22. Sawyer
SAWYER
Pulling into the trailer park in Beckett’s BMW was certainly something I never thought I’d experience.
The people loitering on their lawns stopped and stared as we drove through.
The moment we stopped at my house, I knew the rumors would circulate.
Was it too late to turn around? Why had I let Liv convince me that this was a good idea?
Deep down, I knew why. Part of me wanted to see if he would run when he saw how I lived.
I wasn’t ashamed of the way I grew up. Grams did everything she could to ensure we had a roof over our head, food in our bellies, and clothes on our backs.
How could I ever fault her for that? But I needed to see if the reality of how different we were would send him running for the hills.
It was time to lay all my cards on the table. Let him see all the imperfect, broken bits of me so that he understood exactly who I was and not who I hid behind.
Beckett looked around as we drove to the back of the park as I directed him. I kept my lips firmly clasped together, trying so hard to keep myself from asking what he thought. It wasn’t until he cut the engine that I trusted myself to utter a simple, “This is me.”
“Where’s your car?” he asked, staring at the empty spot on the worn dirt path where the Toyota Camry usually sat.
“Oh, it’s in the shop,” I admitted. There was no point in lying to him. Not when I was about to show him everything. “That’s why I was with Duke and Liv today.”
“When will it be fixed?” His eyes remained locked on that spot, as though he could will it into existence by thinking about it hard enough.
“Whenever the mechanic tells me it’s done.”
“How are you going to get to work then?”
I shrugged. “Duke or Liv will pick me up.”
Beckett and I got out of the vehicle, each step toward the trailer feeling heavier than the last. We paused in front of the battered screen door, and I tried to envision it from his eyes.
The faded blue siding looked worse for wear after sitting beneath the Tennessee sun for over thirty years.
Parts of the underskirt had been destroyed by our neighbor’s dog, which chased a rabbit under our home and got stuck.
The wooden porch was missing a section of railing from when I was hurrying out the door, and slipped on a patch of ice.
Each bit of ugly held a story. A memory near and dear to my heart in some way or another, but Beckett didn’t know that. He couldn’t possibly.
As he slid his hand along my lower back, I decided to look at him.
He surveyed the yard like it was his job.
I waited on bated breath for him to look at me like I was dirt beneath his shoe, but it never came.
As he turned to face me, a gentle smile on his lips, all that worry vanished into thin air.
I felt like an asshole for thinking the worst of him when he’d only shown me the best.
Before I lost my nerve, I grabbed his hand and tugged him forward. “Come on. Let’s go inside.” His skin was warm against my own, a relief against the chilly winter air biting at my fingers.
We slowly moved up to the porch, careful to avoid the hole in the second step. Harold had stepped clean through a few weeks ago. I just added it to the never ending list of things to ask Duke to take care of.
The moment we opened the door, we were greeted by angry shouting and the unmistakable sound of The Price is Right blaring in the background.
Grams was sitting in her recliner with a bowl of popcorn, throwing pieces at the television as she berated the contestants.
She wore a bright pink shirt that said, “I may be a handful, but so are my tits” written across the center, and zebra-striped pajama pants.
What was I thinking by bringing Beckett here? This was a colossal mistake. He was going to think I came from a long line of eccentrics, when in reality… Grams was an anomaly. There was no one else like her.
“Haven’t you ever been to the grocery store before, girl? A gallon of milk ain’t $2!” she said, crossing her arms with a huff.
Beckett grinned like a madman as Grams swung her head in our direction, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t wearing her hearing aids or her glasses, which was just a testament to how many times she’d seen this episode before. It was too late to do anything now other than watch the train wreck occur.
“Sawyer, baby? Who’s that strapping young man beside you? Come here and let me look.”
“Here we go,” I mumbled beneath my breath. “Just act casual.”
Beckett quirked a brow, clearly amused at my utter mortification. “As opposed to… what? Breaking out my favorite graphic tee about my big tits?”
I swear to God, I’m going to burn that shirt the next time I do her laundry.
I pushed Beckett toward Grams’ recliner. “Approach at your own risk,” I said, louder than necessary. “She’s feral.”
“Now I know where you get it from,” he said.
