Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kayla
Melissa slides into the booth across from me with a tired sigh, dropping her purse beside her. “Remind me again why oncology nurses don’t get a mandatory two-hour lunch break?”
I grin and slide her iced tea across the table. “Because then who would keep all the doctors from setting things on fire?”
She snorts. “Fair.”
The little café near the hospital is crowded with the usual weekday lunch rush, but the noise fades into the background while my brain circles the same thought it’s been stuck on all morning—Sawyer.
More specifically … the scars on his back.
Melissa is halfway through stealing fries off my plate when I finally say it.
“Can I ask you something?”
She glances up immediately. “Uh-oh. That tone means gossip.”
“It’s not gossip.”
“It’s always gossip.”
I lean back in the booth, trying to sound casual. “You’ve known Sawyer for a long time, right?”
Melissa shrugs. “Through Colton, yeah. A few years.”
“What do you know about his past?”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “That’s … random.”
I try to look interested in my sandwich instead of her reaction. “Just curious.”
Melissa studies me for a moment before she shakes her head. “Honestly? Not much.”
“Nothing?”
“No tragic childhood stories or secret Mafia ties, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”
I laugh. “No. I just—” The explanation dies in my throat.
I’m not about to explain that, last night, my hand brushed over what felt like old burn marks and long, thin scars across his back.
Melissa leans forward slightly. “What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not believable.”
I sigh. “He just … seems like someone who has more going on under the surface.”
Melissa considers that.
“Yeah,” she finally says, “I’ve always gotten that vibe too.”
“Like what?”
“Like he keeps a lot locked down.”
That feels like an understatement.
She pops another fry into her mouth. “But if there’s some big story there,” she adds, “he’s never told anyone in the group.”
I nod slowly. That somehow makes the scars suddenly feel even more significant.
Eventually, the conversation drifts somewhere lighter—work stories, Colton being annoyingly perfect, Dean flirting with every woman in a five-mile radius—but my brain keeps drifting back to Sawyer.
To the way his body went rigid for half a second when I touched those marks or the way he tried to hide it.
What unsettles me most is instead of scaring me off … it just makes me want to understand him more.
By the time lunch ends, there’s only one thought playing on a loop in my mind.
I can’t wait to get home and see him. The realization hits me halfway to the subway.
I might actually be falling in love with Sawyer.
I stop walking. The thought feels completely unreal.
“Yeah, right,” I mutter to myself.
I shake my head and keep moving because that’s impossible.
Absolutely not happening.
* * *
By the time I reach the apartment, the quiet feels almost strange.
Sawyer isn’t home yet. The penthouse is too big when it’s empty.
I kick my shoes off near the door and toss my purse onto the kitchen island before wandering toward the couch.
I open my laptop and stare at the blinking cursor.
For weeks, that stupid little line mocked me. Every time I sat down to write, my brain stalled out halfway through the first sentence.
Lately, something has changed. The steamy scenes were never the problem. Those always came easily, especially when living with Sawyer.
It was the hero. Who he was. What lived underneath all the charm and control. What kind of man hides behind the charm and the control.
I lean back in the chair, tapping my fingers against the keyboard.
The more time I spend around Sawyer … the clearer that man becomes. I’ve never written about a billionaire before. It was never my idea of romance.
They’re too cold, arrogant … untouchable.
Sawyer makes it different. He inspires me.
Not just the way he looks at me, but the man underneath all that control. The one who’s guarded and closed off and carrying something heavier than he lets anyone see.
My fingers finally start moving over the keys. The story forming in my head is different now.
The hero is still powerful. Still grumpy and impossible, but now there’s something else there too.
Something softer underneath all the control. I haven’t written that part yet, but I will. I stare at it for a moment, but my mind drifts somewhere else.
Back to last night, to the shower. The way Sawyer looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
And then … the scars. Unease settles low in my chest.
I can still feel the way his body jerked when I touched them.
The way he almost pulled away.
Whatever had happened to him … it wasn’t small. And the weirdest part is, I don’t feel scared of it.
If anything, it just makes me want to understand him more, which feels like the kind of attachment that changes everything.
