Chapter 25 Sawyer
TWENTY-FIVE
Sawyer
I groaned. “Cops.”
Ellie turned, spotted the cop, and immediately doubled over laughing. “You’re kidding.”
“Do I look like I’m kidding?”
She was still laughing uncontrollably. “I can’t breathe—oh my gosh. Is this karma?”
I pulled over. The old truck shuddered like it wasn’t thrilled about the sudden stop. Me fucking either.
Ellie smoothed her hair down, which was hilarious, given we’d just sprinted out of someone’s backyard like teenagers skipping class.
“Do we lie?” she whispered.
“Lie about what? That we broke into a stranger’s house to chase down the ghost of a woman from a seven-year-old closed case?”
“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“Because it is bad, El!”
She giggled again, and I could feel my soul leaving my body. The truth was, I couldn’t be mad. She was radiant—bare-faced in a hoodie, her cheeks pink from the cold.
A cop approached the car, early thirties with a serious expression and a name tag I couldn't make out. He tapped on the driver's side window, and I rolled it down.
“Evening,” he said, glancing between us. “I’m Officer Lynch.”
I gave him my friendliest please don’t arrest me in front of my fake girlfriend smile. “Evening, Officer.”
“I got a call about a break-in out on Delmont.” He tapped on the top of the truck. “Two suspects were seen leaving the property in a vehicle matching this one.”
I looked down at my hands on the steering wheel, as if maybe I could pretend I wasn’t here.
“Break-in?” Ellie asked sweetly. “That’s such a strong word.” She pouted her lips.
The cop narrowed his eyes.
I jumped in. “Look, totally a misunderstanding. No harm done. The door was open, and we thought the house was empty.”
He did not look amused. “So you admit to entering a home that doesn’t belong to you?”
“I mean…technically, yes.”
“But like, respectfully,” Ellie added.
“Respectfully trespassing?” the officer repeated.
I tried to salvage it. “Listen, this is Ellie Miles.”
He blinked. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
I gestured toward her like ta-da! “Ellie Miles. As in the Ellie Miles. Big star. Real famous. You gotta know her, right?”
His face remained blank. I started singing one of her biggest hits, and he frowned.
“Please stop,” he said, watching us both, totally unimpressed.
No dice.
I glance over to Ellie, who raised her eyebrows and mouthed rude at me.
I tried again. “Okay, okay, if she’s not ringing any bells…” I pointed two thumbs at my chest. “I’m Sawyer James.”
Nothing.
“You know, offensive lineman for San Francisco?”
Still nothing.
“Local kid,” I said, hoping to give him something. “From Woodstone. Made it to the NFL. I’m kind of a big deal.”
The cop blinked. “Are you trying to name-drop your way out of a misdemeanor?”
“Yes,” we said in unison.
There was a long pause.
Ellie leaned across me toward the window. “You got any daughters? Wives? I’m currently on tour. I’ll get them tickets to whatever show they want. VIP tent and everything.”
“Ma’am.” He sighed like we were his tenth annoyance of the day. “Let me see your IDs.”
She leaned in and whispered, “Should we run for it?”
I shook my head at her. She whined sarcastically and pulled out her ID, vibrating beside me as if trying not to laugh.
I grabbed my wallet, pulling out my ID then handing it over.
“Stay here,” he said, walking back to his car.
“You know,” Ellie whispered, “if we end up in a small-town jail cell tonight, the headlines will be nuts.”
“I’m never going to live this down once my brothers catch wind,” I muttered.
“Which one?” she asked, trying to stifle a laugh.
“Both of them.”
The officer came back, making me jump. “You two always break into homes for fun?”
“Only when we’re bonding,” Ellie said.
“It’s kind of our thing now,” I added.
She nodded. “It’s romantic, really.”
He stared as if he was deciding whether to handcuff us or call Animal Control and have us tranquilized. He stepped back and thumbed his radio.
“Nope,” Ellie whispered, eyes locked on him through the side mirror. “No, no, no. He’s not—”
He was.
“Dispatch, this is 4-7,” he said calmly into the mic. “I’ve got two cooperative subjects for trespassing on Delmont. Transporting to the station for questioning.”
Ellie turned to me, panic climbing up her throat. “Questioning? Sawyer! I can’t go in for questioning!”
“I told you we should’ve left!” I said, already regretting every decision I’d made, including being born.
“No, I told you we should run. You said this would be chill.”
