Chapter 20
Honey
It takes me a few restless hours after getting back to the ranch from the bar to finally drift off to sleep, my mind still raring from the whole evening—from the audacity of Sawyer and the things he said.
I think I’m just falling into a light slumber when the loudest bang practically shakes the whole house, forcing me to shoot up in bed.
I clutch the sheets, listening intently to the muffled voice coming from outside. A man’s voice.
Another crash that definitely sounds like it was at the front door has me jumping to my feet, grabbing the hardest thing I can find nearby, which tragically happens only to be a rather thick hardback book, and I quietly creep out my bedroom.
God, I really wish Sawyer wasn’t out tonight.
Even with a broken leg, I’m sure he’d fight better than me.
I silently pray it’s just a cow that’s gotten loose—maybe Kentucky wants to play fetch or something. Though that would mean it’s learnt to talk, which is almost as terrifying.
But by the time I’ve tiptoed to the top of the stairs, the creak and swing of the front door opening has echoed through the house, and the glow of lights flickers in from the kitchen, which calms me somewhat because I don’t think burglars usually have a key to the front door and put lights on.
Which means it must be Sawyer.
Oh God. What if all that banging about was because he’s brought Tara back?
I should go back to sleep, but for some reason I carry on down the stairs, clearly desperate to upset myself more. My steps are tentative, my arms wrapped tightly around the oversized T-shirt I was wearing to bed.
‘Wait, Sawyer, no—’ It’s Wolfman’s voice that rings through the archway, followed by a loud crash and subsequent groan. That has me hurrying down the last steps and into the kitchen.
My shoulders drop when I find Wolfman just about managing to haul Sawyer up from the floor, one of Sawyer’s arms loosely around his friend’s shoulders. Wolfman’s mop of chocolate curls flops about as his gaze snaps up to me.
‘Oh, hey, Honey.’ His smile is practically a wince as he tries to hold up what I can now see is a very drunk Sawyer—his head hangs like a rag doll, his eyes are closed, and a tipsy smile spreads through his flushed cheeks.
Wolfman grimaces as he struggles to hold Sawyer in place.
‘Sorry for waking you up. I was trying to be quiet. Can’t speak for both of us, though. ’
It’s then that Sawyer flips his head up and beams at me, eyes brightening comically as he shouts, ‘There she is!’
He attempts to walk to me on shaky legs, but Wolfman keeps a tight hold on him, assumedly pre-empting another fall. Sawyer merely pouts at his friend, reminding me too much of Noah when he’s upset.
Oh my, he is absolutely wasted.
I’ve never seen him like this.
After everything with his dad, I didn’t think he ever let himself get this drunk …
‘I was gonna take him back to mine, but he wouldn’t quit whining, saying he wanted to be home with you.’ Wolfman rolls his eyes when Sawyer gasps at the accusation, though it melts into a hiccup about halfway through.
Giggling—yes, giggling—at the hiccup, Sawyer then brings a finger to his lips as he turns to his friend and hushes him. ‘Shh! She’ll hear you.’
Holding back my own laughter is a fight I cannot win, and I barely manage to stifle it with a hand over my mouth. But seeing the cocky champion bull rider reduced to a giggling, hiccuping, child-like drunken nature is too entertaining. Especially since I’m still mad at him for tonight.
Sawyer’s glassy eyes flick back to me, darkening until I stop laughing, though he struggles to keep them open.
‘Okay,’ I chuckle out, running to Wolfman’s aid to wrap Sawyer’s other arm around my shoulders.
He immediately lets some of his weight lean on me, which I’d forgotten would be a lot considering he’s practically made of nothing but solid, tan muscle.
Muscle that’s right under my fingers as I wrap my arms around his waist. It’s then that I realise his clothes are muddy—likely from falling over—and soiled from what smells like strong, cheap beer.
They’re going to need throwing in the wash tomorrow morning.
‘Let’s get you to bed,’ I say.
‘Thanks,’ Wolfman grunts, hefting Sawyer forward to get him to start walking—though it’s more us dragging him given he’s only using one leg, his booted leg obsolete currently.
‘Mmm.’ Using far too much strength, Sawyer squeezes me tightly into him and rests his cheek against my head. ‘Missed you.’
Wolfman snorts as we stumble through the archway, guiding Sawyer towards his bedroom. Thank the Lord he’s sleeping down here because there’s no way we’d get him up the stairs in this state. It’d be the couch or the cold wooden floor.
‘Missed you too,’ I joke back.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Sawyer grumbles just as we reach the door to his bedroom. ‘Bet you didn’t miss me when you were on your stupid date.’
So he was jealous …
I shouldn’t be smiling at that.
‘Uh …’ Wolfman hesitates, eyes flicking between me and Sawyer.
‘I’ve got him from here,’ I say.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. The bed’s just there.’ I look up at Sawyer. ‘And you’re gonna be a good boy for me, aren’t you, Sawyer?’
Sawyer lifts his arm from around Wolfman to salute me.
‘Alright. I’ll see myself out.’ Wolfman pats Sawyer on the shoulder. ‘Have a wonderful headache tomorrow morning, bud.’
