by Adriana Law
I inhale sharply.
Sawyer pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, sighing loudly. I’ve seen him do this whenever he is somewhere he doesn’t want to be. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That was uncalled for. I should not have said that.”
I shake my head. “Neither of us are ready.”
His eyes are wet with tears.
He’s shaking.
He doesn’t beg me. I don’t expect him to. He graciously accepts the ring and buries it in the pocket of his dress pants, abruptly standing.
“I’m sorry,” I rush on to tell him. “The ring is beautiful. Better than I could have ever imagined. I’m not saying no indefinitely. Just no for right now.”
“It’s okay. I understand.”
“Do you?” I stare up at his handsome face, my heart breaking from the hurt I see in his eyes. “Do you really…understand? Saw, we both still have so many issues to work through…separately…put us together and there’s just that much more shit going on under the surface. There are still things you don’t know—”
“I get it!” he snaps. “Would you please…?” He scrubs his face with his hands and exhales a breath. Holds out a hand. “We should probably go back inside, Mya. Say our goodbyes.”
Sliding my hand in his I can’t help but wonder if there is hidden meaning in his words.
Did I do the right thing?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Rage
It’s odd. I’d assumed after the proposal Sawyer would shut me out. Punish me by withdrawing from the relationship altogether. Instead, he seems determined to show me that I am wrong. He is persistent, driven, and doesn’t give up easily. I don’t why I expected different. Walking next to him, our fingers threaded on the way home from a movie with friends; it’s all so fucking surreal. He proposed. We’re working on it. I’ve almost built up enough courage to talk to him. Sawyer could’ve pouted over my saying no to his proposal. He could have insisted. He could have bullied me. He could have manipulated me. He could have walked away like my father did, but he didn’t.
Sawyer doesn’t walk away when it gets tough.
Maybe deep down it was a test. I’ve been known to put the people I love through the ringer. But Sawyer didn’t walk away. That’s the important part here. He stayed. So here is my conclusion: if two people are the type that don’t give up easily and they are willing to be committed to doing whatever it takes…they might have a real shot.
I know. I need to tell him, and not because I want to trap him into staying, but because he deserves the truth. I’m confident now more than ever that he won’t leave, and not because of the baby but because he loves me.
Sterling and Victoria walk ahead.
It’s an unusually warm night for October.
Sawyer and me purposely stay back occasionally stealing kisses in the shadows. I’m on the outside, the side near the main road. I glance over at him: his smile, his chiseled profile, the beautiful shape of his jawline, the side view of his long lashes lowered, his gaze focused up ahead. He looks so damn sexy tonight in a black T-shirt that shows off his biceps; muscular and toned. I realize at that moment that Sawyer is stronger than any man I’ve ever met, strong enough to love me without expectations. Any man can hit a woman. That’s not tough. Any man can fight. But it takes real strength and courage to invest in someone as screwed up as I am.
My hand squeezes his, drawing his attention to my face. A corner of his lips lift into that heart-shuddering grin I’ve become accustomed to. Someone pinch me. No. Don’t. I don’t want to wake up from this dream!
As we walk, I curl a possessive arm around the arm my hand is holding and lean against him. “You cold,” he softly asks.
I shake my head, telling him, “This feels good.”
“The warm weather?”
“No…us,” I say. “Spending time together. Knowing for certain that you’re my future. Having you all to myself.”
We reach Sawyers Jeep and stop on the passenger side. He moves me to stand in front of him and circles my waist with his arms. My back is pressed up against the passenger door of the Jeep as his mouth comes down over mine. I have a foot in the street another resting against the lip of the sidewalk curbing. His tongue is warm and familiar, moving against mine. I reach up between us and clutch the fabric of his t-shirt, desperately needing him as close as he can get. His kiss taste like buttery movie popcorn and cherry coke.
“Get a room,” Sterling shouts from the rear of the Jeep.
I hear Victoria whack him. “Leave them alone.”
