Chapter 36 Another Twist of the Proverbial Knife
Another Twist of the Proverbial Knife
Sawyer
Ihave a glass of whiskey in each hand as I scan the crowd for Wes. My gaze locks onto him from across the room, like I’m programmed to home in on him no matter where we are.
He’s striding toward his mom, his brows drawn tight with tension. Something’s bothering him. It’s ridiculous how acutely aware I’ve become of his every move, every shift in his expression.
I’m so focused on whatever has him upset that I nearly walk straight into a woman who steps in front of me. I pull up short, the whiskey sloshing dangerously in the glass.
“Oops, sorry,” she says with a smile that’s damn near venomous—though she doesn’t look sorry at all.
“Oh, it’s fine,” I reply, stepping to the side to move past her. But she doesn’t budge, instead eyeing me with a scrutinizing gaze as she downs her glass of champagne.
“I saw you come in with Wes. How do you two know each other?”
I don’t know who she is, but the way she says his name—possessive, almost territorial—tells me all I need to know. She thinks she has some kind of claim on him.
I take a slow sip of my whiskey, leveling her with a measured look. She’s blonde, blue-eyed, slim, and has a sense of ease here that I'll never have. The perfectly coiffed hair, polished nails, and diamond earrings practically scream city girl. She belongs here. I don’t.
I debate how to answer her. Wes and I aren’t dating, so calling him my boyfriend wouldn’t be accurate. And I don’t need to stir up trouble—this is his world, not mine.
But then again…
“Oh, Wes and I go way back,” I say with a small, knowing smile.
Okay, maybe I would needle her a little.
She purses her lips, eyes narrowing before she changes her features into the fake sugar-sweet smile she started with.
“How nice.” The venom lurking behind her eyes tells me she doesn’t think it’s nice at all.
“He must have gotten so bored in Hicksville he forgot he had a good thing waiting for him at home.”
I down the whiskey and hand it off to a passing server who’s collecting empty glasses from around the hall.
“I’m Sawyer, and you are?” I can’t fake a smile quite like she can, but I don’t need to pretend to be nice to this condescending snob. If she sees the anger burning behind my eyes, then so be it.
“How silly of me. I’m Hannah. I’m Wes’ fiancée.” She flashes the diamond on her finger at me. How had I missed that rock on her hand? I’m brought up short, frozen by the shock of seeing Wes’ ring on someone else.
She’s wearing his ring. It feels like I've been doused in cold water, and I bite my cheek until I taste blood.
They aren’t together. She left him. But here she was, staking a claim and wearing his ring.
I grit my teeth and tilt my head. “Don't you mean ex-fiancée?”
“Oh, honey," she says, tone thick with condescension. "I have every intention of keeping this ring on my finger, right where it belongs. I have no doubt Wes will be on board as soon as I get the chance to talk to him.”
She can’t be serious. This can’t be real.
Hannah’s smile is gleeful and devious, and I’d really love to punch that perfect nose and ruin it for some plastic surgeon to fix later.
Wes chooses that moment to show up. “Hannah.” His tone is expressionless, but she slides up next to him and threads an arm through his.
“It’s so good to see you, baby,” she gushes like I’m not even here.
Wes tries to extricate himself from her koala-like grip with little success. “Hannah, what in the fuck are you doing?”
“Saying hi. I haven’t seen you in so long. I’ve missed you, baby.” Her eyes are wide, and a sultry smile plays on her lips.
Her hands roam over his chest, and I know she’s feeling the new muscles he’s gained from working on the ranch these last six weeks. Jealousy flares underneath my breastbone. The way she touches him with such familiarity has my jaw clenching so hard it aches.
“Last time I saw you, you threw a vase at my head,” Wes reminds her.
“Oh, honey. You know I can be dramatic sometimes. I was just anxious with all the wedding planning. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Wes’ eyes catch on the ring decorating her finger and his brows knot in confusion while she whispers something in his ear. He sighs as he leans away. “Hannah, how much have you had to drink tonight?”
“Oh, you know.” She waves her hand in a gesture like how much she drank is insignificant. “I was nervous to see you again. We had that fight and then you left before we had a chance to make up afterwards.”
Wes’ gaze hardens, and he grips her hands. “Hannah, no. We aren’t doing this here. We aren’t—”
"I just want to talk," she says, looking up at him with glassy eyes.
He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and then glances my way, eyes pleading. “Sawyer, I’m sorry. I need a minute.”
His statement steals the breath from my lungs. What could he possibly have to say to his ex? What conversations have they not had yet after he and I...?
Hannah’s smug smile tells me this is exactly what she was hoping for, and I struggle to rein in my desire to slap the smirk off her pretty face.
It’s another twist of the proverbial knife. He’s leaving me so he can talk to her. Why bring me in the first place? Was he using me so he could rekindle things once he got back to the city?
