Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Sawyer
The elevator doors slide open, and I already know something is different.
The apartment is too quiet. Not empty quiet … waiting quiet. The kind that warns you something important is about to happen.
I loosen my tie as I step inside, dropping my keys on the counter. “Kayla?”
“In here.”
Her voice comes from the living room. I follow the sound and stop just inside the middle of the room. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch with a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table. Two glasses already poured.
For a second, neither of us says anything.
She picks up one of the glasses and holds it out toward me. “Liquid courage,” she says softly.
A quiet breath leaves me that almost sounds like a laugh.
“Planning something?”
“You promised me a story tonight.”
Right. I figured she was going to hold me to that promise.
I walk over slowly and take the glass from her hand.
The whiskey burns all the way down when I take the first sip.
Kayla watches me carefully. She doesn’t push … just waits.
I drop onto the couch beside her and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
The glass turns slowly in my hand. For the first time in years, I have no idea where to start.
Kayla reaches over and lightly touches my arm. “You don’t have to rush,” she says quietly.
“That’s the problem.” I stare at the amber liquid in my glass. “Once I start … I can’t really take it back.”
Her voice is steady when she answers, “I’m not going anywhere.”
I nod once, then drain the rest of the whiskey in one swallow. The memories press harder against the edges of my control.
I pour myself another drink. Because if I’m going to do this … I’m going to need it.
I lean back against the couch and stare up at the ceiling.
“You remember the restaurant my family owns?” I say finally.
Kayla nods beside me. “Of course.”
I take another slow sip of whiskey. “My uncle Tony ran it with my father when I was a kid.”
Saying it out loud feels wrong somehow.
I let out a slow breath. “I was fifteen the first time he hit me.”
Kayla goes completely still beside me. And just like that … there’s no going back.
Kayla’s fingers tighten slightly around her glass, but she doesn’t interrupt right away.
She just watches me.
“How old was he?” she asks quietly after a moment.
“Tony?”
She nods.
“Forties,” I say. “Maybe mid-forties back then.”
I take another sip of whiskey. The burn is welcome. It keeps the memories from rushing too fast.
“Dad handled most of the business side. Tony ran the kitchen.”
Kayla shifts slightly toward me. “And you were helping there?”
“Yeah.” A humorless smile pulls at my mouth. “I liked figuring things out. Systems. Numbers. Efficiency.”
That part was always easy.
“By fifteen, I’d already started writing little programs to track inventory. Labor costs. Supplier orders.”
Kayla blinks. “You were doing that at fifteen?”
I shrug. “Bored kid with a computer.”
Her lips curve slightly despite the heaviness of the conversation. “So, what happened?”
I stare at the whiskey in my glass. “At first, he thought it was useful.”
I can still see the kitchen in my head. The stainless-steel counters, smell of garlic and tomatoes, and the constant noise.
“He’d keep me late after school to help him run reports. Figure out what dishes were actually profitable.”
Kayla leans forward slightly. “That doesn’t sound bad.”
“It wasn’t.”
At first.
I take another slow breath.
“But eventually, I started telling him things he didn’t want to hear.”
Her brow furrows. “Like what?”
“That the restaurant could grow.”
I glance at her. “More locations. Better systems. Digital ordering.”
Kayla nods slowly. “Normal business ideas.”
“Not to Tony.”
The memory still hits like a punch.
“To him, the restaurant wasn’t a business.”
“What was it?”
“Control.” The word sits heavy between us. “He thought I was trying to take it from him.”
Kayla’s voice softens. “You were fifteen.”
“Didn’t matter.” I run a hand through my hair. “The first time it happened, we were alone in the walk-in freezer.”
Kayla’s glass lowers slowly to the table. “What do you mean … the first time?”
I look down at the scars on my hands. “The first time he shoved me into a wall.”
Silence settles over the room. Kayla doesn’t rush to fill it. She just reaches out slowly and places her hand over mine.
“And it got worse after that?” she asks gently.
I nod once. “Every time I pushed back.”
I take another sip of whiskey.
“He’d tell me I was arrogant. Ungrateful. That I thought I was smarter than him.”
Kayla shakes her head slightly. “You were just trying to help.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the floor. “He didn’t see it that way.”
A few seconds pass before she asks the question I know is coming.
“What about the scars?”
My chest tightens. I stare into the whiskey for a long second.
I close my eyes briefly, then take another drink.
Finally, I reply quietly, “That came later.”
The words sit between us for a moment. Kayla doesn’t rush to fill the silence, which somehow makes it harder to keep talking.
“How much later?” she asks gently.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Six months maybe.”
Her brow furrows. “Six months?”
“Yeah.”
The kitchen comes back to me in flashes.
“At first, it was just … anger.”
“Anger?” she repeats quietly.
“Shoving. Grabbing me by the collar. Slamming me into things when we argued.”
Kayla’s fingers tighten slightly around my hand. “You were a kid.”
“Didn’t matter to him.” I stare down at the floor. “He’d keep telling me I thought I was better than him.”
“And you didn’t think that?”
I glance at her. The corner of her mouth lifts just slightly.
I huff a quiet breath. “Maybe a little.”
“Fifteen-year-old prodigy with a computer,” she says. “That’s dangerous.”
“That’s what he thought.”
Kayla shifts closer on the couch. “Why didn’t you tell your dad?”
“I thought about it.”
“But?”
I run a hand through my hair. “But Tony always said the same thing.”
“What?”
“That no one would believe me.”
Kayla’s expression darkens. “That’s what abusers say.”