My phone buzzes on the couch.
Mom.
I close my eyes briefly before answering. “Hi, Mom.”
Her voice comes through immediately, bright and overly cheerful. “Oh, good, you picked up. I was just talking to your sister.”
That’s never a good start.
“Okay …”
“You’ll never guess what Jason just did.”
Jason.
My brother-in-law. The unofficial golden child of the family who is not even their own child.
“He made partner,” she says proudly. “Top partner actually. They just announced it today.”
I tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “That’s great.”
“He’s only thirty-five, Kayla. That’s practically unheard of.”
“Mmhmm.”
“He’s going to be making an incredible salary now. Your sister is over the moon.”
Of course she is. I rub my temple.
“So, what’s new with you?” my mom asks.
There’s a pause. I already know this conversation isn’t actually about catching up.
It’s about comparison.
“Well,” I say slowly, “Melissa moved out of our place.”
“Now she found a good man.”
“Yeah.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
I hesitate for half a second.
“Our lease was up anyway. I’m living with a friend,” I say finally.
There’s silence on the other end.
Then, “A friend?”
“Just temporarily. Until I find something I can afford.”
The sigh that comes through the phone is loud enough to make my shoulders tense.
“Kayla,” she says carefully, “I just don’t understand why you insist on doing everything the hard way.”
I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city below.
“I’m not—”
“You’re thirty,” she continues.
“You’ve been writing these … books for years now.”
“They’re doing well.”
“But are they sustainable?”
The question lands exactly the way she intended it to.
“You can’t rely on that forever.”
I don’t answer.
Her voice softens slightly, but somehow, that makes it worse. “Your sisters have stability.”
Here we go.
“They have husbands who take care of them.”
Something painful twists through me instantly.
“Maybe it’s time you started thinking about that too.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“But you wouldn’t have to struggle like this if you found the right man.” A small laugh escapes her. “Someone successful. Someone who could actually support you.”
The words hit harder than they should. No matter how many times she says things like this … a small part of me still wants her approval.
“You’re too smart to keep chasing something that probably isn’t going to work out,” she finishes.
Emotion rises fast enough to catch me off guard. I swallow.
“I have to go,” I say quietly.
“Oh. All right. Just think about what I said.”
The call ends.
The apartment feels even quieter now. For a moment, I just sit here, staring at the dark screen of my phone. Then the tears come before I can stop them.
I wipe my face quickly, frustrated with myself. Crying has never really been my thing, but apparently, today is full of surprises.
By the time the front door opens a few minutes later, I’m curled up on the couch, trying to pretend I’m not falling apart.
And the last thing I want is for Sawyer to see me like this.
I wipe my face quickly, swiping at the last of the tears before they can leave tracks on my cheeks, but it’s too late.
Sawyer steps inside a second later, loosening his tie as he walks into the living room.
He stops the second he sees me.
His eyes narrow slightly. “What happened?”
I shake my head immediately. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t move. Just stands there, watching me with that hyper-focused look he gets when he notices something’s wrong.
“You’re crying.”
“I’m not.”
One eyebrow lifts. “You’re terrible at lying.”
I huff out a weak laugh and look away, wiping my face again. “It’s just … a bad phone call.”
He tosses his jacket over the back of a chair and walks over slowly. “From who?”
“My mom.”
Sawyer’s expression changes immediately. Not softer, just … knowing.
“Ah.”
He sits on the edge of the coffee table across from me.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing new.” I shrug, trying to sound casual. “She was just reminding me that my sisters married successful men and I’m apparently wasting my life writing books.”
Irritation flashes briefly across his face. “That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s also very on brand for her.” I force a small smile. “She thinks I should find some rich guy who will take care of me instead of trying to support myself.”
Sawyer leans back slightly, studying me. “And what do you think?”
“I think I’m doing just fine.” My voice cracks slightly on the last word.
I can tell by the way he is studying me that he notices how I barely believe that myself anymore.
He leans forward again, resting his elbows on his knees. “Your mom’s wrong.”
I laugh weakly. “You don’t even know me that well.”