Sawyer laughs into my mouth and then his lips are near my ear where he whispers, “I am completely, hopelessly in love with you, Mya Cruz.” I feel his smile. “I say Sterling drives so we can make out in the backseat.” He pulls back. “Bro, try not to speed.” He tosses Sterling the keys.
I have yet to remove my eyes from Sawyers. Instead, I tip my head back, my lips parting; the urge to tell him that I love him overwhelming. Five seconds, that’s how long it takes for everything I hold dear and important to be torn from my arms.
Tires squeal over pavement. There’s a loud pop. “Get down,” Sawyer commands simultaneously with the Jeep’s front windshield shattering. A few feet from my head. Instantly Sawyer is on top of me, pressing my into the side of the jeep, covering me like a canopy. He shields and protects me without ever once considering his own safety.
Screams erupt, one coming from my mouth.
Bystanders scatter.
“What the fuck.” Sterling forces Victoria down low near the rear wheel, telling Sawyer, “That son-of-bitch aimed right for Starr’s head.” Like Sawyer needs any more ammunition. He’s already vibrating with anger. I see it. I fear it. He is not thinking clearly. Rage quickly replaces fear.
“Get in the back seat and stay down,” Sawyer orders of me. He opens the Jeep’s door and reaches for the glove compartment, taking out a handgun. Lifts the release that pops the seat forward, telling me to crawl in.
I should have listened to him. If I had, then maybe, the shooter would have recognized his missed opportunity and kept going. Instead, I bobbed around giving the shooter a second chance.
“No!” I grab onto Sawyer’s forearm. “Don’t you go after him, please, don’t do it! Stay with me!” I’m pleading, tears flooding my cheeks. I want to grasp. I want to clutch. I want to hold onto the future that I see.
“I’m not going anywhere until you’re safe,” Sawyer says. “Now get in the damn Jeep!” He shoves me.
Sawyer has never shoved me. “No!” I yell, “I’m not getting in without you!” Sawyer has never once hurt me. But now he grips my upper arm so hard I cry out, knowing I’m losing as he uses his body and strength to force me to obey. “No, no, no…not without you,” I keep repeating. “Please, Sawyer. I’m safe. Let it go for now. I have a bad—” The word feeling never makes it out.
There is another pop. I feel the hit by the sudden lurch of Sawyer’s body forward, into mine. His hands are still on me, holding me. An arm surrounds my waist. The whites of his eyes expand. He opens his mouth and the reddest blood I’ve ever seen oozes out. He goes limp against me, sliding, sliding… sliding down; his brown eyes wide and locked with mine.
“No, no, no…don’t you do this,” I chant lowering to the ground with the love of my life settling his writhing body into my lap. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you,” I cry. “I’m not going to let you go!”
Sawyer coughs up more blood, the warm lips I kissed just moments ago leaking of all color except for the bright blood staining them. Frantic, I grasp and clutch at Sawyer’s upper body, angling him, rolling him toward my chest.
The sound of heavy boots slapping over concrete grow closer—Sterling running back. “I couldn’t get a license plate number,” he tells us out of breath. He pounds the metal of the Jeep with a fist. I should let him know it doesn’t matter. It was a silver Ferrari 360 Spider. I would know that car anywhere. I’ve sat in that car. Smelled the new leather. Victo
ria lays a hand on my slumped shoulder and squeezes. All I’m able to do is rock and sob, rock and sob, repeating one word and one word only: Why?
I know why. Because of me. I glance down at my shaking hands covered in blood. So much blood! I’ve never seen so much blood in all my life! Sterling removes his jacket and drapes it. “Keep him warm,” he tells me.
Sterling is suddenly there, stooping beside me.
Sawyer’s harsh breaths warm my neck.
Frantically I feel over his back. “He’s shot. He’s shot, Sterling!” I cry out. “I can’t stop the blood.” My palm covers the wet hole. “I can’t stop it. Shit. Sterling do something! It’s his lung. HE CAN’T BREATHE!”
“Did you call 9-1-1 like I said,” Sterling’s shouts to Victoria.
“Yes. They’re on the way.”
“You hear that,” I tell Sawyer. “You’re going to be okay.” His hand touches mine as he struggles to speak, “not okay. You know it…not okay.”
