Chapter 45
brIE
I’m in the kitchen when I hear a sudden, impatient knock at Gia’s front door. She and Lizzie already left for their spring break trip, and it’s too late for packages.
My heart starts to pound when I see the outline of a man distorted through the glass of the door. I know just by the way he’s standing who it is.
Sawyer.
I haven’t spoken to him all week. I should’ve called, should’ve sought him out, but I needed time to figure out what I want.
Gia’s words got through to me. I do push people away, and I’m scared.
I’m scared of wanting him as much as I do, and I’m scared of having to leave before this even begins.
I’ve had two more job offers this week, from prestigious private schools on the opposite end of the country. Nothing from Blue Ridge.
With a deep, fortifying breath, I open the door.
Sawyer isn’t smiling, mouth tight, eyes hard. My heart squeezes in my chest. Now I’m scared I missed my chance.
He steps inside, and I’m vaguely aware of him holding an old box, frayed at the edges. I lead him to the living room, neither of us speaking. There’s a heavy tension in the air.
“Sawyer.” I turn to face him.
But his face startles me. It’s ice cold.
My pleas and explanations die in my throat. “Do—do you want something to drink?”
His face grows hard, and I instantly know that was the wrong thing to say.
“I’m done.”
I blanch at his words. My heart lurches, and I don’t know what to say, how I can fix this.
“I’m done trying to get you to open up to me. I’m done trying to earn your trust.”
My breath stutters out as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying like hell to prevent the tears from falling, and wishing like crazy this is just a bad dream. Then I feel his warm hand cup my face. I open my eyes, and all the ice thaws.
He caresses my cheek, holding my gaze. “I’m in love with you, Brie. I love you so much.”
His confession steals my breath. I lean into his touch, tell myself there’s nothing to be scared of now. But when I open my mouth, everything I have to say bottlenecks at my throat. Where do I begin? And how?
His hand drops, and the ice is back. “Yeah. I’m done.”
With that, he shoves the shoebox he was holding at me, and walks out of the room. His footsteps thud as he heads to the front door.
Move, you idiot, he’s getting away!
I toss the shoebox, so light it could be empty, onto the coffee table and rush after him, heart in my throat.
He throws open the front door, and we both freeze.
Tess stands there. Her blond locks are out of place, cheeks splotchy from crying. She has raccoon eyes, and her clothes are dirty and ripped in some places.
“Two Emerson Ave,” she says.