by T. L. Keary
He’s who the detectives are watching closest.
After spending years and devoting her whole life to becoming me so she could win Ezra over, no one thinks Charity will give up on Ezra easily. If she’s going to expose herself, it will be through contacting him.
Evening is starting to fall when we get to Ezra’s house. It’s automatic when I climb out after Davis. We’re already used to our armed escort. But when we reach the porch, Davis pauses with his hand on the doorknob.
“I…” he hesitates before looking over at me. He studies my face, and I see the conflict there. “I don’t know what my brother’s state of mind is going to be like. Maybe you’d better wait out here.”
Instantly, I feel stupid for following him up here. I should have waited in the car. “Of course,” I nod. Davis offers a small, sad smile.
I take a seat on the cute porch swing, and my armed officer takes an attentive stance on the steps, his eyes scanning our surroundings.
“What are you doing here?” I hear Ezra’s voice from inside the house. I realize then that the window behind me is open. I can hear them without much difficulty.
“You’re not answering any of my calls,” Davis says.
“Yeah, well, I can’t say I’ve much felt like talking lately,” Ezra says, his tone dark.
“Look, I know you’ve got to be kind of messed up over what Charity’s done, but it can’t be healthy to cut yourself off from everything that’s still real,” Davis tries to reason.
“Just because I don’t want to talk to you doesn’t mean I’ve lost touch with reality,” Ezra spits back.
“Excuse me?” Davis says, his tone controlled. “Why the hell are you so angry at me? I helped expose the truth before you went and married a complete psychopath.”
There’s a slight pause, and I can just imagine the look Ezra gives his brother. “Are you serious?” he says, disgust creeping into his voice.
“Don’t play games with me, Ez,” Davis says, and I can clearly picture the hard look in his eyes and the small way he shakes his head. “Just say what you’ve got to say.”
There’s another moment of pause, and I have no idea what’s happening, but my heart rate kicks up.
I don’t want them to fight. I don’t want bad blood to be between them. They need to stick together right now. They need each other right now.
But it’s obvious that Ezra isn’t there.
“When did it happen?” Ezra asks. And the tone of his voice is cold as ice. “Because what I saw that day at your dining table? What I saw when you and Sawyer showed up at the police station… You’ve had your women, Davis. But I’ve never seen you look or act like you did with Sawyer. So don’t lie to me, brother. When did you and Sawyer start seeing each other?”
My insides go cold.
That’s genuine hatred in Ezra’s voice.
I’ve never heard him speak like this.
It sends waves of cold goose bumps washing over my arms. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“I swear to you, Ezra, before last Friday, Sawyer and I hadn’t seen each other since you and her were together,” Davis says, calm and low, as if he’s trying to keep Ezra from exploding.
“Don’t lie to me!” Ezra yells, and I flinch, squeezing my eyes closed at his sharp outburst. “You get bored after one day, Davis. The way you were looking at Sawyer, the way you two were at your house…” There’s a pause, and I imagine the way Ezra is shaking his head. “You’re trying to tell me all that happened in a matter of days?”
It’s silent. I don’t know what’s happening.
But I know what’s going through my own head.
I’m counting the days. I’m running through them one by one, and it doesn’t take very long.
“I’m telling you the truth,” Davis simply says.
Another long pause. “What does Sawyer mean to you, Davis?”
I’m pretty sure my heart stops beating and my ears strain hard through the silence.
One beat. Two.
“I don’t know,” Davis finally answers. “Things are a little complicated right now, don’t you think?”
I hate being blind to the conversation, because half of a conversation is body language. I can’t read Ezra’s face. I can’t look at Davis’ eyes and try to decode what he’s thinking.
“You do too know,” Ezra accuses, his tone low and cold. “This is Sawyer we’re talking about. There’s a reason I lost half my friends when we were dating. She’s got this pull. You’re no more immune than anyone else, brother.”
I cover my mouth with my hand as emotion tightens my throat.
I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head.
Enough, Ezra. Enough. I want to scream the words, over and over. Just let me go. Move on with your life!
But I sit out here, silent, hardly able to breathe.
“Grow up, Ezra.”
My eyes flash open as Davis’ words cut through the space, clear as day.
“The glory days of high school are over. Being the prom king was not your peak, Ez. Sawyer had a right to move on with her life and she was acting like an adult. You’re allowed to get your heart broken; you were allowed to be sad. But it’s been thirteen years. You need to open your eyes and realize you have a problem. You landed in bed with a psycho because you can’t move on. The past is in the past, Ezra. Stop living in it!”
“It could have been anyone,” Ezra says, his voice loud and low at the same time. There is a beat of silence and then I can hear him take the breath in. “It could have been anyone, but you went and fell for the only person who you should have known was off limits. What happened to loyalty between brothers?”
I realize I’m holding my breath. These pauses between their words are killing me.
“Just so you know,” Davis says. His voice is calmer. It’s more controlled. “Nothing has happened between Sawyer and I. And that is for you. But you can’t let the past ruin the present. Let this go, Ezra, and let everyone move on with their lives. Stop being a prisoner to yourself.”
