“Thank you.” Those two hushed words speak volumes and I tighten my arms around him before we slowly release our mutual hold.
I smile at him before returning to my seat. “So, why didn’t your parents want memories of you as a kid?”
“My dad was a two-timing, lying, manipulative asshole who spent his entire, albeit rather short life making every wrong choice he could, and my mom just forgave him for everything. No matter how many women he’d cheat with, no matter how much of our money he burned through. Even when he mortgaged the house and left her with the debt, or when he somehow managed to empty my college fund, the one my grandparents opened for me, to go and party in Miami with arm candy of the week, she always made excuses for him.”
“When did he die?”
“Over fifteen years ago, while I was on a mission.” Sawyer’s words are devoid of any emotion, as if he’s telling the story from the outside rather than a child describing the death of a parent. “One of his lovers shot him when he wouldn’t divorce my mom for her.”
“That’s…” I want to say terrible, but it doesn’t feel like the right word.
“Poetic justice?” Sawyer offers, and my gaze turns wide as I look at his somber expression. “It’s okay. He was as crap a dad as he was everything else. He only married my mom to save himself the child support.”
“He was still your father, though.”
“He was,” Sawyer agrees, his gaze turning serious. “And I vowed I would never be like him.”
I’m overcome with the need to touch him again. The vivid sensation of his skin against mine startles me, a simmering heat at the thought of his calloused touch against my skin starts spreading through my veins.
“And your mom?”
Sawyer looks down at his plate. “She hasn’t really been the same since the old man died.”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s been sitting around for over a decade, filling her house with stuff to try and make up for his absence, just waiting to die.” His eyes are full of sadness, and he pauses, probably battling a truth he’s not sure he’s ready to reveal, just like I was a few minutes ago.
My hand comes to rest over his again, reassuring.
“Sawyer, you don’t have to—” He cuts me off with a shake of his head, a timid smile that I suspect is a rare one quirking his lips.
This is the look he gave me at the wedding last year, the gaze of a lost boy who’s suddenly seeing something that he feels could be his home. The longing in his eyes settles deep in my chest, his undeniable craving for a place to put down roots and my own desire to be that place for him.
“He left her the day I turned eighteen. Never divorced her, though. God forbid he risk losing half of his earthly possessions.” Sawyer slides a palm across his stomach, eyes cast down. “She doesn’t want me in Chicago and doesn’t want to come live with me in Ohio. She’s always mad at me—as if the entire messed up situation is somehow my fault, that if I hadn’t been born, things would have been different.” His eyes find mine, full of pain and a sense of loss. “Apparently, pregnancy is a legitimate excuse to cheat in her book, so naturally, I’m the one to blame for daring to consolidate into a life form.”
“Is that why you enlisted?” I whisper, still transfixed by that sad gaze. “You thought being a hero would make her look at you differently?”
“No.” Sawyer laughs, a bitter sound devoid of any humor. “I lived my entire life as an anchor to both my parents. I just wanted to be free.”
“That’s so sad, Sawyer.” My thumb is caressing his, every swipe sending a minuscule jolt down to my abdomen, and Sawyer’s foot presses against mine under the table.
“It’s life.” There’s a slight chafe to his voice, a darkening in his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me like I was some lost boy drifting aimlessly until I enlisted. When I lost what I thought was my only chance to go to college, I almost gave up. But I had teachers who lifted me back up. I worked hard for my grades, for my place as captain of the wrestling team. I could have gotten scholarships, but Coach was the first to suggest a military career. He said I had fight in me and that I’d make a good leader. I always had good people in my life who made sure I saw my potential and pushed me to realize it.”
“I’d say you’ve been pretty successful so far.” The rest of my fingers join my thumb in a gentle rub of his wrist, desire pooling between my thighs at every stroke.
“I wanted to get away. I’m not pretending enlisting didn’t give me that, but I also needed to prove to myself I wasn’t like him. It was never about being a hero; it’s about always showing up for the people who count on me. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” I nod, a surge of heat erupting low in my abdomen when Sawyer flips the position of our hands to rub his thumb over my pulse. “Perfect sense.”
“I don’t tell that to a lot of people.” His gaze is intense, burning.
My foot moves against his, pushing forward until our calves are rubbing, the air around us vibrating with delicious tension.
“Maddie…” Sawyer pauses, his eyes squeezing shut as he takes a deep inhale through his nose and releases it slowly through his mouth, his hand and leg slipping away at the pace of his exhale. “Time to go home.”
Sawyer
Pulling away was almost physically painful. But things were whirling out of control, the way Maddie was touching me, the way she let me touch her. That spike in her heart rate practically crushed my discipline, but I couldn’t afford to let our pretend selves get carried away with the all too real tension.