Chapter 38 #2
It comes out quieter than I meant it to, less certain than his declaration. But it’s the truth.
We finish eating as the sun sets completely, and the silence between us shifts from comfortable to weighted. When I glance over at Sawyer, he’s looking out at the lights of Creeksprings below, but his expression is distant, troubled.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“Just… wondering how we got here. A few months ago I was just going through the motions. Work, home, studying. Didn’t think about much beyond that.” He pauses. “Didn’t let myself think about much beyond that.”
“What changed?”
He looks at me, and there’s something vulnerable in his eyes. “One day I was getting some free coffee at a bank and you were there.”
I laugh softly despite the heavy conversation. “That’s a weird way to start a relationship.”
“Yeah, well, my life’s been pretty weird for a while.” His voice gets quieter, more careful. “I wasn’t really living before I met you. I guess I was just surviving.”
“Is it because of your wife?”
Sawyer nods slowly, and I can see him deciding something. Whether to let me in or keep this wall up. “Lila died three years ago. Car accident. But Ali, the thing is…” He pauses, and the silence stretches. His jaw tightens. “She was having an affair when she died.”
I feel my breath catch. Oh god. “Sawyer.”
“I found out a few days after her accident. Her coworker, the guy she was sleeping with, he came to see me. Told me everything. Said he couldn’t keep lying about it anymore.
” His voice is flat, factual, but I can hear the old pain underneath it.
“I couldn’t tell anyone because she was dead, you know?
What was the point in ruining her memory?
The weird thing I don’t even think I would’ve divorced her. ”
He’s been carrying this alone for three years. I reach over and take his hand, squeezing tight. “I’m so sorry, Sawyer.”
Sawyer looks down at our joined hands. “I was a mess that night. After I found out about the affair. Drunk, probably would have driven home if Nora hadn’t shown up at the bar here in town.
She sat with me, let me talk about how angry I was, how I felt like an idiot for not seeing it.
” He glances at me. “Some people saw us leave together and assumed…”
“Did anything happen? I know it's not my business, but—”
“Nothing happened. Nora was just being a friend when I needed one. But in a town this size, being seen leaving a bar with a woman who isn’t your wife, even if your wife is dead…” He shrugs. “People talk.”
“People love to talk,” I correct bitterly.
“So when Tracy filed that complaint saying I was corrupt, part of me wondered if people would believe it because of the Nora rumors. Like maybe I’d burned through whatever goodwill I had.”
I squeeze his hand harder. “I’m sorry. About Lila, about having to carry all that alone. About people making assumptions. I can’t imagine having to deal with that kind of betrayal even after she died.”
“What about you?” He turns to look at me fully. “How long were you with Lance?”
I lean back against the seat, thinking about how to explain four years of slowly losing myself.
Four years of becoming smaller and smaller until I almost disappeared.
“Four years. We met at a bar in Creeksprings one night while Madison and I were shooting pool. At first he was charming, attentive. Made me feel special. Like I was the only person in the room.”
“When did it change?”
“Gradually. So slowly I didn’t notice at first.” I adjust my glasses, staring out at the darkening sky.
“He’d get jealous if I talked to other guys even if it was someone I saw from high school.
Then he started commenting on my clothes, saying things were too revealing.
Then it was my friends. Said Madison was a bad influence, too wild, would get me in trouble.
” I pick at the edge of my sleeve, an old nervous habit.
“Then he started checking my phone, showing up at places I was supposed to be. I thought it meant he loved me. That he just wanted to keep me safe.”
God, I was so stupid. Saying all this out loud is making me feel crazy and naive for giving him the benefit of the doubt. Even though he betrayed me so many times.
“The verbal stuff started about two years in. Calling me stupid, dramatic, oversensitive. Saying no one else would put up with me, that I was lucky he was patient enough to deal with my issues.” My voice gets smaller.
My throat tightens. “By the time I realized how bad it had gotten, I felt trapped. Like maybe he was right. Maybe I was too difficult, too much work, too broken for anyone else to want.”
Maybe I still am.
“But you left.”
“Finally.” I look at him, and I can feel tears threatening again.
“When he threw that plate at me, something just… snapped. I realized I’d rather be alone forever than scared all the time.
That being by myself was better than being with someone who made me hate myself.
” I pause. “Moving to Pine Hollows was supposed to be my fresh start. Then he found me anyway. When he found me, it was like a problem that I couldn’t run away from no matter how hard I tried. ”
“He’s never going to hurt you again.” Sawyer’s voice is hard, protective in a way that makes me feel safe and terrified at the same time. What if trying to protect me destroys him? “I’ll make sure of it.”
“I know. Because of you.”
We sit quietly for a moment, processing what we’ve just shared. It feels different now, knowing each other’s wounds. Scarier. More real.
And somehow, exactly right.
“So,” I say finally, trying to lighten the mood. “Be honest, do you think we can make this work? Even with everything going with your job and my mom—”
“I think we already are making it work.” Sawyer brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles, and the gesture is so tender it makes my chest ache. “Besides, at least we know the worst about each other now.”
Do we? What if the worst is still coming? “Is this your worst? Because I have some deeply embarrassing stories from high school that might change your mind.”
“Save those for our second date.”
Second date. He’s already planning a second date. I adjust my glasses nervously. The thought should make me happy, but instead I feel a flutter of panic. What if I mess this up? What if I’m too damaged?
“Alicat.” Sawyer’s voice cuts through my spiral. “I can see you getting into your own head over there.”
I adjust my glasses. “I’m not.”
“Your tell is showing.”
“What tell? I don’t have a tell.”
He reaches over and gently adjusts my glasses himself, his fingers brushing my cheek. “You adjust your glasses when you’re nervous or anxious. I've noticed it for a while.”
He noticed that? “No I don’t.”
“Yes you do.” He smiles softly. “It’s cute.”
When the food is gone and the stars are starting to come out, Sawyer shifts in his seat to face me fully.
“Ali, I want to try this. For real. Not just moments here and there, but actually dating. Actually seeing where this goes. Like I wanna take you out and show you off.”
“Even with everything that’s still happening?”
“Life’s too short to waste time being scared of what people think.” His voice gets more serious. “I spent three years barely living because I was too afraid to move forward. I don’t want to do that anymore.”
He’s braver than me. “I want that too.”
“Can I kiss you? Since you’re completely sober and sure about it?”
My heart races. I think about the festival, how mortified I was the next morning when I remembered trying to kiss him while tipsy on cheap beer. How I’d apologized and he’d been so understanding it made me want to crawl under a rock. This feels completely different. This feels right.
Say yes. Just say yes. “Yeah.”
He cups my face in his hands, thumbs brushing my cheekbones, and kisses me softly. Carefully. His hands are warm. His lips are soft. Like he’s been thinking about this moment for weeks and wants to get it right.
And it is right. Gentle at first, then deeper when I lean into him. The kiss tastes like salt from the fries and something sweeter, more us. When his tongue touches mine, I make a small sound I’d be embarrassed about if I had any brain cells left.
When we break apart, I’m smiling so wide my cheeks hurt and trying to catch my breath.
“So,” I say, my voice still unsteady. “We’re really doing this?”
“Yeah we are.” He threads his fingers through mine, and the simple gesture feels intimate, binding. “Think you can handle dating a cop? We basically run on adrenaline and caffeine.”
“Think you can handle dating a woman who has constant family drama?”
“We got this.” He says it with such certainty that I almost believe him.
Looking at him in the starlight, his hand warm in mine, his dark brown eyes soft and open in a way I'm realizing is rare for him, I think he might be right.
Or we're both about to crash and burn spectacularly.
Either way, I'm all in.