They were quiet as they walked, and Sawyer kept the pace slow. He was in no hurry to have this conversation. He would cherish every second he had with Rory, knowing these would be the last. When they were finally some distance away from the restaurant and the reception, he knew the time had come.
Stopping, he turned to face her. She watched him, her expression curious and slightly concerned.
“Sawyer, are you okay?” she asked again, her voice a whisper nearly stolen by the wind.
“I’m leaving. On Monday.”
“Oh.” He watched her struggle with his news, trying to figure out what it meant.
“When will you be back?”
He didn’t reply, and the first hint of doubt crossed her features.
“Sawyer.” She said his name clearly, with a touch of force. “When are you coming back to Findlay Roads?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, which was the truth. He knew he’d be back for his dad, to help his family, but those details had yet to be arranged. “But when I do come back—” he drew a breath, his heart pounding double time as he forced out the words “—it won’t be for us.”
“But you will be back, right?”
It was as if she hadn’t even heard him. He didn’t think he could bear to say it again.
“Rory, I’m trying to tell you that...it’s over.” A knot of despair lodged in his throat, nearly stealing the words from him. “We can’t do this again, you and me.”
“You’re joking, right?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but we’re done. For good this time.”
A spark lit in her eyes, a flare of denial.
“What are you doing, Sawyer?”
“Look, this was a bad idea. I should have known better than to return here and try to get back together with you. We’re just not meant to be. It was worth a try, but this—” he gestured between them “—you and me? It can’t work.”
“Why not?” she demanded, and he loved her more than ever in this moment. Because she wasn’t going down without a fight. She wouldn’t be cowed into submission, into giving up. He could see it in the way she squared her shoulders, as though preparing to do battle.
He had already made his choice. He wouldn’t put her through this. But if there was anyone in the world that he could choose to fight beside him in this war, it would be her. She was so fierce, and her eyes blazed as she dared him to offer up the truth.
“Because your life is here, and mine is not. I have a career and friends in Nashville—”
“Stop.” She took a step forward, jaw set tight. “If you’re going to break up with me, at least come up with a better excuse than last time.”
It was a fair enough request. He owed her more than that.
“Fine. The truth is that I can’t do this, Rory. I can’t worry about me and you, too.”
“Worry about me?” Her tone was incredulous. “You’re unbelievable. What in the world did I do wrong?”
Nothing, my love. Absolutely nothing.
“If we keep at this, you’re going to have to move to Nashville. And you won’t be happy there. You know you won’t. How can I focus on my career and my music, if I’m worried about you being miserable?”
“You’re creating problems that aren’t even there. I’m happy wherever you are,” she reminded him. “We were nomads for years, never staying in one place, always moving on to the next gig. I didn’t need anything or anyone but you. You were my home. As long as I was with you, I was happy. Nashville won’t change that.”
Her words burrowed into his heart and soul, and he decided that he would fight for them. If the worst happened, and he developed Alzheimer’s, these were the words he would fight to keep—that he had been loved so much.
“I can’t do this,” he repeated. “We had a nice few weeks, and it was great to reconnect with you. But it’s time to be realistic. This was a fool’s game, from the beginning. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have come back here stirring things up. I think I was just feeling nostalgic. It was selfish, and I’m sorry.”
She shook her head. “Are you telling me you don’t love me anymore? Is that it?”
This was the hardest part. Because he could lie in so many ways to spare her the future. But he didn’t think he could lie about how he felt.
“Rory,” he began, trying to sidestep the question, “it doesn’t matter what we feel. Because we just aren’t meant to be.”
“It does matter,” she countered. “Because that’s the entire point. You love me. I wasn’t sure of it before, but I am now.”
He felt a twist of frustration. Why did she have to make this so hard? “How? How do you know?”
“Because you’re trying to break up with me to spare me if you get Alzheimer’s.”
He didn’t know why he thought he could get away with this. She could see right through him. She had known him too long and loved him too well.
“Why can’t you just walk away?” For your own good, Rory. Please walk away.
“Because I love you, too.”
The words nearly undid him. She loved him, more than he deserved. She’d loved him through nearly two years of silence and selfishness. She’d loved him as a boy, trying to find himself. She’d encouraged his passion for music, believed in him before he believed in himself. She’d waited while he was in the army and thrown in her lot with him when he came back and decided he wanted to start traveling the country, playing music wherever he could. She had been by him through so much, and he knew she’d be by him if the worst should happen.
But for once, he wasn’t going to be the selfish one in this relationship. Just this once, he was going to do right by her.
“Rory.” His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion. “We can’t be together.”
“What if you don’t even have the disease?” she persisted. “What if all this is for nothing?”
“If it frees you to fall in love with someone who deserves you, then this isn’t for nothing.”
“I already love someone who deserves me. Just like I deserve him. I’m not afraid, Sawyer.”
