Page 107 of Heartsmashed
The walk back to the cabin felt longer than it ever had before, memories from our time together etched into the path. The night we’d arrived and I’d held his hand for the first time there. The drunken walk back after Sawyer had busted out the Worm and tweaked his shoulder. Kissing under the moonlight after dancing all night.
Inside the cabin, the silence hit even harder. It didn’t take me long to grab my toiletries from the bathroom and get my clothes together, making sure I had everything in order.
Then I saw the photo. The one from the 1991 party, a polaroid Sawyer and I had taken at the booth in my color-block tracksuit and his ridiculous overalls, both of us laughing about something and the photographer grabbing the perfect picture.
I stared at it a little longer, but didn’t feel right taking it with me, even though I was sure Sawyer wouldn’t want it anymore. I set it back on the dresser, beside the glow stick from that same night, long dead now, along with the folded resort map, where Sawyer had written Duchess’s name and drawn a tiny skull beside the horseback trail.
I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at all of it. I could have walked away at the hotel lounge that first night. That was the truth I kept coming back to. All I would’ve had to say was “You’ve got the wrong guy,” but I’d stayed. I’d stayed every day after too, making that choice again and again because I wanted to. Sawyer made me laugh. He made me excited to wake up and see what we’d get into that day. It felt like I’d known him my whole life, which was something I’d never believed when other people said it, but I got it now. I understood. Somewhere between the hot tub and the obstacle course, and the Montgomery family pulling me into photos, I’d stopped pretending I was there for any reason other than that I wanted to be with him.
Staying under false pretenses had hurt him, and while I thought leaving was the right thing to do by him, it struck me then that it was also familiar. Someone else had recently walked out the door and out of his life without giving him a choice in the matter. Fucking Peter.
I looked at the half-packed bag in front of me with the sweatshirt he’d worn of mine—because he said it smelled like me—sitting on top.
My phone was in my hand before I made the conscious decision to pick it up, the car service app still open on my screen. I stared at it for a heartbeat and then closed it.
Not yet.
I still needed to give him space, but leaving without telling him where I was going, without letting him decide if he wanted me gone or if he only needed time? That wasn’t respect; that was fear dressed up like selflessness.
I set the phone down and pushed to my feet, the cabin feeling too small, too full of him and everything I’d fucked up and still wanted. I needed air.
Leaving my bags, I walked out with no real plan except for getting away from the car service app and the cabin and the version of myself who kept deciding things for Sawyer.
By the time I realized where my feet had taken me, the stables were coming into view. Duchess lifted her head over one of the stall doors like she’d been expecting me, and I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t start. I’m not here for you,” I said, and she flicked her ear at me.
Fair enough.
I leaned against the fence and looked out over the start of the trail where Sawyer had laughed at me until he’d nearly fallen off his horse. For the first time all day, I took in a deep breath.
I wasn’t leaving. Not yet. Not unless Sawyer chose that for himself.
31
SAWYER
THE RECEPTION HAD barely started, and I had already become deeply committed to holding a glass of champagne the rest of the night, even though I had no intention of drinking it. It just gave me something to do with my hands instead of fidget and tug at my cuffs, or check my phone, which had finally finished charging in the groom’s lounge.
Although that didn’t really stop me from looking at the ballroom doors every three seconds like Beckett might walk back through them if I wanted it bad enough, but I didn’t know anything that could help that.
“Sawyer,” Hudson said as he passed behind me, “you’re staring at the door.”
Dammit.“I’m…admiring the fine craftsmanship.”
“It’s a door.”
“A very nice, well-constructed door.” When he arched a brow, I shooed him off and took a sip of champagne just to prove I was totally fine.
That only proved I wasn’t, because my stomach didnotwant champagne. It wanted answers, coffee, or to be left alone in a dark room for the next eight to ten business days. Maybe all three.
The ballroom was buzzing with the kind of joy the day deserved, and for that, at least, I was grateful. My moms were being pulled in for one hug after another, and God, they were glowing. They had so many people in this room who loved them, and today, they knew it.
Everything was beautiful and happy…and slightly off-kilter because Beckett wasn’t there. I hated that. How could I be surrounded by my entire family and still feel the empty place where he’d been all week? Beside me with his hand on my lower back and close enough that I could feel the heat of him through his shirt. He was the calm, steady presence I’d gotten used to way too fast, and without it, I felt…bereft.
It was strange, the difference in the way I felt his absence compared to Peter’s. One had been a two-year relationship that ended out of the blue, but that I could look back on and realize maybe I should’ve seen the end coming. I definitely knew now that I deserved more.
And then with Beckett…I thought my eyes had been completely open. There was an instant connection with him that I’d never had with anyone. I could feel him on my skin, always felt tethered, even when we were apart.