Sterling stands, curses and paces. Victoria leaves to go keep him from doing something really stupid. I don’t really care. All that I care about is in my arms. “Don’t do this,” I cast my eyes up at the sky. “Don’t you dare do this to me!” Then I’m kissing Sawyer: his clammy forehead. His cheeks. His bloody mouth. “Don’t you leave me? You hear me? You’ve got to marry me,” I sob. “You promised. Dammit, you promised!”
A hand brushes my cheek. Gentle. I gasp at the tenderness of it. Sawyer wipes away the tears, muttering softly. I have to put my ear near his mouth to understand. “I’m sorry,” he says.
“For what? What are you sorry for?” I ask. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.” Then he smiles, singing, “The night that I got down on one knee and asked if you would marry me…” He stares up at me, running his fingers along the strand of hair falling near my chin, then his thumb makes it to my trembling bottom lip, running over it. “You’re everything I ever wanted,” He says weakly. Fading.
I laugh/cry. “Our song,” I say.
He nods. Sputters up more blood. I imagine his lungs are full of it. He is drowning. Dammit, I know it. I feel it too. I can’t breathe. “Don’t—” I beg. “Please, I can’t do this. Not without you. I’m not strong enough. I can’t.”
He shushes me and tenderly strokes my cheek. Tears run from the corners of his eyes.
“I love you, Sawyer Bentley. Please, don’t leave me.”
“It’s ok, Mya. It’s going to be ok.”
I shush him; my cheek press to his cool for head, gathering him desperately closer. “Save your strength. I’m here. I’m right here. You’re going to be okay. You are going to be okay. You have to be.”
I want to tell him about the baby. I want to tell him I lied about being on the pill. I want to explain to him that I wanted this so badly. Him and me. Joined forever. I need to tell him he is about to be a father to give him a reason to fight; for the baby, if not for me. But I can’t, knowing his last thoughts will be of betrayal. I can’t do it. I can’t tell him I’m a manipulative, scared little liar who doesn’t know how to do any of this.
I rock and sob, cradling a weak Sawyer close to my chest. Crushing him in a desperate embrace. A few inches to the left and it would’ve been me instead. “Do something,” I beg the others standing around. “Please, do something!”
Do something more than stand around in disbelief.
Can’t you see my world is dying?
There’s the sound of sirens off in the distance. Car horns honk; curious motorist compelled to slow down and stare. Bright flashing lights part Los Angeles heavy traffic for the paramedics.
A few feet to the left and it would’ve been me. I wish it had been me. It all fades; Sterling, Victoria, the traffic, onlookers. It all fades until all that’s left is him and me, sitting on the sidewalk. I’ve heard that God will not put more on you then you can stand. I’ve reached my limit.
“Look at me, stay with me, baby,” I beg.
He obeys, his eyes fluttering open to stare up at me.
***
The emergency room doctor finally comes out.
Haggard and anxious, Sterling immediately gets to his feet and meets the doctor midway. Victoria is there by Sterling’s side, holding his hand. I don’t move from my chair. Not yet for fear that I will collapse. The sick fluttering in my stomach at the sight of the doctors defeated expression says this just went from bad to worse. I’ve seen it in movies: the tired over-worked doctor busting through the double doors with nothing but sad news for those gathered in the waiting area.
The doctor stops before Sterling and cast his gaze at the floor, slowly shaking his head. Sterling tears his hands through his hair and then folds at the waist, his hands clutching his knees as he struggles to catch his breath.
I know the feeling.
My life is gone.
Shattered into a million piece—my perfect picture of tomorrow.
I raise up out of the chair and numbly walk: toward the double doors, down the long corridor that is nothing but bland white and artificial light, past the guard that checks everyone entering the emergency room. I hold it together until I am far away from them all, far away from anyone that can see or hear my breakdown.
Outside I gasp for air that does nothing to replace what is gone.
Every part of me breaks apart and splinters. My legs are like rubber, no longer able to hold my trembling body up, and I crumble where I stand.
The dam breaks.