“But I am.” It was a hard thing to admit, but there it was. He was scared beyond measure about the future and his greatest fear was seeing Rory as his mother had been last night. “I don’t want to live like that. I can manage this, if it’s just me I’m worrying about. I can’t do it if I have to worry about you, too.”
“Then what will you do? Go back to Nashville, make your music and do like you did for the last two years, forget that I exist?”
“Yes,” he countered, his frustration mounting. “Yes, that’s exactly what’s going to happen, and that’s the point. There’s a good chance I will forget you one day. I won’t want to, and I’ll hold out as long as I can, but eventually, my memories of you will be erased. And I don’t want you to look at me when all I see in return is a stranger.” He took a step closer, his words urgent. “That’s why I’m doing this now before it’s even harder.”
She took a step back, tears filling her eyes. “You’re a liar.” Her voice was accusatory, low and hard. “You promised me you weren’t going to leave me. You won my heart all over again, only to break it a second time.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
He could have said more, so much more. He could have told her that she would be the memory he’d hold on to the longest. She would be the reason he kept going, fighting off this disease for as long as he could, if it came to that. But he didn’t want to stop the anger he saw rising in her. If Rory could find her anger, she could walk away. If she could hate him, she could let him go.
“You’re going to be fine,” he said, as much to assuage his conscience as to reassure her. “You’re smart and talented and stubborn. You’ll be all right.”
She didn’t respond. She just looked
at him. The wind was pulling at her hair, dragging several tendrils free from her braid to flutter against her cheeks. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. He didn’t know if it was the breeze off the bay or sadness that made her shiver.
“You really think it’s so easy? Letting someone go?” she asked.
He swallowed. He knew that it wasn’t. But what choice did he have?
“It’s easier than trying to hold on to them, when everything falls apart.”
She shook her head, her expression both pained and angry. “Shows what you know. Love was never meant to be easy, something you walk away from when times get tough. Those who talk about true love like it’s something out of fairy tales or movies, who think the path is smooth from the moment you find the person you’re meant to be with—they’re wrong. People forget that true love, real love, takes work. It’s being with someone even when things get dark and ugly. That’s when love becomes true.” A single tear slipped down her cheek and then another. “I wish you’d been brave enough to believe that for us.”
And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving him desolate and alone once more.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SAWYER SAT BACKSTAGE, waiting for his segment on the Morning View talk show. The makeup girl had come around twice to pat the shine from his forehead. But it was more than nerves causing him to perspire. He’d felt this way ever since leaving Findlay Roads three days ago. It had been difficult to say goodbye to his friends, especially when Connor thanked him for being part of the wedding. It had been harder still to leave his family, but he promised to be back for doctor’s appointments and decision making. Bidding farewell to Gavin had made him nostalgic for the simple lives they used to lead when they were younger.
And Rory. He didn’t get to say goodbye to her, which he supposed was appropriate given that their ending had come when he’d told her they couldn’t be together anymore. He’d seen her one last time, before leaving the reception. Her expression had been full of hurt, her gaze accusatory. That was his last image of her, and the one that had haunted him in the days since he’d flown to Nashville and then to L.A. for this interview.
“You’re on in five, Mr. Landry,” a producer’s assistant wearing a headset informed him.
He shifted on his seat, wiping his palms on his designer slacks. What was wrong with him? He’d never minded these interviews before. In fact, he’d relished them, enjoying the opportunity to talk about his music and the future. But perhaps that was the problem. The future was so uncertain now, and he couldn’t find any joy in speaking of it.
He suddenly ached for Rory, wishing she was there with him. She’d place a steadying hand on his arm, give him that smile of hers and let him know, without speaking a word, that he could handle this.
But he had to learn to manage without her. It was the selfless thing to do. And the last thing he wanted was to be selfish where Rory as concerned.
“Mr. Landry, if you’ll follow me, they’ll be introducing you after this break.”
Sawyer stood and followed yet another production assistant into the wings. He waited, listening as the show’s hosts, Camille and Kirk, listed his accolades by way of introducing him to their viewers.
“And most recently, the winner of American Heartland Radio’s coveted Artist of the Year award, we’d like you to give a Morning View welcome to Sawyer Landry!”
The production assistant gave him a nod, and he drew a deep breath, pushed back his shoulders and stepped out onto the stage. The audience applauded enthusiastically, and he waved in their direction, offering a smile that felt too false, too strained. He then shifted his attention to the show’s hosts, gracing Camille with a kiss on the cheek and Kirk with a handshake, before they gestured for him to take a seat on the plush, gray suede couch. He seated himself and waited for the applause to die down. It took some time, and Camille and Kirk finally had to gesture for the audience to wrap it up.
At last, it was quiet enough to speak. He exchanged pleasantries with the hosts, thanking them for inviting him on the show and then talked about his recent award win. As he spoke, he continued to feel unsettled, fearful of missing a step in conversation, or forgetting a word or name, anything that hinted of Alzheimer’s rearing its head and tripping him up.