I hear footsteps crossing the house and then to the entryway. I stand when Davis steps out onto the porch.
I know he must read the twisted, complicated emotions on my face, because his own expression is soft and open.
He just gives a little nod, and we walk back to the car.
All I want to do is take Davis’ hand and tell him that none of this is his fault. That he’s a good brother. That he is loyal.
But there is a good chance that Ezra is looking out the window. I can’t have him thinking any darker thoughts than he already is.
So I keep my hands to myself.
I get in one side of the police car, Davis gets in the other.
And my heart breaks as we drive away from Ezra’s house.
When we get home, I set to making dinner and Davis slips into his office, but leaves the door open. He has a million things to take care of. His business runs millions of dollars through it every year and he’s the head of it all.
He can’t just drop everything.
Meanwhile, I still can’t figure out how to kick-start my own life again.
I’m stuck until Charity Cooper is brought down.
When dinner is finished, I call in Davis. I wanted to eat outside on the deck, but with possible targets on our backs, we can’t.
We eat at the table, with our armed guard ever vigilant.
“I’m worried about Ezra,” Davis says.
I look up, my full attention given. There’s something in Davis’ voice I’ve never heard before. There’s a level of vulnerability there that catches me off guard.
“I think there’s something more going on than a broken heart,” Davis says as he meets my eyes. “He’s…got this obsession with how things were when the two of you were together. I mean…we both saw that box of pictures and mementos. And it wasn’t like it was deep in storage. It was right there in his closet.”
I don’t say anything. Because the truth of it
scares me. The way it ties me back and the responsibility of it is too heavy and too far back in the past for me to even reach it.
But as I think about it now, knowing what we know, I see little flags.
The threatening jokes Ezra would make about any of my guy friends. His two best friends he cut off completely when he thought they’d been flirting with me. How he would always talk about our future, here in Snohomish, like it was a guaranteed thing. Like there was no doubt in his mind that we’d be married soon and have our own kids.
Ezra told me he was taking a year off to work with his dad after graduation. Somehow he’d just assumed I would take a year off, too. And when I’d told him I still planned to start school in the fall, he’d first pretended like it wasn’t real, like it wasn’t going to happen.
And then when I told him I was going, he’d gotten angry. He’d tried to bargain. He’d tried to make me feel guilty.
So, I found my voice. I told him it wasn’t for him to decide. And I’d said we were through.
Yet here we are, thirteen years later.
“I think Ezra needs help,” Davis says. His eyes drop to his food. He hasn’t even taken one bite. “Professional help. This isn’t healthy. It certainly isn’t normal.”
Still, I say nothing. Because what am I supposed to say?
Davis is right.
“He has said nothing about what Charity has done to him,” Davis says. “He’s never expressed anger toward her. He hardly even seems to realize that she’s what caused all of this. Every bit of his anger has been directed toward me, over you.”
My stomach feels sick.
“I’m really not that great,” I say, my voice hoarse. “I didn’t think I was that amazing of a girlfriend. I’ve always known I’m a little self-centered. I was thinking about my future, where I was headed. I never meant to drag Ezra through all this pain for this many years.”
Emotions well in my eyes and I finally feel myself crack, thinking about all the tiny red flags that didn’t seem like a big deal when I was seventeen and eighteen years old.
I drag my fingers into my hair, tilting my face to the table. I don’t want Davis to see the emotion welling in my eyes.
Davis is kneeling beside my chair in a heartbeat, pulling my hands away from my face.
“Sawyer, you didn’t do anything but what pretty much any eighteen-year-old moving into being an adult would do,” he says, his tone gentle, soothing. My eyes find his, and I feel embarrassed for the redness I know that’s there, the two tears that have broken free. “None of this is your fault. It just took all of this to realize that there is something wrong with my brother. Don’t let him drag you down into his mud.”
I take a sniff, my eyes rising to the ceiling. “I hate this,” I say. “I feel guilty, every second of every day lately. I feel guilty that I broke his heart. I feel guilty that Charity saw she could get to him through me. I feel guilty that you got tangled into this mess. I feel guilty for being here, and for wanting to be here.”
Davis’ hand comes to my cheek, stopping my words. My eyes slide back down to meet his.
“You need to stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, Sawyer,” he says. “But there’s not a chance in hell that you could feel any more guilty than I do about you being here. And about how much I don’t want you to leave.”
My heart hammers. I’m a wreck inside. But I know I’ll feel better if I kiss him, so I do. I lean in to him, I let my lips find his. Soft and wanted and oh, it’s the most at home kiss I’ve ever had.
I push that guilt aside.
I allow myself to be in this one moment.
And I pretend Ezra Knox doesn’t hate the both of us with everything he has in him.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I pull back the bandage, checking the stitches. Really, I should have pulled off the bandages a few days ago, but I haven’t wanted to look at the damage.
There are no signs of redness or swelling. Both sites are starting to heal.