Then, because he must’ve been determined to kill me, he shot me a fucking wink as he approached Grams’ seat.
Thinking about him in any way other than platonic was an epic mistake, but I couldn’t help but remember the way his kiss made me weak at the knees, or the power I felt at his desperation to touch me.
“You’re a real tall drink of water, aren’t you?
” Grams said, studying Beckett from head to toe.
“And those curls!” She peered around him to stare me directly in the eye, which was a feat considering the doctor said she was considered legally blind at her last visit.
“Your baby is gonna be one cute little sucker.”
Beckett’s eyes lit up. “He definitely will.”
“Grams!” I exclaimed, covering my mouth. She had no idea Beckett was the father. I hadn’t even told her the baby’s father had come back to town.
“I’m old, not stupid, baby. If you’re bringing this young man around, I assume he’s something special.” I stood there, gaping like a fish out of water as she turned back to Beckett. “Now, sit down and tell me about yourself.”
She patted the arm of her chair, and I stifled my groan. At least it wasn’t her lap. I wouldn’t have put it past her at this point. She really didn't care what anyone thought or what was proper. Grams was just grams. Overly eccentric, but that was part of her charm.
Beckett took it all in stride, laughing and taking a seat on the couch next to her chair. He clasped his hands in front of him. “What do you want to know? I’m an open book. I don’t know how much your granddaughter has told you about me—”
She snorted, waving her hand dismissively. “That girl don’t tell me shit. I have to hear everything secondhand, like some nosy outsider rather than her grandmother. Can you believe I had to coax the pregnancy out of her? My god. It’s like she don’t know me at all.”
I took the seat next to Beckett, wishing this couch would open up and swallow me whole. There was never any telling what was going to come out of Grams’ mouth. I couldn’t trust the woman as far as I could throw her, which wasn’t saying much.
“No, gossip in this town just circulates faster than I can process. I was always going to tell you about the baby. I just needed some time,” I corrected her.
I still remember the day I picked her up from the retirement home after she’d spent the afternoon gabbing with her friends. The look she pierced me with had been enough to prompt me into talking. Before we’d gotten home, I told her everything except for Beckett’s name.
We spent the rest of the night curled up in the living room watching old black and white films as I cried with my head on her lap. We hadn’t done that since I was a kid, but it felt the same. Just as comforting now as it was then.
I waited nervously for Beckett to say this was all too much or run out screaming.
The poor guy had been through a lot over the past couple of weeks.
Maybe, in a horribly selfish way, I expected it because then I could've put the guilt I was carrying to bed once and for all.
If he was a horrible guy, this would be easier somehow.
I wouldn't feel guilty over the fact that I never planned to tell him he was going to be a father.
Instead, I'd know I made the right choice.
But he wasn't that kind of man at all, and I hated myself for wishing he was.
“That’s okay,” he said, reaching over and taking my hand. He squeezed until I met his gaze. “Our girl just needs a bit of time to process things changing. Isn’t that right?”
Our girl. Our son. Beckett was always laying claim to me in some way or another, and the realization had my stomach doing flips. His words and comforting smile were like anchors, keeping my feet on the ground when all I wanted was to let this feeling carry me away.
Grams must’ve sensed the shift. For the first time in my life, she was silent. There was no smartass comment or off-the-cuff remark hanging in the air. She just sat there, a smile carving its way into her features. “Well, I’ll be damned… You’re not just a pretty face.”
“No ma’am,” he said, chuckling. “I’ve got a pretty good head on my shoulders, if I do say so myself.”
“I can see that,” she agreed, nodding. “Good. Sawyer needs someone like that.”
The blush creeping along my skin burned brightly as I sat there beneath the weight of both their stares. “Oh, it’s not… I mean, we’re not a couple or anything. It’s just…” I fought for the right word, trying so hard to redraw the boundary lines to something that felt comfortable. “We’re friends.”
Grams snorted, rolling her eyes so far in the back of her head, I was sure they’d get stuck like that.
“Yeah, and I’m the queen of England. Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, baby.
” She reached over to pat Beckett’s arm.
“Now, tell me all about yourself, and don’t leave anything out! ”