But the interview seemed to be going well, and he felt he was articulate on the topic of his next album and upcoming plans for his musical career. It was then, however, that the topic shifted.
“Now, Sawyer, you just recently announced to the world that your father has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s,” Camille began, her voice softening in sympathy.
He swallowed hard, but a knot of grief still remained lodged in his throat. “Yes, that’s right,” he replied and noted the gravelly catch in his voice.
“Now, for our audience members who aren’t familiar with this disease, it’s a form of Alzheimer’s that develops much earlier in life,” Kirk explained.
Sawyer nodded. “I’ve been told it’s much rarer than the more common form. It strikes only about five percent of the population.”
“And it’s hereditary, which means that you might inherit it from your dad,” Kirk added.
Sawyer had known this would be a topic in the interview. In fact, it was part of what had gained him a coveted spot on this couch. Having won Artist of the Year didn’t hurt, but throw in the Alzheimer’s angle, and he was a hot commodity for an interview. Or so Perle had told him.
“That’s correct,” Sawyer replied, making every effort to keep his voice steady.
“How does that make you feel,” Camille asked, “seeing your dad going through this and knowing you might be next?”
The studio audience had hushed, and the air felt weighted with anticipation of his response.
“It’s scary,” he admitted, trying to separate his emotion from his words in that moment. “But you can’t live your life in fear of the future. And there is an option to get tested and find out if I have the genes that cause the disease.”
“Is that something you plan to do?” Camille asked.
Sawyer shook his head. “I’ve decided I’m better off not knowing. It’s difficult, thinking that it might be a part of my future. But for me, I think it would be worse if I was certain of it. It would consume my thoughts. I’d be waiting, day by day, for the symptoms to strike.”
It occurred to Sawyer that this wasn’t so different from what he was doing now. If he had chosen not to have the test in order to live with the hope that he might not ever develop the disease, then why was he still so focused on it?
“Now, in your awards speech, you thanked someone named Rory. We’ve come to discover that she was your girlfriend and musical partner for years, and that you two recently reconnected.”
A prickle of heat washed over Sawyer’s skin. He hadn’t anticipated this. Rory wasn’t supposed to be up for discussion. But then, he’d named her publicly at the AHR awards and had been seen with her by the reporters at the Alzheimer’s support group. He’d done absolutely nothing to keep their relationship private. He should have expected that her name would be dragged into this eventually.
The two large flat screens on either side of the interview area lit up with images of him and Rory from years past. He felt sick to his stomach. How had they gotten hold of these photos? He didn’t even recognize some of the pictures. They must have been sent in by friends or fans or people who had seen them perform at some point.
A more recent image appeared, one of him and Rory onstage at the Lighthouse Café. Obviously, someone in the audience had been taking photos. Sawyer had never even considered the possibility.
“From the people we’ve talked to, the two of you have only very recently reestablished your relationship. Did she know about the Alzheimer’s diagnosis when you reconnected?”
His chest felt tight. It
was difficult to find air. “Um...well, no. I didn’t even know about it at the time.”
Camille clucked her tongue in sympathy. The sound grated on Sawyer’s nerves. “How does she feel about all this? I imagine this sort of thing could put quite a strain on a relationship.”
Sawyer thought about the question. He probably should have told them the truth—that he and Rory were no longer together. But he couldn’t find the words to speak it aloud. Maybe because the truth was that Rory had handled all this far better than he had. She wasn’t the problem. He was. He was frightened and not just of losing himself to Alzheimer’s. He was scared of putting her through it, too.
“Sawyer?”
His mind had wandered, and he hadn’t answered Camille’s question.
“I’m sorry...what did you say?”
Camille flicked a quick glance at her co-host. Kirk cleared his throat and jumped in.
“We were just wondering how Rory feels, knowing that you might end up with Alzheimer’s one day?”
“I guess that’s something you’d have to ask her,” he said. But as he spoke these words, he felt a hitch in his chest. He wouldn’t answer this question in Rory’s stead. How she felt was up to her. But then, hadn’t he made all the decisions for them by himself up to this point? He’d taken away her right to choose by forcing her out of his life, all in the name of protecting her. But was that love? Not giving her the opportunity to love him for whatever time they had left? She’d been right, after all. The Alzheimer’s wasn’t a guarantee.
So why was he living as if it was a done deal?
“I can’t speak for Rory,” he said, “but I can tell you that she’s a strong person. One of the strongest I know.” He felt emotion force a lump into his throat. “She’s loyal and loving, and she has this Irish stubborn streak that drives a man insane.” His lips twitched. “But that’s part of where her strength lies. She doesn’t give up easily.”
She’d never given up on him. Not once.
A Song for Rory Page 21
