Chapter 22
Sawyer
Did I eat a bucket of sawdust last night or something? Because my mouth feels as dry as a fucking desert. Each swallow is like I’m trying to consume sandpaper as it scratches my throat.
I’m not even moving my head, but it pounds like a jackhammer is smashing into my mind. My leg too. Did I try running a marathon or something? Why does it ache so goddamn much?
Fuck me, I feel like death.
If the room stopped spinning, I might open my eyes and confirm I’m in heaven—or hell more likely. But given my current condition in the first minute of waking, I think letting the morning light into my vision might cause more pain—
Something shifts in my arms.
Followed by a soft, sleepy moan. One I instantly recognise.
My eyes shoot open. I try not to hiss at the burning sunlight pouring through the windows—must have forgotten to close the blinds, for fuck’s sake.
But it’s the least of my concerns when I find ashy-blonde hair directly in front of me and realise there’s a woman in my arms, her soft, warm body flush against me.
Surely not.
Surely she’s not in my bed.
What the fuck happened last night? I thought I watched her leave the bar, the prospect of a second chance going with her …
Anxious not to cause too much noise or movement, not to scare what is likely just a dream away, I slowly slide my arms from her, shuffling back a millimetre at a time.
My eyes are still gradually getting used to the light, but once I sit up and focus in on her beautiful, freckled face, they burst open, drinking every inch of her in.
Honey lies there, plush, rose-coloured lips parted, and the corners tilted just the tiniest bit.
Long blonde lashes feather over her freckled cheeks.
Her hair is splayed across the pillow around her—a halo of white gold.
Serenity radiates from her. I remember wishing I could give her this one day all those years ago—a bed to sleep safely in, a home where her worries could be left on the front porch.
What I would’ve given to wake up to this.
But that’s all it would ever be—a dream. A future unrealised.
Except, when her eyes flutter open and she turns, blessing me with those clear baby blues as the start of my morning, the shivers rushing through my body sure do feel damn real.
Honey’s lips pop open, but she stays put and lets her eyes trail over my face, as if she’s trying to decipher if this is real too. Probably better she doesn’t know we were spooning.
‘Morning,’ I start, but it comes out scratchy and I wince.
Honey’s brows drop, but she doesn’t hide her smile—one that tells me she already knows the answer when she asks, ‘How are you feeling?’
I flop back against the headboard. ‘Like I’ve been trampled by a bull—and I know what that feels like from first-hand experience, so I ain’t exaggerating.’
She chuckles, all light and breathy, then rolls onto her back, stretching her arms up with a quiet moan.
The elongation of her body has the sheets sliding down and revealing the baggy T-shirt she’s wearing.
Her full breasts press against the thin material, hard nipples too visible—an unwelcome and torturous zap of heat hits me down south at the image of her.
God, I must still be a bit drunk from last night because it’s taking a lot more strength than usual not to reach for her. Not to run my fingers over her curves—
Hold on. That isn’t why she’s in my—‘Wait, we didn’t … ?’
‘Oh, no. No,’ she giggles out. ‘I’m not sure you would’ve been in a state to even if that’s what I wanted. It took both me and Wolfman to get you to your room. I just stayed to make sure you got to bed okay and didn’t throw up in your sleep.’
‘Fuck.’ With a groan, I rub my hands over my face, hoping I haven’t gone too red. My head throbs from the movement. What a splash of cold water that image is. It’s probably good that I can’t remember. ‘I’m sorry.’
Honey shimmies herself up next to me, still chuckling, and even though it’s at my expense, I feed off her joy regardless. ‘It’s fine, honestly. It was funny.’
I peek between my fingers at her, my hands then falling at the sight of her bright smile.
Knowing she’s not still angry at my behaviour last night, the things I said, is a relief.
And I decide I rather like this—waking up and talking to her in the morning.
It’s mundane and nice and the way the morning sunshine drizzles her in golden light is fucking beautiful.
I want it every morning.
Damn, my hungover self is being too honest right now.
My trip to Arizona later couldn’t come soon enough.
‘Although,’ Honey adds with a perked brow—the kind of look I think I’d enjoy being at the mercy of more. ‘I didn’t appreciate you stripping down to your underwear when I suggested we get you into some pyjamas.’