Wes searches the vicinity and finds his sister watching this all unfold. He waves her over. “Do you need me to take out the trash?” Quinn asks, glancing toward Hannah.
I knew I always liked Quinn.
Wes gives her a censorious look. “Will you keep Sawyer company? I just need a few minutes to talk to Hannah.”
Quinn nods at him and he leads Hannah out of the hall.
“Well, that looked awkward,” Quinn says.
I put the second glass of whiskey on a passing server’s tray, my stomach suddenly clenching painfully. Quinn gives me a gentle smile.
“Hannah never shies away from making a big scene of things.”
“I don’t need a babysitter. If you want to go back to the party, feel free.” I nod toward the center of the hall.
“Oh, hell no. Mom’s parties are always boring as hell. Why do you think I was over here eavesdropping? This is the most fun I’ve had all night.”
I cringe because I am definitely not having fun. Wes is downstairs with his ex-fiancée after promising he wouldn’t leave my side all night. And I’m quickly surpassing shock and moving on to fuming mad.
Quinn must sense as much because she gives me an apologetic look and steers me toward a small table off to the side. She sips her champagne as she studies me. “Don’t be too hard on Wes. He’s probably just getting her an Uber.”
I nod noncommittally, the burn in my throat adding fuel to the fire of my already ignited temper. I can’t stop thinking of the way she’d touched him and how he’d left with her instead of keeping his promise and staying with me.
But then again, what even was I to Wes?
Not his girlfriend, just a good time while he was bored “in Hicksville” as Hannah had so eloquently put it.
Quinn tries to engage in small talk, but I’m sulking and can’t seem to pretend I’m not. I’m horrible company for the bubbly Quinn. That much hasn’t changed about her. She’s still the sweet, exuberant, pristine princess she’s always been.
“Wes told me you’re training horses now?” she asks, trying to pull me from the vicious edge of my thoughts.
“Yep,” I reply without looking at her. My gaze is pinned to the door, waiting for Wes to return.
She doesn’t let my preoccupation deter her. “That’s probably what I miss most. The horses. That was the one thing I enjoyed doing while I was at the ranch. Riding. And trying to domesticate the feral farm cats, of course.”
I stare sullenly at the tablecloth, and she shakes her head at me, a smile ticking up the corner of her mouth. It looks so similar to the smirk Wes is always giving me that I finally meet her eyes.
“So, things with you and my brother must be getting pretty serious, huh?”
I roll my eyes because, honestly, it’s not something I want to discuss.
I had convinced myself that he and I were just having fun.
But then Hannah waltzed in, with his ring still on her finger, and now he’s off talking to her while I’m stuck here, wondering if they’re out there reconciling.
And… why does that make my damn heart hurt so much?
I should have expected something like this when he'd reminded me he was leaving right after our perfect night under the stars. It would make sense. In a little over a week, he's gone and then whatever we have is over, anyway. We didn’t make each other any promises about what happens after he leaves, and I wasn’t looking for anything long term or serious.
So, why does the fact that he’s outside with his ex-fiancée feel like a knife to my kidneys?
Why does the idea of her touching him make me want to claw her eyes out? And how in the hell am I supposed to act like none of this has affected me when he gets back in here? I’ve never been a good actress. Whatever I’m feeling shows plain as day on my face, no matter how hard I try to hide it.
“We aren’t serious,” I finally answer.
Quinn squeezes my hand. “Well, I’ve never seen Wes look at someone the way he looked at you when you two walked in together. He’s serious about you, whether he's admitted it or not.”
“Pfft,” I blow air past my lips. “Right.”
Quinn gives me a soft smile. “You’ll see. Mark my words, that man is crazy for you.” She inclines her head toward the doors that Wes is walking through, and she stands up, waving him over.
Relief pours over his features when his gaze settles on me.
Maybe he was worried I’d disappear while he was off talking with Hannah, but like some lovesick fool, I stayed.
I’m out of my seat by the time he reaches the table, gathering my handbag.
I wobble slightly, unsteady in the damn heels I never should have worn, and Wes steadies me with a firm hand on my hip.
I fix him with an angry stare.
Something flickers behind his eyes—regret, disappointment—but he gives me a small nod. “Alright, let’s go, Red.”
“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. I can find a ride.” Though, realistically, what Uber would take me nearly two hours back to Cottonwood Creek? And if I could find one, the price would be outrageous.
He ignores me. “Quinn, tell Mom and Dad I’ll see them at Thanksgiving.”
“Sure. It was nice seeing you again, Sawyer,” she says as she gives her brother a hug. “See you guys at Thanksgiving.”
Wes’ hand settles on my lower back as we walk out of the hall and I immediately shrug him off. We make it to the car in silence, but my anger festers with every mile we put between us and the city. I bite my tongue, holding it all in, until I can’t stand it any longer.