Chapter 43 Sawyer
FORTY-THREE
Sawyer
This was the dream. I was going to the Super Bowl for my last season, but it didn’t feel the way I always imagined.
Something was wrong. Ellie hadn’t said anything, but she didn’t need to.
I could sense it. She was fine after the game for a minute.
Then, I saw it—Colt pulling her aside, saying something he probably thought no one else would notice.
But I saw the way her face changed, that tight nod, the way she didn’t look at him again.
She hadn’t been herself since.
My family came back to my place to celebrate. There were music, drinks, and way too many people in my small condo. And Ellie barely said two words the whole time.
Now, the place had cleared out, leaving just the two of us. She was curled into the corner of my couch, shoulders tense, picking at her fingernails. Her smile flicked up when I walked over, but it didn’t reach her eyes. I dropped to my knees and took her hands, coaxing her fingers to still.
“Ellie.” I pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles.
She let out a breath that shook and gave me another version of that fake smile.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
She shrugged, but it was mechanical. “Nothing. I’m good.”
“What did he say to you?”
Her brows pulled in. “Who?”
“Colt.”
Her eyes flicked away before they snapped back. “What…what do you mean?”
“I saw him talking to you after the game. Something changed. You’ve been off since then.”
She tugged her hands from mine and folded them into her lap. “I know.”
“El.” I kept my voice steady. “Tell me.”
“You’re coming off a win. Everything’s good right now. Let’s talk tomorrow.”
“No. We’re doing this now.”
She stood, brushed past me, and rubbed her hands over her jeans. “I should go home.”
“Ellie.”
She stopped but didn’t turn around.
“What did he say?”
“He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know.”
“Like what?”
She spun to face me. “That I should walk away if I’m not in this.”
I swore under my breath. Of course he did. My silent, passive-aggressive brother waited until one of the biggest days of my career to say something that would screw everything up.
I stood. “And are you not in it?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked, and she rubbed her temples like it might help her brain catch up. “I don’t fucking know. It’s too real.”
“It’s not too real. It’s just real.”
She started pacing. “It is! It is real, and that’s exactly the issue. I thought for a second it would be fine, but then your brother comes in and tells me to walk away, and now, I don’t know anymore.”
She stopped at the kitchen counter, both palms braced against it, facing me, but her eyes were glued to the floor.
“I think it's better if we start pulling back now.” Her voice cracked, and she gripped the counter tighter. “Before it gets…harder.”
I was across the room, but it felt like miles. Every instinct screamed at me to go to her, to pry her hands from that counter and make her look at me, really look at me. Instead, I stayed frozen in place.
“Harder for who?” The question came out harsher than I meant, desperation bleeding through the edges. “You think I can just turn this off because a date on the calendar says so?”
For a second, I thought she might bolt—I could see it in the way her weight shifted, ready to flee. But she stayed, rooted to that spot, still refusing to meet my eyes.
“I don't know what this is anymore, Sawyer.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “I don't know what we are. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it was never anything but convenient.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My jaw clenched so tight, I had to take a breath to steady myself.
“No,” I snapped. “Don't do that. Don't minimize this. Don't act like this was convenient. You want to know what we are?”
“Sawyer, I can’t….”
Finally, finally, she looked up at me through her lashes. Those eyes—God, those eyes—swam with unshed tears, wide, terrified, and so fucking beautiful, it made my chest ache. Her lower lip trembled, just once, before she caught it between her teeth.
The sight of her broken like that shattered something inside me. I rounded the counter, closing the remaining distance and bracing my hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t face me.
“We're real,” I whispered into her ear. “Maybe we started as something fake, but we crossed that line so fast, I didn't even see it happen.”
She turned to face me. “I just…I don’t know where I stand with you anymore. I don’t know what this is.”
I leaned closer, close enough that my forehead almost touched hers.
“You're not on the outside or even beside me.
You're not a question mark or a placeholder or some PR stunt I tolerated.
You're the center of this.” My voice broke on the words.
“You're where I land. You're where I begin.
You're not standing beside me or behind me—you are the place I'm standing. Everything else moves around that.”
Her breath hitched, and a single tear slipped free, tracking down her cheek. Without thinking, I reached up to brush it away with my thumb, and she leaned into my touch.
Her composure finally cracked completely. Her face crumpled, and she pressed her hands flat against my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
“Sawyer,” she breathed, and it sounded like a prayer and a plea all at once.
I couldn't hold back anymore. My hands found her face, thumbs brushing away the tears, and then, my lips were on hers. She kissed me back desperately, like she was drowning and I was air. Her hands fisted in my shirt, pulling me closer.
For a moment, everything else disappeared—Colt's words, the uncertainty, the fear. There was just us, just this.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing hard. Her forehead rested against mine, eyes still closed.
“This is what I'm afraid of,” she whispered against my lips. “This feeling. How much I need it. Need you.”
I pulled back enough to look at her. “Why is that so scary?”
She wiggled her way out of my reach and leaned against the opposite counter.
“Because I’m standing at the edge of this cliff, and the only way is down or back.
” Her eyes welled up again, and her hands flew to her sides.
“If I go back, I get the life I know. The one I built that’s safe and easy.
” She pointed at her chest. “I can keep pretending I’m fine, keep performing and proving to myself, to my parents, that everything we did to get here was worth something.
Or…or I jump, but I don’t know what’s down there.
And I’m not sure I’m brave enough to find out.
If I let myself have this—have you—then I’m giving everything else up.