“Yeah.” I stare at the whiskey in my glass. “And part of me believed him.”
“Why?”
I shrug. “I was the kid who didn’t want to work in the restaurant. The one who kept telling them they should change everything.”
She nods slowly. “So, he made it sound like you were the problem.”
“Exactly.”
Her voice is careful. “The scars. Were those from him?”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
She exhales slowly. “How?”
I stare at the wall for a moment. This is the part I’ve never said out loud … not once.
“The first burn happened during an argument.”
Kayla’s fingers tighten around mine again. “About the restaurant?”
“About leaving.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “You told him you didn’t want to take over?”
“Yeah. Once he realized what I was able to do with the systems, he wanted me there but under his control, taking all of the credit.”
Even now, the memory hits with uncomfortable clarity.
“He cornered me in the kitchen after closing.” My jaw tightens. “He had a cigarette in his hand.”
Kayla’s voice drops to a whisper. “And he …”
I nod. “Pressed it into my shoulder.”
The room goes quiet again.
Kayla’s face has gone pale. “Oh my God.”
I shrug slightly. “He said it would help me remember who ran the place. Then he said if I ever tried to leave or tell anybody, he’d do worse.”
Her grip on my hand tightens. “That’s insane.”
“Tony had a talent for being insane without letting anybody else see it but me.”
Kayla looks down at my shoulder instinctively, like she can see the mark through my shirt.
“And the other scars?” she asks softly.
I close my eyes briefly. “Those were worse.”
Her breath catches. “What happened?”
“One night he punched me in the face. It turned into a nasty black eye. He thought I was going to tell my dad, so he tried to scare me away from doing it.”
The memory flashes again. An empty kitchen with a smell of metal and the panic in Tony’s eyes.
“He grabbed a kitchen knife during the argument. I told him my dad was asking questions, and it was only a matter of time before he found out.”
Kayla goes completely still beside me.
“He didn’t stab me,” I say quickly. “Just … slashed.”
Her eyes widen. “Slashed?”
“Across my side.” I gesture vaguely toward my ribs. “It wasn’t deep.”
She stares at me like she can’t decide whether to scream or cry. “Sawyer …”
“He didn’t want to kill me.” The words sound strange, even to me. “He just wanted me to be scared enough to stay quiet.”
Kayla shakes her head slowly. “That’s still—”
“I know.”
The whiskey burns down my throat again.
“And you stayed quiet,” she says softly.
I nod. “For three more years.”
Her eyes widen again. “Three years?”
“Until I left for college.”
The room goes silent.
Kayla squeezes my hand again. “You carried that by yourself the entire time?”
“Yeah.”
A few seconds pass before she asks the next question. “The family never knew?”
I shake my head. “No.”
She looks confused. “How?”
I lean back against the couch. “Because Tony died before I ever told anyone.”
Kayla blinks. “He what?”
“Heart attack.”
I stare up at the ceiling. “My first year at Columbia.”
She sits there, processing that.
“You went to his funeral?” she says slowly.
“Yeah.”
“And everyone thought he was a good man?” she whispers.
The memory hits like a punch.
“Yeah.” My voice is quieter now. “That was the worst part.”
Kayla watches me carefully. “Why?”
I stare at the floor again.
“Because I stood there, listening to everyone talk about what a great man he was.” The words come out rough. “And I knew the truth had died with him. Cole always had an inkling that something happened, but I’ve dodged all his questions. I knew he’d tell our dad.”
The room is completely silent now.
Kayla moves closer slowly, then wraps her arms around me. For a second, I freeze, and then I let myself lean into her.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
I let out a long breath. “Yeah.”
Her voice softens. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”
I shake my head slightly. “That’s not the part that stayed with me.”
“What is?”
I look down at her. “The part where I realized the only way out was to never need anyone again.”
Kayla studies my face. “And how has that worked out for you?”
A quiet laugh escapes me. “Pretty well.”
Her fingers slide up into my hair. “Except for the part where you sleep in the same bed as me every night.”
I huff a quiet breath. “Except for that.”
Kayla tilts her head slightly. “Sawyer?”
“Yeah?”
“You survived him.”
The words hit harder than I’d have expected.
She holds my gaze steadily. “That’s not weakness.”
For a long moment, neither of us says anything.
I exhale slowly. For the first time in years, the past feels a little less heavy.
Kayla’s arms wrap around me before I even realize I’ve gone quiet.
For a second, my body locks up automatically. Old instincts that tell me not to let anyone close. But the fight drains out of me faster than usual tonight.
Maybe because the story is already out there now.
I let my forehead rest against her shoulder. Her hand moves slowly through my hair.
The apartment is quiet, except for the soft hum of the city outside the windows.
“You should’ve told someone,” she murmurs eventually.
“Maybe.”
Her fingers trace lightly along the back of my neck. “You were just a kid.”
I stare down at the floor. “I handled it.”
She pulls back slightly so she can look at me. “That doesn’t mean you should’ve had to.”
For a moment, neither of us says anything.
I know what she’s seeing right now—the scars and the nightmares. All the things I’ve spent years making sure no one noticed.
I brace myself for the shift. The moment when she looks at me differently, but Kayla doesn’t pull away.
Instead, she just cups my face gently. “I’m really glad you told me.”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest.
Uncomfortable but not bad. Just … unfamiliar.
I look down at my glass again. “Yeah.”
She leans her head against my shoulder again. This time, I don’t fight it.
I just sit here, letting someone else carry a little bit of the weight for once.