Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Jake
FOR DINNER THAT night, I pull some things from the fridge for the grill—red peppers, onions, zucchini, squash. I slice the vegetables on a wooden cutting board, wrap them in foil, drizzle olive oil over the top, then sprinkle sea salt.
I carry the foil pouch out to the deck, fire up the grill, and place the vegetables inside.
Hattie follows me, flopping down near the railing with her chin on her paws. Her eyes drift closed.
I lean against the rail and look out at the lake. A couple of boats glide across the water, one with a skier slicing through the stillness. Another floats idly, its passengers content to watch the sunset.
And I try to make sense of what happened with Sawyer earlier today.
There’s not much sense to make. The only real conclusion is the obvious one—it was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have asked her to come for dinner. I don’t even know what made me say it. Habit, maybe. Kindness.
Hope.
The chasm between us is twenty-five years wide, and Sawyer clearly has no interest in closing it. Not that I can blame her. Seeing me probably brings up more pain than peace. The same is true for me, if I’m honest.
Still, seeing her cracked something open. The scent of smoke and rain drifts off the lake, and suddenly I’m seventeen again.
A reminder of when I first realized that life doesn’t always hand out consequences based on fairness. That sometimes bad things happen to good people. And there’s no changing it—no matter how much you wish you could.
*
That Summer
I HAD NEVER had a friend like Tommy before.
He approached life with a kind of joy I’d only ever known as a little kid. Seventeen, and nothing held him back. He didn’t take from others to feed that joy. It was honest. Light. Generous.
He didn’t lead girls on. He made it clear when he wasn’t looking for anything serious. Somehow, that level of maturity didn’t come across as cold—it was just Tommy. Fun, fair, free.
I wasn’t wired like that.
But I respected it.
And I liked being around it.
As for Sawyer and me, we walked a line that summer. One we both silently agreed not to cross, mostly so we could keep spending time with Tommy. We both adored him, in different ways. And I envied the relationship they had.
One late June afternoon, Tommy and I had the day off. We decided to take his parents’
boat out to the Cliffs, a rock formation over the lake with a rope swing tied to a tree at the top. A local daredevil spot.
Tommy invited Cassidy Smith. I knew her from school. She was fun, flirtatious, and not looking for anything complicated. Perfect for Tommy.
I’d considered inviting someone too, but with Sawyer coming, it didn’t feel right. Not for her. And not for me.
Tommy anchored the boat about twenty yards out.
We swam to shore and climbed the winding path up the cliff.
Tommy and Cassidy walked ahead, laughing, flirting.
Sawyer walked quietly in front of me, not once glancing back.
I kept my gaze on the path, deliberately avoiding her legs, her bare shoulders, the shape of her in my peripheral vision.
Things between us had changed. And I didn’t know how to change them back.
At the top, we stood on the edge, looking down at the deep water below.
“Who’s going first?” Tommy asked.
“Not me,” Cassidy said quickly.
“You’ve never done it?”
She shook her head. “Heard about it, never tried it. Have you, Sawyer?”
“A few times,” she said. “I can go first.”
“I’ll go,” Tommy said. “Can’t let my little sister show me up.”
“Please,” Sawyer replied. “I’ve done this more times than you.”
“Still gotta protect my manhood.” He grinned, then stepped off the cliff and disappeared into the water.
Cassidy shrieked, then laughed when he surfaced. “You scared me to death!”
“Come on,” Tommy called. “Feels amazing!”
Cassidy followed, launching herself off the rock. She hit the water clean and popped up laughing, Tommy pulling her close and kissing her.
And then it was just me and Sawyer, standing at the edge, alone.
She looked down, meeting my gaze, direct. “Would you be shocked if I said I’ve thought about you kissing me like that?”
The words knocked the air from my lungs. “Sawyer—”
“I know,” she said quickly, still not looking at me. “It’s never going to happen. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”
I didn’t know how to respond.
“Do you?” she asked. “Ever think about it?”
“I don’t want to answer that.”
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
“Is it because of what people would think?”
“No. It’s because I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”
“Why is it wrong when two people like each other?”
“It’s not. But the timing’s wrong. And down the road, maybe it’d be different.”
She finally looked at me. “Couldn’t it be just between us?”
“I’d know,” I said quietly. “And I wouldn’t feel right.”
“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. I want it, too.”
She sounded older than fifteen. Wiser.
“Will you meet me tonight?” she asked. “Ten o’clock. End of the driveway.”
Then she turned and jumped—gone in a blur of motion.
We didn’t talk again that afternoon. There was no chance to explain that what she wanted, I couldn’t give her.
And I had no intention of showing up.
Until I did.
*
I’D JUST FINISHED picking up groceries for my mom. It was close to ten when I turned down the road to their house. I told myself I was just passing by. That I wouldn’t stop.
But I pulled into the driveway anyway.
She wasn’t there. I checked the clock—9:50. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe this really was ridiculous.
I started the truck. Put it in reverse.
Then I saw her—running down the gravel drive, arms waving, smile wide. And for a second, I wished I were someone else. Someone who could meet her halfway.
Against all better judgment, I put the truck back in park.
She climbed in, breathless. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I said. I couldn’t stop staring at her. Couldn’t speak.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said softly.
“I shouldn’t have.”
“Then why did you?”
I didn’t answer. Just started the truck.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”
“Smith Mountain. I’ve always wanted to go to the top at night.”
“If the gate’s open.”
We drove with the windows down. Sawyer found a radio station, let the wind tangle her hair. The image stayed with me, burned in like something I’d want to remember years from now.
We talked. Nothing heavy. Her mom didn’t let her buy junk food. My mom didn’t care what I bought as long as I cooked it. She had two parents. I had one, and barely that.
Tommy had a date. We both knew that. He’d probably never imagine we were together right now.
Sawyer stuck her hands out the window, air rushing past her fingers. “You’re a lot like Tommy,” she said.
I shook my head. “No. You are.”
She smiled, and it lit up the truck like moonlight.
“You’re smarter than you think, you know.”
At the top, we parked and walked out onto the overlook. I helped her up the rocks, careful to keep some space between us.
“Thank you,” she said, holding onto my hand.
“I don’t bite,” she teased.
“I know,” I said, but slipping my hand out of hers.
The lake shimmered below us, moonlight glinting off the surface like scattered glass. “Thank you,” she whispered.
We sat. Talked. She asked questions—about school, football, concussions, college. About my mom. About who I thought I might be someday.
And then, the question I wasn’t ready for: “When I’m older, do you think you could ever like me as more than a friend?”
I looked at her, and the weight of it sat between us.
“It wouldn’t be right,” I said. “Not now.”
“I know,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it.”
Her honesty was sharp and soft all at once. It undid me.
She asked if we could still be friends.
I told her yes.
And I meant it.
She said, “When I’m sixteen, can we talk about it again?”
I smiled, shook my head. “Then I’ll be eighteen. You still won’t be.”
“People used to get married at sixteen,” she argued.
“Things aren’t like that anymore.”
We stared at the lake, the world quiet around us.
“What if you meet someone else?” she asked.
“You will,” I said. “Someone better.”
“No. I won’t. I don’t want to.”
Her voice was so sure, so full of belief in me, it scared me. Because deep down, I didn’t believe in myself the way she did. I didn’t know if I could become the man she saw in me.
But I wanted to.
So I told her the truth: “I want to be your friend, Sawyer.”
She smiled softly. “I want to be yours, too.”
And that night, under a sky full of stars, we were.
Just that.
Just friends. There with each other and for each other.
For then, anyway.