I’m letting everyone down. My team, my label, the tour.
The version of me I worked so hard to create. I’d be walking away from Ellie Miles.”
I moved toward her. One step. She flinched, so I stopped.
“You wouldn't be walking away from anything,” I said. “Not for me. I’ll never ask you to give anything up for me.”
“I know.” Her voice caught. “But I want to. That’s the problem.
I want to walk away from all of it. I want this…
with you.” She laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it.
“I don’t want the spotlight. I don’t want to be a brand.
I just want to write songs that matter to me and share them when I feel like it.
Or not at all. I want to wake up and not feel like I’m pretending. ”
“Then do it.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head. “This was supposed to be an easy arrangement, remember? A plan. A clean start and a clean end. We were supposed to help each other, solve a couple of problems, and move on. I didn’t plan for this.
I didn’t plan to feel like this and to question everything more than I already was. ”
I ran a hand through my hair and let out a breath.
“Ellie, it’s okay for your plans, your dreams, to change.”
She scoffed. “Why do you even care? Why do you care about someone like me?”
That pulled a dry laugh from me. “You’re kidding, right?”
She didn’t respond.
“You really don't get it, do you?” I whispered.
“No, I don’t. I don't get why someone like you would want someone who's such a mess and whose entire life is under a microscope.”
“Ellie, I love you. I'm in love with you. Not the version of yourself you think everyone needs to see, but you—the real you—”
She shook her head. “You can't love me. You don't really know me.”
“I know you. I know you get completely lost in a story because it grabs hold of something deep inside you and won't let go. I know you like to laugh in the back of a cop car after we broke into someone's house like it's the most natural thing in the world.”
She blinked back tears, and I stepped closer.
“Sawyer…”
“I know the woman who shows up to my games, even though football might as well be a foreign language to you. I know the goofy, ridiculous Ellie who dances with me on Christmas morning and ambushes me with snowballs when I least expect it. I know exactly who you are, Ellie. I love exactly who you are.” I closed the distance and cupped her cheek.
“I love every part of you. The person you are on stage, the one you are off it.”
Her breath hitched, and I took a small step back.
“You say that now,” she said, her voice shaking. “But what happens when the novelty wears off? When I'm not a project to figure out anymore?”
“Ellie, you aren't just some project to me. I can't breathe when you're around. It's like my body can't keep up with how much I need you. And when you're not?” I shook my head. “Fuck, it's worse. It's as if I forget I'm running on empty until you're back.”
She pressed a hand to her chest and searched my face. “Don’t…”
“You were the woman I crushed on for years, and I thought maybe it was just that—some silly thing I'd eventually grow out of.
But you're not who I thought you were. You're so much more.
This isn't a phase or some fake relationship.
It's you. I mean, fuck, I've built my days around the chance to see you or hear your voice.
I've taken whatever you've been willing to give, hoping and waiting for you to feel the same.”
She took a step back. “You can't say things like that.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “This was supposed to be simple.”
“Guess I’m not built for simple. I’ve been the funny guy, the steady one, the guy who laughs things off so nobody actually sees me. Then, you walked in, and now, I can’t pretend that’s all I am.”
Her expression softened, and she looked up at me through her lashes.
“I see you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I've always seen you.”
“Just tell me the truth.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Because I can’t do the back-and-forth anymore.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “You want the truth? The truth is, you terrify me. Not because of who you are, but because of what you make me want. What you make me feel.”
She turned away, running her hands through her hair in that frustrated way that made my chest ache.
She continued, her voice low but steady.
“I’ve spent years keeping pieces of myself locked away.
Not just because it feels safer, but because every time I let someone close, it backfired.
They got a look at the mess underneath and decided it wasn’t worth sticking around.
So, I learned to play the part. If I stop, if I admit I don’t want this constant grind anymore, I’ll let everyone down. ”
Her arms tightened around herself. “You…you’re the exception I never planned for.
You slipped past all the defenses I swore I’d never let down.
And that scares me more than anything, because I don’t know how to keep being the version of me the world wants and the version of me you see.
I don’t even know if that version is worth loving. ”
“You are worth it, El.”
“Be realistic for a second. You're going back to Woodstone. Our lives don’t make sense together. We'll be in different places. Different lives. You'll be with your family. I'll be on tour. We'll be—”
“I’d be wherever you are.”
That stopped her cold. Something shifted in her expression—surprise, hope, and terror all at once.
“I’d follow you anywhere, Ellie. I can be there for them and still choose you. This doesn't have to be one or the other.”
She stared at me like I'd offered her something she'd never dared to dream of. Her lips parted, but no words came out at first.
“You don't understand,” she finally managed to say. “I’m not good at this. At letting people stay. At believing they want to.”
“Then let me prove it to you.”
She closed her eyes, pressing her palms against them like she could push back the tears. When she opened them again, they were red-rimmed but determined.
“I…I need time. I need to think about it.”
I ran a hand over my face, jaw tight. “Okay.”
She started to step back. “I’ll go home.”
“I’ll take you,” I said, moving closer.
“Sawyer…no.” Her eyes flashed, and she shook her head, but her hands lingered near mine, as if she couldn’t quite pull away.
“Fine.” I moved on instinct, reaching for the last thing I had that connected me to her. I grabbed the journal and held it out.
“Here. Take this with you.”
She hesitated. “I…I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “And you will.”
She took it without another word. Then, she walked out, and, like I knew she would, she took a piece of my heart in her pocket.