Chapter 23
SAWYER
My suits are all judging me. That’s the only explanation.
They hang in neat, expensive rows in my closet—navy, charcoal, black—like a lineup of men who have never once had to sit in a VIP box pretending to be normal. Every one of them looks convinced this is the moment I’ll choose wrong.
It’s Friday night. No game tonight. Tomorrow is the game. The one that if we win, we go to playoffs. Tomorrow is also Theo’s birthday. Tomorrow is the VIP box, Juliette, her ex, and a kid I already care about more than makes sense for the amount of time I’ve known him.
I tug one suit halfway off its hanger, then stop.
Because here’s the thing—I won’t even be wearing this when it matters.
I’ll show up in it for the media, say hello, do the polite arrival part, then I’ll disappear. Locker room. Gear. Helmet. By the time anyone’s actually looking, I’ll be in a jersey and skates and sweating through whatever dignity I thought I had.
So this outfit? This is for maybe ten minutes. Fifteen, if traffic’s bad.
Which somehow makes me more nervous.
I shove the suit back. Too stiff. Too corporate. I don’t want to look like I’m trying to impress anyone. Except I am. Just one person who matters most.
I grab my phone.
What’s your favorite color?
A beat.
Juliette:
lol what
I’m serious.
Juliette:
I don’t know. Green? I sell plants.
That tracks.
Three dots appear. Then, the same three dots simply disappear.
Then:
Juliette:
…why?
Humor me.
Another pause.
Juliette:
Navy. I really like navy.
I smile.
That’s good, because it’s one of the Dominion colors. I can get you all the merch you want.
Juliette:
I’m good, thank you. But I do have a son who might be interested in that offer.
Oh yeah. Him. I almost forgot.
Juliette:
Liar.
Okay fine. I forgot for exactly half a second. Then I remembered he’s the most important person in this whole operation.
Juliette:
Mmhmm. Sure you did.
Speaking of Theo… I should probably tell you something before you find out in a very dramatic, very public way.
Juliette:
Why does that sound ominous?
Because I’ve already arranged for him to get a Dominion jersey. It’ll be waiting in the box when he gets there.
Juliette:
…what.
His size. His favorite number. The whole deal.
Juliette:
Sawyer. That is too much.
It’s his birthday. And he’s been talking about hockey like it’s a sacred text. I couldn’t not.
Juliette:
You realize you’re going to absolutely ruin every future birthday gift for the rest of his life, right?
I accept this burden.
Juliette:
I don’t even know what to say.
You could say “thank you” and then something nice about how handsome I am.
Juliette:
Juliette:
Thank you. You’re ridiculous.
I get that a lot.
Juliette:
This is really kind, though. I mean it.
I know. That’s why I did it.
A beat passes.
I’m going to FaceTime you right now. Is that okay?
Nothing. No dots. No reply. My heart gives a stupid little lurch.
Three seconds later, I hit the button anyway. She answers on the fifth ring, and takes my breath away.
I’m pretty sure that Juliette has no makeup on. None. Her hair is pulled up in a messy knot like she twisted it there oh-so-expertly without looking in a mirror, and she’s wearing some soft, oversized sweater that makes her look like she just stepped out of a quiet, private moment.
This woman is stunning, and I have forgotten entirely why I called.
“Hi,” I say, smiling like an idiot.
“Sawyer.” She tilts her head. “You FaceTimed me for a reason. Texting wasn’t enough?”
“I wanted you to see the suit I’m going to wear.”
“You’re actually ridiculous.” She bursts out laughing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Humor me,” I say, turning the phone toward my closet. “I have two navy blues. This one…or this one.”
She squints thoughtfully. “That one.”
I tug it out. “Ah. The Armani.”
She shrugs. “What can I tell you? Despite my past experiences and terrible history with men, I have excellent taste.”
“I’m honored.”
We’re both smiling now, easy and flirty and warm in a way that feels dangerously like something real.
A sudden bang hits her door.
“Mom!” Theo’s voice explodes through the apartment. “I’m back!”
He barrels into view, still wearing his jacket, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with excitement. “We went to this sports bar and Dad let me try his seasoned curly fries. They were amazing and—oh my gosh! Hi, Sawyer!”
He waves at the screen like I’m a cartoon.
“Hey, buddy,” I say.
“I’m ready for tomorrow,” he announces proudly. “I’m going to wear my new hoodie you got me. Dad was going to buy me one, but I told him you’d already given me one.”
Juliette’s smile flickers. Just a hair.
Then Theo turns back to her. “Oh, Mom—Dad said he’ll call you tomorrow morning to get the information for the game. Bye, Sawyer.”
Theo grins and disappears down the hallway, already narrating his night to his bedroom walls.
Juliette stays very still, but I see it. The tension. The crack. The thing she doesn’t say, but it’s right on the tip of her tongue. She looks back at the screen, at me, and I feel it through the phone—the shift, the weight, the thing she’s holding in so tightly it’s starting to bruise.
“Hey,” I say quietly, “you’ve got the space here to talk about whatever that is.”
She exhales, tipping her head back toward the ceiling like she’s searching for patience somewhere up there.
“He does this, Sawyer,” she says. “He comes in. Things look good for a minute. For two or three days, he’s around. Theo gets excited. And then he goes.”
Her eyes come back to me, shiny but steady.
“And then I get to explain. Well…” She laughs, hollow. “I say explain, but what I’ll do is make up a story. I lie to my son about why his dad left, because I can’t tell him that his father shows up when it’s convenient and disappears when it’s not.”
I stay still, listening.
“Being married to a narcissist teaches you how to mask things,” she continues. “How to smooth the edges. The most important thing to me is protecting Theo until he’s old enough to decide for himself what kind of relationship he wants with his dad.”
“I really commend you,” I say. “For all of it. He seems like a good guy?”
“Yeah, he does. He can be, but…my mom put it perfectly: some men are just not meant to ever get married nor to ever be a father. David is an absolutely perfect example of that kind of man.” She gives me a tired smile.
“You can remind me of that next week when you’re in the store and he doesn’t show up for this breakfast.”
Then she glances at the time on her watch and sighs. “But what I do know is tomorrow is a ten-year-old’s birthday that we’re all looking forward to. And believe it or not, nine o’clock is feeling very late. I want a hot bath. I have a very serious date with my bed.”
I’m about to return a seriously good retort about ways I could maybe help with that hot bath, when Theo pops back into frame, pajama-clad and wide-eyed. “Mom, can we watch something?”
“Of course,” she says, warmth rushing back into her voice. “Say goodnight to Sawyer.”
“Night,” he says, waving.
“Night, buddy.”
She smiles at me one last time. “See you tomorrow.”
The screen goes dark.
I lower my phone, standing alone in my quiet room, suddenly very aware of how empty it feels. But not in a bad way.
In a something’s coming way.
Because she trusted me with the hard stuff.
And I can feel it deep down: this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.