Well, that’s just fucking embarrassing—
Oh God.
Does that mean … she’s seen it?
My smile instantly drops. Along with my chin as I cast my gaze down. Taking in my bare chest. The red lips tattoo branding my collarbone. The mark she made.
I never thought she’d get to see it.
I never thought I’d get to see her.
Not after she left.
‘Sawyer.’ Honey doesn’t even have to say what she’s thinking, because I can tell simply from the tone—the choice of soft notes she uses as she says my name conveys enough.
Her hand glides along the surface of the sheets, never quite reaching me.
I want her to run her hands over my body, to feel out the tattoo, to demand I tell her how much it means to me.
After whatever happened last night, I don’t have the strength to pretend—barely have the strength to keep my eyes open, keep my body up. It was inevitable the past would come up, and I’m not sure I can fight it back anymore. Not now she’s leaving again.
So, I just sigh out, ‘I know, Blue. I know.’
In the quiet of the morning, her shuddering breath is as loud as thunder. ‘When did you get it?’
‘Not as long ago as I’d like to admit.’
Because she never left my mind. No matter how hard I tried.
Even the painful memories of her were an addiction.
The bed dips as she shuffles closer, the sheets scraping against her bare legs when she moves to her knees beside me.
‘When?’ she pleas.
I turn then, taking in the way her silvery eyes swim with regret. Melancholy. Lost time.
So much fucking lost time.
‘When I was twenty-two,’ I admit. ‘My mom got in contact with me. I was starting to make a bigger name for myself in bull riding, and somehow she got my contact details. I was hesitant at first, but deep down I thought maybe she hadn’t known how to find me all these years or felt too guilty to call.
So, I met with her.’ My laugh is involuntary—the only way to cope with my stupidity.
‘She just wanted money, really. She took one look at me, saw I was still scarred, and decided I was only worth knowing for my money.’
‘Sawyer, I’m so s—’
I push on, desperate not to hear her pity.
‘Everyone just thinks the tattoo was a silly drunken decision or a reflection of my playboy life.’ Her face drops and I feel it in my heart, that she’ll never be the only one.
‘But it’s not—I got it as a reminder, that I’m stronger than my scars, that they don’t have to define me.
That they prove I can survive anything. Like you leaving …
Not that I really believe it, but it helps on the days I need it. ’
A lone tear runs down Honey’s cheek. I don’t realise I’ve reached up to wipe it away with the pad of my thumb until I’ve done it, yet before I can pull my hand away, Honey’s covers mine, holding it in place. Letting her cheek lean into my cradling touch.
She closes her eyes for the briefest of moments, but when they reopen, her gaze goes straight to my lips, the column of her throat working.
Her tongue darts out across her lips before she finally catches my eyes again.
It’s pure torture. Seeing her in my bed.
Touching her. Wanting to kiss away her tears.
Needing her on a depth I’ve never felt need before.
The need to win, for fame, for glory—none of it comes close to the need for Honey Goldman.
And I’m struggling to fight it. Have been since she moved in. Since I first laid eyes on her again.
‘Tell me why you left, Blue.’
At that, her hand retracts. ‘What?’
‘I—I need you to tell me all the things wrong with me. All the reasons nothing could ever happen between us. Because otherwise I’ll forget, and I’ll do the wrong thing here again.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Anger strikes her eyes like lightning, ire fully lit ablaze. As if she can’t believe I’d even suggest such, even though it’s her who confirmed such nine years ago. Her gaze flicks between mine wildly. ‘It—there’s nothing wrong with you, Sawyer.’
Bullshit.
My teeth clench, and I grit out, ‘Then why, Blue? Why did you leave?’
‘Because I was scared!’ she cries out. Her chest heaves with each breath, as if the admission knocked all the air from her.
‘I … I never told, but … I had a pregnancy scare. It was just a late period but it terrified me. I thought it was a sign—a punishment—for getting close to you and thinking you’d stay.
That’s how it had always worked for me, Sawyer.
I get close to people, I think I’ve finally found the love I want, and then I get hurt.