“He is gone. Sawyer Bentley is really gone.” It’s not some nightmare that I will wake up from to find him snoring on his side of the bed. I will never kiss him again. I will never hold him again. I will never get a second chance to do things right.
“Why?” I bury my face in my hands. “Why the hell did you even come into my life if you were just going to leave it? I wish I would have never met you! I hate you!” I sob into my hands. “I hate you for dying on me!!” It’s not true. I don’t hate him. Not even close. I wish I could hate him and then maybe I wouldn’t feel like I just lost my grasp on the one and only good thing in my life.
A hand touches my shoulder and I startle.
Immediately I look up to see Sterling.
He is miserable. The heartbreak shows as he drops down beside me, pulling me into his chest. I shove against him, not wanting any part of his comfort. I beat his chest with my hand. Angry. Hurt. Lost. “Get away,” I tell Sterling. “Don’t touch me. I don’t want you touching me.”
“Stop, Starr,” he growls, restraining my wrist. “Stop it! He wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”
“Who gives a shit what he wants. He’s not here, Sterling. He is not HERE. He left me.”
“Dammit, he didn’t leave you. It’s not just you…don’t you see, we’re all hurting? I lost my only brother tonight.”
“But I’m dying, Sterling.”
“No, you are not dying, Starr. Whether you want to or not…you have GOT to pull your shit together and not let this destroy you.”
“How?” I go limp, allowing Sterling to pull me close. He hugs me. I choke on the word, “Mya.” Sterling pulls back, his brows drawn in confusion. “It’s Mya,” I repeat. “My name is Mya.”
“Okay,” he hushes me just like Sawyer used to. “I loved him. I still love him,” I tell Sterling. He was going to marry me, Sawyer. It’s not fair.”
“I know,” he mutters into the top of my head, “I know.”
***
I stare unblinkingly at his handwriting on the mirror.
His funeral is today.
My bag is by the door.
Everything changes today. My life. I decide I hate black. Instead, I choose a gray dress since it matches my mood better. Black is nothing. I feel everything.
Sawyer’s Father came to see me just after the hospital. Honestly, I was afraid to let him inside, not sure if he came to inflict more pain. He’d asked for a minute of my tim
e in a formal clipped tone. I held the door wider and gestured for him to come inside. “It’s your apartment,” I told him.
He’d paused, glancing down at my packed bag before stopping short of the sofa. “Are you going somewhere or making a drop off at Goodwill?”
Fuck him. I assumed he had no intentions of sitting or staying. I got that feel immediately; that this was the last place Sawyer’s father wanted to be. I wanted to yell at him. Take my hurt and anger with myself out on him. Tell him he never deserved his son admiration and he sure as hell didn’t deserve his constant forgiveness. I wanted to point out that now, with Saw gone that he was all alone. But then I realized…so was I.
As I stared directly into Samuel Bentley’s hard eyes I concluded that we were really not that different: neither of us ever deserved him.
Slick came running, uncoordinated and way too big for the space. He bulldozed right into Mr. Bentley almost clumsily knocking him down. All Slick wanted was a little affection. Sawyer’s father withheld, bristling in his expensive suit. I spoke up, “Do you—would you care—?”
“I have no interest in acquiring a pet, and Sterling spends more time in Colorado than here, so I can’t imagine him wanting the blasted thing either. It’s yours if you want it…” he gave the now sitting and panting Saint a sidelong glance, “…if not, I guess I can go through the trouble of getting my assistant to cart it off to the pound.”
Then City Slicker would be right back where Sawyer found him. Nope. Not happening. I shook my head. “I’ll take him.” I was making enough off my candy sales to pay rent, in a decent place. Slick and I would have shelter.
“Is there anything else because I was about to—?” I motioned at my bag.
Mr. Bentley unbuttoned his jacket. “The reason I stopped by….” he started. I held my breath and steeled myself for the worst. “My son would’ve wanted you to stay until you work things out.” I blinked. It was not what I expected. “I assume you have a key?” he asked.
“It’s not necessary,” I told him. “I’ve already found a place and….”