“No. No. I said, Let’s not break into a house, Ellie. You’re the one who walked in like a ghost hunter on a mission. I followed you!”
“You didn’t have to carry me like I was your bride escaping a haunted wedding.”
“That was a heroic exit!”
“Both of you—out. You’re not under arrest, but you are coming with me.”
“Can I ask a question?” Ellie said, climbing out.
“No,” he replied without missing a beat.
“Copy that,” she muttered.
He popped open the cruiser's back door so casually, as if this wasn't the kind of moment that would haunt me for the rest of my life.
As if he wasn't about to load a lineman and a literal celebrity into the backseat the same way he'd handle a couple of drunk teens caught toilet-papering someone's house.
“Is this necessary?” I asked, climbing in.
“You’re lucky I’m not cuffing you.”
Ellie slid in next to me, biting her bottom lip like she was trying not to laugh once again. The door shut with a little thunk that felt both final and extremely humiliating.
We were in the back of a goddamn cop car, staring at each other. There wasn’t enough room to breathe, let alone think straight. The plexiglass partition made it feel even smaller, like we were trapped in a bubble of our own terrible decisions.
Ellie giggled. “Holy shit.”
“This is not funny.”
“This is so funny.”
“We’re in the back of a cop car, Ellie.”
She gave me a mock little pout. “Would’ve been hotter if he cuffed you.”
I dropped my head back against the seat, trying not to smile. “Please, stop.”
“I mean, come on.” She leaned closer. “Tell me this isn’t the weirdest, most exciting non-date you’ve ever been on.”
I turned my head slowly toward her. “This is definitely a date, and you’re definitely deranged.”
The cruiser rumbled to life and started down the road. Outside, the trees blurred past in the dark. Inside, all I could feel was the warmth of her next to me and the ridiculous pounding of my pulse, as if I was sixteen and getting caught sneaking beer into a party.
She was smiling. Not the practiced one—the real one, loose and full and just a little reckless. The kind of smile you never want to stop chasing.
We were silent for a few beats. Then, Ellie whispered, “Hey.”
I looked at her. “What?”
“Wanna make out?”
I choked on my breath. “Ellie.”
“What?” she said innocently. “You’ve got nothing but time.”
“We are literally in the back of a police car.”
She shrugged. “That’s been covered already. What’s more convincing than a little backseat chemistry?”
“Backseat felonies aren’t hot,” I said, laughing despite myself.
She tilted her head. “Never know if we don’t try.”
“Ellie.”
“Yes?”
“You’re the most unhinged I’ve ever seen you.”
“Yeah, I think you make me a little crazy,” she muttered.
“I think true crime makes you a little crazy.”
“True.”
I was sitting there with her, shoulder to shoulder, knees touching, while we rolled down a country back road toward the world’s sleepiest police station. I’d do it all over again if she asked.
She giggled, head tilted back against the seat, and I’d never seen anything so reckless and beautiful in my life. There was mud on her boots, her hair was a mess, and her laugh etched its way onto my heart.
God, I was in trouble.
“I haven’t had that much fun in a long time,” she murmured once the laughter faded into something softer.
Something tugged at the corner of my chest. “We could still get arrested.”
“You enjoyed it.”
I smiled. “Maybe.”
“You don’t hate me, right?”
“Never, Ellie baby.”
She met my gaze, all trace of sarcasm gone. It was just her. Just this beautiful, chaotic woman who didn’t flinch at sirens or scandal or the stupid, dangerous thing growing between us.
And that—that—was when it hit me.
I was already falling for her.
What started as a harmless crush had been blown out of the water the second I let myself see her, and I couldn’t stop.
It wasn’t the version the world saw, not the red-carpet woman with the rehearsed charm.
I was falling for this version of her: barefaced and untamed, laughing in the back of that cop car.
The version who broke rules like they were suggestions, who looked at me like maybe I was more than the golden boy facade I'd been polishing my whole life.
And the worst part? I knew how this would end.
Not the whole almost-getting-arrested part—though that was to be determined too—but us. This. Whatever this was.
I knew the deal going in. There was an end date. Come March, she’d move on. The fake relationship would fade out. She’d go back to her world, and I’d go back to mine, pretending I hadn't memorized every bit of her laugh or catalogued the way her fingers tugged at her sleeves when she was nervous.
She’d walk away with the spotlight, and I’d be the idiot letting her leave with half my heart stuffed in her pocket.