I get punished.’ Her eyes are a swarming sea of agony.
She whispers the next part, body trembling, ‘And I was scared you’d leave me. ’
No fucking chance.
With that, I bracket my hands around her wrists and pull her into my lap, not thinking about offering my touch first, not when I know she needs to be held.
Though Honey comes willingly, thighs landing either side of my hips, her wide eyes blink at me, my body, taking in our predicament, at how well her curves instantly mould to me.
But she already knew that.
That knowledge is almost a decade old.
Gently, I guide her hands to my shoulders, running my own down her shaking arms, then dip my head to look deeper into her eyes, all red and rimmed with silver. ‘I had a plan for us, Blue.’
‘I know … but you also had a plan for you, and I was scared that one day you’d wake up and realise that I was in the way—that you weren’t living that full life on the road, being with whoever you wanted.
Because—’ she pauses, words struggling up ‘—we were never meant to be, really. Look at us. You were the high school quarterback on his way to becoming a bull-riding champion, and I was … I didn’t even know who I was, Sawyer.
If you hadn’t seen the marks on my wrist that day in senior year, we would’ve never spoken, there wouldn’t have been a future to worry about. ’
Fuck what’s meant to be.
I shouldn’t be able to stay on the back of a bucking bull as long as I do, but I still do it. I defy the odds. I fight against the fear that tries to stop me. And I’ll fight against hers too. If that’s what it takes.
I’m done standing on the sidelines of our love. She didn’t come back for nothing. I’ve never been so sure of anything.
‘But I did.’ I bring her wrist up and press a kiss to the skin there, over her thrumming pulse, where the bruises once lay. Her breath catches like the softest tap of a symbol. ‘I was meant to, Blue. That’s why you’re back, I know it.’
Two blue pools of wonder watch as I lift her other wrist and plant a kiss there too. When she doesn’t stop me, I let my lips explore further, tenderly kissing up her arm and appreciating every inch of her bare skin.
I’ve missed it so fucking much. The sensation of her softness beneath my lips, her sweet vanilla scent invading my senses when I breathe her in, the way my blood thrums at her closeness. My heart pumps mine, mine, mine, fingers digging harder into her hips.
‘You’re meant to be mine,’ I mumble against her skin. When I reach the sleeve of her T-shirt, I drag her hair out of the way and nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck, relishing how pliable she is in my hands, bending her neck to give me more access instantly.
‘You don’t want us, Sawyer,’ she confesses even as my mouth meets the sensitive skin of her neck. Her pulse flutters beneath my lips.
She said us, as if Noah hasn’t brought purpose to my every day, hasn’t brightened my life just as much as she has. As if having the two of them around hasn’t made me reconsider the kind of future I want. The kind of family I want.
‘Why?’ I trail my mouth up to her ear. ‘Because you think all I want is to sleep around? You think I enjoy always running from any chance of connection?’
My teeth graze her lobe once, twice, then bite down, nipping the flesh and receiving the most delicious jolt of her body in response, the kind that has her hips rocking into me.
I’m so fucking hard and I hope she can feel it.
Hope she realises how much my cock is aching for her.
How much it’s needed her all these years.
‘You think I haven’t had you in my mind for the past decade, setting too high of a bar for any other woman I’ve met?’
I’m being greedy with my touches but years of need are finally spilling over, so I slide my hand up her stomach and palm one of her breasts over her T-shirt, groaning at the feel of her soft, full body. At the way she gasps again. I remember she did that a lot when I first touched her in my truck.
‘Do you know what I did after I touched you last weekend on the deck, Blue? I went straight to my room and sucked off what you left on my fingers as I fisted my cock thinking of you. Thinking of how good you felt, how fucking sweet you tasted.’
‘Sawyer,’ she mewls, and my cock twitches at how badly I want to coax more of those whimpering sounds from her.
But I can’t. Not yet.
Not until she tells me to. Not until she admits she needs me as much as I need her.
‘I know that I don’t seem steady. I know how I’ve lived my life doesn’t fit the picture you’re painting for yourself but forget the man I’ve been. Forget everything, Blue. What kind of man do you need? Let me be him.’