Page 74 of My Grape Crush
“Take a right,” I tell him. “There’s a Smitty’s on Main Street if you don’t mind slumming it at a pancake joint.”
After a tight silence, Sawyer says, “I’m not the enemy, Dani. If anything, I’m trying to spare you a broken heart.”
“That you want to piece back together?”
He shoots me a wounded look. Shit. His fumbling attempt to soften the blow of my sorry fate comes from a good place. I think. But all my nerves are frayed from the fiasco we left behind.
Not to mention, an entire box of condoms has gone to waste.
Sawyer puffs out a breath that says—whatever.“If you want me to say sorry for thinking you’re hot, it’s not happening.”
I sink back into the plush leather seat and keep my mouth zippered. The world was like this: you apologize to Sawyer; Sawyer doesn’t apologize to you.
Small wonder he’s single.
But then, slowly, my compassionate lens kicks in. Everyone struggles. Who knows what Sawyer has had to bear? And what are my fantasies of Rhys based on? Social media, the great truth seeker? The fact is, he and Myla were an item for at least one night. If he’s attracted to the likes of her, I had him pegged all wrong.
I flip down the sun visor to shade myself from the relentless brightness. If anything, I’ll endure breakfast with Sawyer as a tactical play. Pry as much information out of him as I can. Color in the lines of what Rhys has told me.
And decide what to do from there.
Maybe Rhys creating trouble in my heart flames out like Sawyer predicts.
Maybe we were doomed from the start—thrown together by virtue of forced proximity and not cosmic destiny, which, admittedly, sounds a thousand times more romantic.
Time suddenly feels elastic, like months have passed instead of days. My throat is raw, eyes strangely unseeing. Yes, Rhys Trenton was responsible for the sparkle of diamonds between my legs and a head full of woozy stars. And when the velvet warmth of his tongue dipped into my mouth, I forgot everything.
But maybe what I need to forget is him.
Every small town has its version of a Smitty’s. A basic breakfast joint where a haze of grease hangs thick in the air, and the menus are sticky from jam and syrup fingers. Our waitress, Flo, all hips, jolly laugh and hair dye by L’Oréal, brings two coffees and takes our orders. She hustles back to the kitchen, and Sawyer wets a napkin in his glass of water to wipe his fingers clean.
I bet he jumps in the shower seconds after orgasm.
“So,” I start. “What was your fight about?”
Sawyer shrugs—more weary than indifferent. “What is any fight about? Two people who remember things differently.”
I say nothing and hold space for him to fill it. I understood the gist of their argument, but I want him to spell it out.
Sawyer rips open and empties a sugar packet into his mug, stirring furiously with his spoon. “Our father had a hard time with Rhys,” he finally says. “I toed the company line. Our middle brother, JC, was the musical prodigy. Rhys was wild and unmotivated. They clashed over everything. And one day, he had enough.” He pauses to take a sip of coffee and makes a face. I guess coffee snobbery is the one thing the brothers have in common. “Dad gave Rhys an ultimatum—work in the company or live on the streets.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s harsh.”
“Welcome to Peter Trenton.”
“What was the problem Rhys wanted you to fix?” I prod. It feels like Sawyer is skimming over the real crux of the matter.
For a long minute, he watches lobster-red tourists shuffle up and down the sidewalk. His eyes remain on the window when he speaks. “JC was off on tour, and I was his only chance to sway Dad's decision. Our father listened to me. Once in a while,” he adds cryptically.
“But you didn't say anything.”
Sawyer slides his eyes back to mine. It looks like he’s aged a decade in five minutes. “Rhys needed to fight his own battles. Forge respect without hiding behind me. How was I to know he’d hop on a flight three days later and never come home?”
I taste my coffee, grimace, and set the mug back down. Even by my standards, it’s rough. “That incident started it all, from what I gather.”
Sawyer says nothing for a few seconds. Then, “Dad called Rhys an untalented waste of space who needed to get whipped into shape. Do I understand why Rhys left? Yes. And I admire him for having the courage. To not rot away doing a job he hated.” Sawyer’s hand trembles ever so slightly as he picks up his fork to polish it with the napkin. He looks miserable with his tight, sad smile. “Our mother has never forgiven me, for what it's worth.”
So much for biology. You can love something and still ruin a life. Assuming Peter loved Rhys.
