Chapter 45 Sawyer
FORTY-FIVE
Sawyer
Sweat dripped into my eyes, but I didn’t stop. The ground blurred in front of me. The pounding of my feet against the track was easier to deal with than everything else.
Practice had ended over an hour ago, and Bronx and West stuck around without asking why. They didn’t need the details. They could sense I was upset and needed to work out all this shit from my body.
Ellie walked away.
She said she needed time, and I told her I understood. Meant it too. It had still hurt like hell, even if I saw it coming.
That was two weeks ago, and I hadn’t heard a word since. I knew she was busy touring, but fuck, if my heart didn’t long for a single text from her.
I’ve been avoiding the headlines, the concert recaps, and even the damn livestreams of her performances I always tried to watch.
I sneaked a few glimpses here and there, but I instantly regretted it when my heart was suddenly a lead fucking weight.
After too many laps to count, Bronx finally bent at the waist, panting. “Are you trying to kill us? It’s been two weeks of this fucking broody bullshit and you going ham in training. I’m dead.”
West slowed, shaking out his arms. “You’re a professional athlete. You’ll survive.”
“I’m defense,” Bronx said. “I stop people, not chase them.”
West let out a laugh and glanced over at me. “You good?”
“Super Bowl’s coming up. Gotta be game ready.”
“Nah, that’s not it.”
“Agreed. What’s going on?” Bronx asked.
We walked the curve of the track, and Bronx let out a breath.
“It’s Ellie, isn’t it?” West asked.
I didn’t respond.
“Okay, so it is. What happened?”
West gave me a look. “You two break up?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” I let out a long exhale.
“You’re down so fucking bad for her,” Bronx said. “It’s written all over your face.”
“Fuck off,” I replied.
Bronx waited a beat, still breathing hard. “You love her, don’t you?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I do.”
West blinked. “Damn.”
“I really fucking do, but I don’t know where her head’s at. Fuck, I love her—I mean, I almost got arrested for her.”
Bronx looked up. “What the fuck?”
“Yeah, that house I bought had a journal hidden under the floorboards, and we started digging into an old case that happened there. Took it a little too far.”
“What does that mean?”
“Broke into a place. Nobody pressed charges, though. Kept it out of the press.”
West shook his head. “That’s not normal.”
“Nope, but fuck. She was all ‘Hey, let’s do this’, and I was like ‘Whatever you say, Ellie baby. Sure, why not?’”
We reached the straightaway, and I kicked a rock off the track.
Neither of them spoke. Bronx nodded once.
“She said she needed space,” I said. “So, I’m giving her that.”
West grabbed his water bottle from the grass and took a sip. “She’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so.”
A few hours later, after I’d finally gotten home, I paced my kitchen enough times that I swore the tile would fucking give out.
So, I decided to call Dorian. Colt was definitely off the table after the stunt he pulled at the game, and I needed someone who had been through this crazy love shit before.
He picked up after a few rings.
“Hey, man,” he said.
“Hey.” I sank onto the couch, elbow on my knee, phone pressed to my ear.
“You good?”
“No.”
There was a beat of silence before he said, “This sounds familiar.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Remember when I called you freaking out about Noah?”
“Uh, yeah…” I shifted, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Well, now it’s your turn.” He laughed, but there was a shift in his tone when he continued speaking. “Alright, what’s going on?”
“Can I trust you?”
“I’m your brother. If you can’t trust me, this family’s way more fucked up than I thought.”
I groaned.
“Tell me.”
I exhaled slowly then said it before I could overthink it. “Ellie and I…might’ve had a fake relationship.”
After a pause, Dorian shouted, “Noah! You owe me twenty bucks!”
I sat up straighter. “What the hell?”
“I knew it,” he said smugly. “Noah was convinced it was real. I told her it was fake as hell.”
“You knew?”
“Come on, man. I think everyone at least suspected.”
“Mother fuck.”
“Well, what’s going on now?”
I scrubbed a hand down my face. “Now I think I went and fell in love with her.”
“Noah! Make it forty!”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“I bet her you’d fall before the Super Bowl. She swore you weren’t there yet. Guess I was more observant.”
“I officially hate you both.”
Noah’s voice called out faintly in the background. “Hey, I was on your side!”
“Sure you were,” I muttered.
Dorian chuckled. “So, what happened?”
“What the fuck did you do when you were in love with Noah but convinced you weren’t, and she was also totally not in love with you except obviously was?”
“I tried not to be a disaster,” he said. “Did Ellie pull away?”
“Yeah. She said she needed space, time to process everything.”
“Then give it to her.”
“And just…what? Sit here hoping she comes back?” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees again. “How do I know when it’s been long enough? How do I not screw it up by doing too much or not enough?”
“With Noah, when everything was going down with John, I stayed close. I didn’t push.
I showed up, but I didn’t demand anything.
I let her get there on her own, even if I was doing the same.
She had a fucking lot going on with him, and I was working through my own issues, but us… It just took some time.”
“You’re glad you did?”
“Glad?” he asked. “Noah is the love of my life, and I would be nothing without her. Of course I’m glad.”
“Even if you got a broken leg out of it?”
“Even then.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek.
“She probably needs that from you too,” Dorian said. “This whole thing started on your terms. She’s still catching up.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve had a thing for her since forever.
Yeah, I’m sure that’s only grown since you’ve gotten to know her, but you still had this idea of Ellie in your head before you actually had her.
You started on the fifty-yard line, man.
She’s still back at the twenty. Give her time to run the play. Give her time to catch up.”
I pressed my thumb to my temple. “And if she doesn’t want to?”
“I don’t think that’s your problem.”
“How the fuck do you know that?”
“Have you seen the video from her show the other night?” he asked.
“No, dumbass. She asked for space. Normally, I watch every show or catch the highlights. But…not right now. It’s too hard.”
“Well,” he murmured, “I think you should check it out. Might change how you’re feeling.”
“How do you know more about what’s going on with Ellie than I do?”
“Did you forget I live with your niece?” he shot back right as a crashing sound came through the speaker. “Shit, sorry, gotta go. Gracie’s redecorating with glitter. But seriously. Watch the video.”
“Yeah, yeah. Sure.”
I hung up and typed her name into the search bar without thinking. The first result said it all.
Ellie Miles Debuts Unreleased Song in New York
I skipped past the fluff, ignored the gossip, and hit play on the embedded video.
“I haven’t played this for anyone, but this is ‘Unscripted’.”
Her voice hit me like a punch to the ribs—same as it always did. Only this time, it cracked. Not off-key, not broken: raw. Shaky in a way that felt...real.
And then, she started singing about us.
About standing at the edge of something and not knowing if it was worth the fall. About me. About everything we almost had, maybe still had, depending on what the hell this was supposed to mean.
By the time she reached the end, I wasn’t sitting anymore. I was up, pacing, hands in my hair, chest burning, trying to make sense of what the hell she was trying to say.
I’m halfway here, caught between the fall and the fear
You’re the risk I want, though I can’t make it clear
My heart’s in overdrive, and I don’t know the plan
I’m scared to jump, but I want to, hand in hand
I’m halfway there, and it’s all unscripted
Wild and unknown, but I don’t want to miss it
God. Was that her way of saying she still wanted me? Not just me—us. She threw it out there like a song for the whole damn world, but every word landed as if she’d carved it straight into my chest.
And I was halfway across the country, trying to figure out if I was already too late to give her the ending she left blank.