I’m sorry.”
My heart has been ripped completely open. Bare, empty, and raw.
I cry for the time I lost.
For the teenagers who mapped out their lives, only to be torn apart.
For the pain I caused Sawyer.
I cry for the young girl who trusted her mother.
But I also cry for my mother. For the life she never got to live the way she dreamed. For the lengths that she went to keep me from making the same decisions she did. She mothered me the only way she knew how. I ache for the woman who was taken from the world too soon, without ever having the opportunity to live.
“Hey, baby, you need to breathe for me before you hyperventilate.”
Sawyer lifts me, pulling my back flush against his chest and my butt between his legs. He holds me tight against him and places one of his hands on the center of my chest, his palm flat against me, the other wrapped around my waist.
“Breathe in and out with me, baby. In, one, two, three, four, five. Hold it, baby girl. Breathe out. One, two, three, four, five.”
I close my eyes and focus on my breathing, the feeling of Sawyer around me, his smell, his voice as he coaches me through the technique he saw me use earlier. I release all the tension in my body as I relax into him and let go.
“That’s my girl. I’m so proud of you. Just breathe. You’re so strong.”
These are the last words I hear before sleep takes me.