Chapter 31 Ellie
THIRTY-ONE
Ellie
We hadn’t said a word since we left the house—not because there was nothing to say, but because there was too much. Too many words I wasn’t sure I was ready to face yet, feelings I didn’t trust myself to name.
I kept my eyes on the blur of city lights outside the car window, doing everything I could to ignore how aware I was of him beside me. He hadn’t touched me since we left his place, but his presence didn’t ask for permission. It filled the space anyway.
Downtown San Francisco pulsed with energy. People in sequins and tuxedos flooded the sidewalks. Some fireworks went off in the distance, too early for midnight but loud enough to crack the silence between us.
Having a week to stew over everything that happened at Christmas hadn’t helped like I thought it would.
If anything, it felt like being caught in a shifting maze with no map, no markers—just walls that moved when I wasn’t looking and paths that led nowhere but back to the same questions I’d already asked.
I had no distractions. The tour was on pause for the holidays, so there were no late-night flights, no screaming crowds, no rush of adrenaline to keep me busy.
There was only stillness that pointed back to Sawyer and the way he looked at me like he saw through all my careful armor and didn’t mind the mess underneath.
To distract myself, I’d buried my head in research most days—anything I could find about Sawyer’s house and the journal. Every lead had come up empty. There was still no sign of who the mystery man could be, and even that distraction couldn’t hold my attention the way it had before Christmas.
I was stuck in a blurry, weightless space between faux labels and rules, and it was driving me insane.
I hadn’t told Rachel what happened—not because I was ashamed or afraid of her unfiltered advice, which I probably needed.
I wasn’t ready to hear what it meant. Not from her and definitely not from myself.
From the start, nothing about Sawyer had felt fake. Not the smiles for the cameras, not the staged moments or interviews. Even when we leaned into the act, it felt real, trying to breathe under the mask of a lie.
We wrapped it in flirtation and called it harmless, tucked behind the safety net of an expiration date. That was the contract—easy out, no strings attached, no risk of wanting too much.
But we crossed the line, and there was no script to follow, no clean exit waiting at the end. I didn’t know what we were anymore, only what we couldn’t be.
We were never built for the long haul. His future was rooted in Woodstone, in something steady, and mine was already mapped out on the road—another album to finish, another tour to chase. I’d keep moving, keep trying to prove I deserved the life I’d built, while he’d go back home and settle down.
There we were, headed to a fancy-ass venue, surrounded by flashing cameras and enough velvet ropes to make it feel like a celebrity zoo—except this one would probably have champagne towers, countdown clocks, and a dance floor that would, in a few hours, become a sea of strangers kissing at midnight.
Sawyer let out a slow breath beside me. “So...about tonight.”
I cut him off with a smirk, deflecting all the messy feelings with the flirtatious humor we both knew too well. “What about it?”
“Everyone thinks we are together.”
“Well aware. Are you worried I can’t act the part anymore?” I tilted my head, making sure to slip my I’m fine, everything’s fine mask into place.
“No, no. Not at all. I’m just… Fuck, Ellie. We haven’t talked about anything that happened.”
“Don’t worry,” I murmured, a smile teasing the corner of my mouth. “If anything, knowing what you look like when you come probably makes me more qualified to be your fake girlfriend.”
Sawyer nearly choked on his breath then cleared his throat like he was trying to play it cool. “Yeah? That so?”
“Mhm.”
He turned to face me, his eyes narrowing into a familiar blend of playful and dangerous that always made my heart kick up a notch.
Ben pulled the SUV into the circular drive, headlights sweeping over the stone fountain, the velvet ropes, and the wall of photographers already jostling for the best shots. Gold streamers framed the entryway.
“You good?” Sawyer asked, his voice low and rough.
I smoothed the front of my dress calmly, as if I wasn’t shaking from the inside out. “Why wouldn’t I be? Just a little black-tie fundraiser, a red carpet, and three separate tabloids waiting to catch me tripping in heels I can’t feel my toes in.”
He arched a brow. “So...super chill night.”
“Exactly.”
Ben stopped the SUV and stepped out to scope the scene. Sawyer circled the car, opened my door, and held out his hand. I hesitated for a flicker of a second and slipped my fingers into his.
The moment my feet hit the pavement, the world exploded around us. Flashes lit up the night, blinding, relentless.
Sawyer glanced at Ben and said, “I’ve got her tonight.”
I nodded to Ben, giving him my approval.