He waves at me and then heads off down the hallway.
‘Love you!’ Sawyer shouts after him, the words garbled.
‘Love you too, Nash!’ Wolfman’s voice echoes back, making Sawyer smile, before the click of the front door shutting sounds.
And then it’s just the two of us.
My hands clutch onto Sawyer’s chiselled body while he gazes down at me through heavy-lidded eyes, resting slightly against the door frame.
‘Okay. Bedtime.’ Slowly, I manage to shuffle Sawyer over to the bed, easing him down so he’s sat on the edge. The whole time he just watches me with that child-like smile on his face.
Once I’m certain he’s not going to fall forward, I step back and take in his dirty clothes. My mothering instincts kick in, knowing he shouldn’t go to bed like that.
‘We should probably change your clothes. Get you dressed for bed. I’ll find you something.’ I move towards his chest of drawers, rummaging through them for some pyjamas. I throw over my shoulder as my search becomes futile, especially in the dark, ‘Where do you keep your pyjamas?’
He doesn’t answer me, and I half expect him to be asleep when I turn around to check—
Except I’m met with a half-naked Sawyer facing away from me, who has just finished removing his dirty T-shirt, and drops it to the floor.
Silvery moonlight shines through the window, shimmering against the smooth planes of his back and shoulders, while also highlighting all the solid, hard edges of his muscles.
They stretch and flex as he moves his hands to his belt and starts unbuckling it, ripping it out of the belt loops of his Wranglers with one quick, and unexpectedly mouth-watering movement.
‘Sawyer!’ I squeak as he drops his jeans to the floor, struggling to remove his boot and pull the jeans off. He’s left in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs that torturously emphasise how his ass is just as toned as the rest of his body. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’
My gaze volleys around the room as I force myself to look away but also can’t help myself from glancing back at him—like my eyes are magnetised to his body.
His really, really chiselled, broad body.
Jeez—I didn’t realise it was possible for thighs to be so thick and toned.
Even his bad leg is still faring well. But I suppose he needs a lot of strength in them to keep him on the back of those bulls.
Sawyer turns then, and furrows his brow, eyelids heavy as he still fights to barely keep his eyes open. ‘You told me to get dressed for bed.’
‘That’s undressed.’
‘But this is what I wear to bed.’ He says it with such conviction, gesturing to his almost-naked body.
Maybe if he could just put a T-shirt on or something to save me right now—
But then I see it.
The lips tattoo on his collarbone.
And my mouth dries out.
I take a long blink just to see if the tiredness and darn hilarity of this night has caused me to start seeing things, but when I open my eyes again, it’s still there, the bright-red colour standing out under the moonlight that paints him.
Covering up the scar that once laid there.
Just like the ones he was too ashamed to show anyone.
Until that night in the back of his truck bed where he bared all his soul to me.
Where he let me prove to him that no matter how broken he was, I’d easily find a way to love him.
Where I kissed every one of his scars, starting with that one.
A memory I’ve tried to forget.
A memory he’s branded onto his body.
‘What’s wrong, Blue?’ Sawyer asks, limping towards me. It only gives me a better view of the tattoo.
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring when Sawyer’s fingers lift my chin up, forcing my eyes to lock with his. He looks downright wrecked at the thought I could be upset, and it breaks my heart.
‘Nothing,’ I croak out, throat lodged with too many memories.
With the realisation that maybe I left the deepest scars on him.
That even after all these years, I’ve been with him.
When I’ve been checking up on his bull-riding career, I’ve already unknowingly been at every single event, the memory of me carried through the ink.
‘You’re lying.’
‘And you’re drunk.’
He shakes his head as he hiccups. ‘Not possible. I have a rule.’
‘A rule?’
‘Yep, Duke swaps my drinks for non-alcol—’ he stumbles over the word, brows knitting together as he uses all his effort to sound the word out slowly ‘—al-co-ho-lic ones after I’ve had three. Has done for years. Don’t wanna be like my dad.’
But Duke wasn’t there tonight. Well, that explains how he got so drunk.
‘Come on. You need to sleep.’ I take his hands and drag him back towards the bed, letting go to lift the sheets. When he pouts at me and doesn’t get in straight away, I perk a stern brow and he immediately caves, flopping onto the mattress.
I pull the sheets up over him as his eyes already start to flutter closed. ‘Goodnight, Sawyer.’
His fingers brush mine just as I turn away, tangling between them. ‘Stay.’
‘What?’
‘Stay,’ he insists, tightening his grasp on my hand.
‘You’re so demanding, you know that?’
‘And you’re so perfect, you know that?’ he argues back, pouting again, eyes still shut.
He’s seconds away from passing out. I know if I left he’d only care for a short moment and then be fast asleep, likely forgetting he even asked me to stay by the time he’s awake and dealing with the pounding headache he’ll no doubt have in the morning.
Except, when my eyes land on that lips tattoo on his collar bone, peeking out from the sheets, I’m reminded of the man I once loved.
The man I have to leave behind again when I go back to my apartment and real life. The man I once wished I could wake up to every day. So, I let myself indulge one last time, and slipping under the sheets beside him becomes the easiest decision I ever made.