“I know enough.”
I look up at him.
He shrugs one shoulder casually. “You built a career doing something most people never even attempt.”
“It’s not exactly curing cancer.”
“So?” His tone sharpens slightly. “Most people spend their entire lives doing things they hate. You actually went after something you wanted.”
His eyes hold mine steadily. “I wouldn’t change a single thing about that.”
His words settle somewhere deep inside me which is … unexpected. I look down at my hands, suddenly embarrassed by how much those words mean.
Sawyer stands. “Come on.”
I blink up at him. “Where are we going?”
“Kitchen.”
“For what?”
He starts walking already. “Because sitting here, crying, isn’t helping anything.”
I follow him slowly. “And what’s your plan exactly?”
He opens a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of wine.
“My plan,” he says calmly, grabbing two glasses, “is to make sure you forget about that phone call.”
“Oh, really?”
He glances at me over his shoulder. “Trust me.” A slow smile spreads across his face. “I’m very good at distractions.”
Despite myself, I laugh.
By the time the wine is poured, the tightness in my chest has loosened enough that I can finally breathe normally again.
Sawyer hands me a glass and leans back against the kitchen counter.
“Drink,” he says.
“Yes, sir.”
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I take a long sip and exhale. “Okay … that actually helps.”
“Of course it does.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“I’m confident about most things.”
I laugh and lean against the island. “That must be exhausting.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying me again. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “A little.”
“Good.”
He pulls out his phone and taps a few buttons.
“What are you doing?”
“Ordering dinner.”
“Already?”
“You haven’t eaten, have you?”
I hesitate.
Sawyer raises an eyebrow. “That’s what I thought.”
A few minutes later, the order is placed, and he sets the phone down.
“All right,” he says, draining the last of his wine, “come here.”
I blink at him. “Why?”
“Because you’ve been sitting, hunched over a laptop, for weeks and your shoulders look like concrete.”
“That’s very rude.”
“And accurate.”
I narrow my eyes but step closer anyway. “What exactly is your plan?”
Sawyer gestures toward the hallway. “My room.”
“Your room?”
“Relax,” he says dryly. “I’m not dragging you there.”
I laugh despite myself and follow him down the hall.
Once we’re inside his bedroom, he nods toward the bed. “Sit.”
“You’re very bossy tonight.”
“You’re very stubborn.”
I sit anyway. Sawyer steps behind me and rests his hands lightly on my shoulders. Then he starts working the tension out of them.
And … wow.
A surprised groan slips out before I can stop it. “Holy—”
“Told you,” he says calmly.
His thumbs press into a knot near my shoulder blade, and I swear I see stars.
The room slowly fills with a comfortable quiet. His hands move slowly, working down the tight muscles in my back while the stress from earlier melts away.
By the time the doorbell rings for dinner, I’m practically half asleep, sitting there.
Sawyer steps away. “Don’t move.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stop saying that.”
I grin.
A few minutes later, he returns with takeout containers and another bottle of wine.
We eat on the floor of his bedroom like two college students instead of in the massive dining room down the hall.
Somewhere between arguing over whose food is better and laughing about something ridiculous Dean apparently did at work, the heaviness from earlier disappears completely.
After dinner, Sawyer gathers the empty containers and tosses them aside.
“You look exhausted,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“You’re about to fall asleep, sitting up.”
“That’s just because you turned my spine into pudding.”
He smirks slightly. “Come here.”
He pulls me closer, kissing me slowly this time. Not rushed or desperate, just warm and steady. The kind of kiss that makes the rest of the world fade out for a while.
When we finally pull apart, I’m still half tangled in his arms.
At some point, we end up back on the bed. The tension between us builds again, slower this time.
By the time everything finally quiets down again, the room is dark, and the city lights are glowing through the windows.
I curl against his chest, exhausted in the best possible way. His arm rests loosely around my waist.
My eyelids grow heavy.
“Kayla?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Your mom’s wrong.”
I smile against his shoulder. “I know.”
Sleep pulls me under a moment later.
And for once … Sawyer doesn’t tell me to leave.