“Yes, sir,” he replied.
Sawyer’s hand settled on my back.
“Smile,” he murmured.
“I am smiling,” I snapped, my attention fixed past the photographers.
We moved up the steps. I let myself lean into him—not because I wanted the press of his palm or the heat radiating from his body, but because it was part of the show.
Inside, I blinked past the aftermath of camera flashes and took in the room. High ceilings dripped with chandeliers, every inch polished to remind you how small you actually were. The crowd was a river of faces, all pretending not to watch us, as if we were another couple of guests.
Sawyer's elbow brushed mine.
“Coach incoming,” he murmured, his breath ghosting near my ear as he tilted his head toward him.
My stomach dropped. This was the man behind the charade, the reason Sawyer needed me on his arm tonight to play the role of devoted girlfriend. No pressure.
I slid my hand around Sawyer's waist, stepping into him before I could overthink it. His body tensed for half a second and then melted into the touch—or maybe I imagined the hesitation. His heat bled through his shirt, and I told myself the flutter in my chest was nerves.
“Well, if it isn't Sawyer James.” Anderson Martinez had the kind of voice that commanded locker rooms—deep, authoritative, with an edge of amusement.
“Coach.” Sawyer's smile was easy. “Good to see you.”
Anderson turned to me. He extended his hand, and I took it. “Anderson Martinez. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Ellie Miles.” I let my hand drift to Sawyer's chest as I spoke. “Likewise.”
His gaze dropped to me, head tilting slightly. Something flickered in his eyes—surprise? Warning? I couldn't tell, but the look made my skin prickle.
“I see you're keeping this guy in check tonight,” Anderson said.
“Doing my best.” I gave him a smile and turned to Sawyer, letting my expression soften, hoping my eyes conveyed what they were supposed to—affection, devotion, the kind of look that made strangers believe in love at first sight. “He's something else.”
Sawyer’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, and his hand found the small of my back, his thumb tracing a slow, absent circle that felt far too natural.
Anderson laughed. “Well, if anyone can tame him, I'd bet money on you.”
“Hilarious,” Sawyer deadpanned, and his fingers pressed a fraction firmer against my spine.
“Surprised you could make it with your tour schedule.”
“The things you do for love.” The words came out breathy—too breathy—as I rose to my toes and pressed my lips to Sawyer's cheek. His skin was warm, smooth, with the faintest hint of stubble.
He went rigid. I caught the flash of confusion in his eyes before he smoothed it away, his arm tightening around me. “She's incredible, isn't she?”
“Seems like it.” Anderson clapped Sawyer's shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Nice meeting you, Ellie.”
“You too.”
The moment Anderson's back turned, I stepped back—or tried to. Sawyer's hand lingered on my waist for a beat too long before falling away.
His voice was low. “What the hell was that?”
“What? I was selling it.” I crossed my arms, defensive. “You know, the whole fake relationship thing we agreed to?”
“Ellie.” He dragged a hand through his hair, messing the careful styling. “He knows.”
My stomach plummeted. “Knows what?”
“That we're faking.” He leaned in, close enough that I could count the gold flecks in his brown eyes. “I’m almost certain Anderson knows this whole thing is bullshit.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “And you just—you let me throw myself at you like that?”
“Let you?” His laugh was sharp, disbelieving. “You went rogue. That was all your improv, baby girl.”
I shoved his chest with both hands, probably harder than necessary. He barely moved, but his grin widened, infuriating and boyish. He caught my wrists, his thumbs grazing my pulse points. The touch sent electricity racing up my arms, and from the way his eyes darkened, he felt it too.
Sawyer muttered, “West,” as a man approached us with teeth so white, they practically glowed.
“Ellie Miles,” the man said, taking my hand and lifting it to his mouth. “I’m Adam West. So nice to meet the woman who’s got this guy going crazy.” He kissed the back of my hand and turned to Sawyer. “You clean up nice.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Sawyer shot back, a smirk tugging at his mouth.
Another man appeared, younger, radiating easy confidence and expensive cologne.
“Oh, great,” West muttered. “Trouble’s here.”
“If anyone’s trouble, it’s you,” he fired back before turning his gaze to me. “Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Jaden Bronx.”
“Ellie,” I replied, shaking it.
Sawyer’s hand never left my back. If anything, it pressed a little harder. “These are my teammates. Shit-stirrers, every last one. Don’t believe a word they say.”
West rolled his eyes. “How’s the new house?”