As they should be.
It’s been two weeks since Davis Knox shot me. Two weeks since they patched me up and I snuck out of there before they could get the police in to question me.
I roll out of the bed and head for the bathroom. This motel room is one of the types that has the sink and mirror out in the room and then the toilet and shower in its own area.
I flip on the light which flickers and gives a harsh glow. Placing my hands on the countertop, I lean forward, looking at my own reflection.
My own eyes look back at me, brown instead of bluish green. My dark roots are prevalent, needing a touch up. I was supposed to go in for the hair appointment the day after our camping trip. But that date is long past, and now I have a dark cap of roots all over my head.
I should go dye my hair black or something. I really don’t want to get caught still looking like Sawyer. But that feels like giving up on everything I’ve worked so hard for, and I’m not ready to do that.
Without the makeup, my eyes don’t look quite the right shape. That’s something that I just couldn’t fix with surgery. Sawyer has these wide, round eyes, and mine are naturally more almond shaped.
It’s only an inch, but still, looking in the mirror, I can see the lack of height.
All that money, all that time, all that research, the days and months and years looking at her face, studying all the pictures I took, and there are still flaws. There will always be a few things I can do nothing about.
I turn away from the mirror and step into the bathroom. I turn on the shower, the water only lukewarm, as I prefer it. I strip off the clothes I’m wearing, one set of three I have now, and step into the water.
No one is looking for me here in Edmonds. Lucky for me, Sawyer James makes good money, had plenty in her bank account, even after not being at her job in over a month. She’s also not very smart when it comes to pin numbers. The year she was born and I was in.
I’d withdrawn the maximum the ATM at the pharmacy would allow me, then ditched the car and her other things. I’d hopped on a bus and rode to wherever it was headed.
If I don’t have a plan, it’s hard for the police to figure out what my next move is.
But it’s been two weeks. I need to decide what I’m doing.
Problem is, I’m not one who’s quick to make plans. I need time to consider all the angles. I need to plot thoroughly. I need to understand all the aspects.
I’d really like to spend this time making Davis Knox pay for messing everything up. I could destroy his business, make everything go wrong with his rental houses. I could set his home on fire. I could make him very, very sick without touching him.
But he’s proven to be more of a contender than I ever expected. Right now, I can’t risk being caught. I have to figure out a way to fix everything.
I’m down to my last two hundred dollars, though. I’m either going to have to steal some money or risk getting into my own bank account.
I’m no petty thief. But I know the second I touch my account, the authorities will get all the red flags they’ve placed around it.
I could kidnap Ezra. It wouldn’t be hard to find an opportunity, knock him out, load him into his truck, take him wherever I think I can control him. I could lock him up. I could even try out those brainwashing techniques Uncle Brad got so excited about.
Eventually he’d accept it, right?
But just the thought makes my stomach sick.
I don’t want a prisoner. Those four weeks together were the best of my life, and I made sure they were the best of Ezra’s as well. I don’t think I can settle for fear and manipulation.
Not when it comes to Ezra.
But he has to know now. Know who I really am. He’ll remember all the times I tried over the years. He’ll remember my smile, my compliments, how I could make him laugh.
That will have to count for something, right? I tried on my own for years. Surely he will have to consider all of that.
I wash my hair, scrub at m
y thickening body. Now that no one has been watching, I’ve helped myself to all the gluten I want. But dammit if it isn’t showing already.
I shut off the water and grab a towel, wrapping it around myself. I step out and go to grab clothes. I could only spare the money for three pairs of pants and three shirts. I’ve been washing them in the sink and drying them next to the window.
I slip into my jeans and am just pulling on a bra when the iPad on the nightstand vibrates.
Once. Twice. Three times.
I hid my phone in a massive thirty-story building in Bellevue. I found a central office, plugged it in an outlet out of sight, and taped it to the back of a filing cabinet, with all vibrations and notifications turned off. The police will track it to that building, but they’ll never ever find it.
But my account is synced to this iPad. Calls and messages can come through it.
My heart is in my throat as I cross the room.
And it disappears all together when Ezra’s name appears on the screen.
It’s got to be a trap. How could it not be?
But as my heart reappears, it thunders wildly in my chest. It aches. It’s calling out to him.
I can’t stop myself when my finger reaches forward, and I swipe to answer it.
No words come out though. I answer the call, but I don’t say anything. I sit on the bed, frozen.
“Sawyer?” Ezra’s voice comes through the device. I don’t say anything. Still listening, still shaking. Three more beats of silence. “Charity?”
I thought my heart had been beating fast before. But it’s nothing compared to when Ezra says my real name.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” Ezra says, his voice low, quiet. “I don’t have too long. I think Davis told them to watch me.”
Hot anger spikes through me at that statement.
“But I…” Ezra trails off. There are five beats of silence as he considers what to say. “I’m kind of a mess. And everyone keeps telling me all these things and I just… I don’t want to hear it.”
A new emotion spikes with a sharp prick.
