Chapter 19 Sawyer
NINETEEN
Sawyer
Ellie owned the stage. Every note came out steady and sure, and the crowd roared it right back at her. I didn’t even know if she’d walk out there tonight, but she did—with her shoulders squared, chin up, holding nothing back.
I’d seen her perform before and thought I was impressed then. This was different. Maybe because now, I knew what it cost her—how much she had to push through to get here, to be this version of herself under all the pressure.
The past few weeks had given me a front-row seat to the real Ellie—the one who laughed at my nonsense, stayed up too late, kept her favorite people close, and still wondered if she was enough. Seeing her now, it all came together.
When I watched her perform, I wasn’t just in awe of her talent. I was in awe of her—her strength, her courage, and especially the way she made people feel like they mattered, like they were seen.
I knew she said she wasn’t sure if she still wanted this dream the way she once had, but whether she stayed in the spotlight or walked away tomorrow, one thing was clear.
She didn’t get here by accident.
She got here because she was extraordinary.
“She’s something else, huh?” Clay, Ellie’s dad, leaned toward me as we stood near the edge of the VIP tent. His broad shoulders and square jaw made him look like he could’ve stepped off a ranch or a football field, but his eyes held the same humble pride I’d seen in Ellie when she smiled.
Meeting her parents had me shakier than walking into my first NFL game, but it went better than I expected. They clearly adored their daughter, and I understood that. She was impossible not to be proud of.
“She definitely is,” I said, unable to stop the smile pulling at my lips.
Allison, Ellie’s mom, had her hands clasped over her chest. Her brown hair caught the stage lights, and her blue eyes shimmered as they watched Ellie singing a soft, sad ballad about losing someone you loved.
“I’m just glad the world gets to see my girl shine,” she said. “I’m so proud of her.”
“You should be,” I said. “She’s amazing.”
Allison wiped her eyes and turned to me with a look that made me feel like I was a teenager about to get grilled before prom. “So, tell me, love. What’s going on between you and my Ellie?”
I gave her a respectful smile. “Well, ma’am, we’re dating.”
She laughed and gave my shoulder a little swat. “I know that, silly.”
I blinked. “Then what do you mean?”
Before she could answer, the song ended, and the stage went dark, shifting to the next set. Applause thundered through the tent.
“I mean,” she said casually, “do you love her?”
“Allison.” Clay’s brows rose. “You can’t ask him that.”
“Well, I did,” she replied, not even looking at him. “So? Do you?”
I opened my mouth, then shut it again. The truth was…complicated. We hadn’t been together long—if we were really together at all. But it wasn’t a yes or no kind of answer.
I’d never told a woman I loved her. Hell, I wasn’t sure I knew how to say it without sounding like a sarcastic asshole, throwing out lines to appease someone.
Now, I was standing in front of Allison Miles, trying to figure out how to explain what Ellie did to me—the way she cracked through my walls and pulled out something I didn’t know was there.
I took a breath, pushed the doubt aside, and gave her the only honest answer I could.
“We haven’t been together long,” I said, my voice low but steady. “But if I keep spending time with her…yeah. I think I’m gonna have no choice but to fall for your daughter completely.”
Allison’s eyes softened. Her lips curled into something that looked a little like understanding, maybe even approval.
As I looked back toward the stage, Ellie was getting ready for the next song.
This wasn’t love, not yet, but it was close enough to feel dangerous. I’d made a habit of being easy to like—lighthearted, quick with a joke, the kind of guy people kept around until they didn’t. It was safe that way. Keep things on the surface, and they couldn’t hurt you when they left.
This thing with her? It wasn’t staying on the surface. The closer she got, the more I wondered what would happen when she saw the parts of me that weren’t easy.
Still, I wanted her.
Maybe that was how love started—not with perfect timing or even a real relationship, but by agreeing to something temporary and realizing you were scared shitless because you already wished it wasn’t.