Anastasia meets my gaze and shakes her head. “You’re just saying that. He deserved better than what I gave him.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say yes.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. Her gaze locks on mine, and the air around us charges. “You know, because you didn’t love him that way. It would have been harder to break apart if you had agreed to marry him, then figured it out.”
She looks down then back up at me. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“That night I came here and you told me that I couldn’t stand there and pretend that I never saw the way you looked at me. You said that I chose Jack and I needed to let you move on.”
And here I’d hoped she’d forgotten.
“What did you mean?” she presses.
The truth rattles around in my brain, trying desperately to escape and be out in the open, but the fear of losing her is far too great. At least until I know she won’t run. “I care about you, Anastasia. I always have. But you’ve always been off-limits to me. The one risk I couldn’t take.”
“Why?”
Oh, this is going to sting. But I almost lost her by not being honest, and I aim not to make the same mistake twice. “I didn’t have a lot growing up. My mom dropped me at a fire station when I was five, and I never saw her again.”
Anastasia’s eyes widen. “That’s horrible, Sawyer.”
I shrug. “It’s a truth I learned to live with a long time ago. But I won’t pretend it didn’t leave a scar.” I take another drink of coffee, then continue laying myself open for her to see. If I show her the darkest parts of me and she chooses not to run, then maybe I have a chance.
Either way, I’ll know.
“Anyway, as you know, I bounced from foster home to foster home. There were a couple that weren’t so bad, but they were just a temporary stop. By the time I was ten, I realized that I didn’t want to give anyone the chance to use my feelings against me, so I put on a mask and didn’t take it off. I got into a lot of fights, most of them not my fault, and landed in places so bad I’m genuinely not sure how I survived. I stole—a lot. Spent a few nights in juvenile detention centers until everything I ever had was taken from me.” I swallow hard. “When I was fifteen, a girl came to live in the foster home I was in. She was sweet, smart, funny…the only light I had in that place. I fell fast.” The memory assaults me, and the guilt I still carry threatens to consume me. “One of the other boys in the home took notice and used her to taunt me because they figured out pretty quick it was the only way to get to me.”
“What happened?”
“He started treating her horribly. When he grabbed her inappropriately, I saw red and attacked him.” Standing, I lift my shirt to reveal a small scar on my stomach, just to the right of my belly button. It’s not nearly as big as the others I carry, and it certainly wasn’t my first, but it’s always felt like the heaviest. “He stabbed me.”
“Sawyer.” Anastasia covers her mouth with both hands.
“I was fine. It wasn’t a big enough knife to do any real damage, but I was booted out of that home and sent to military school as a ward of the state.”
“For defending someone?”
“She told everyone that it was all in good fun and I lost my temper.”
“Are you serious?” Anastasia asks, horrified.
“I’m sure she was just afraid for herself. The foster system isn’t exactly built to reward honesty.”
“Sawyer, you defended her, and she threw you under the bus. That is inexcusable.”
I shrug and take my seat again. “I learned quickly that, the harder you love something, the more damage it can do. I loved my mom despite her flaws, and she abandoned me. I thought I loved Kora, and she did the same.” Here goes. “Look, I’ve been taking hits my entire life.” Just admit it. “I care about you, Anastasia. Deeply. And because of that, the damage you could do to me would absolutely level me. You’re the one risk I can’t take because, if it goes wrong, then I’m pretty confident it’s also the one hit I won’t walk away from.”
She’s so still, she might as well be frozen in place, and those hazel eyes lock on mine. How I wish I could know what she was thinking—or maybe not. She’s kind enough that she’d soften the blow.
“But what if things don’t go wrong?” she asks softly. “What if they work out?”
Hope. It spreads through me like wildfire, but until I know for sure, I douse it with a bucket of doubts.
“Anastasia, I didn’t come from a loving family like yours. The longest relationship I ever had was with the Navy, and even that ended pretty terribly.” I laugh, but it’s humorless. “Chances are good I’ll screw it up. And I just—I can’t risk that with you.”
“So you’d rather just stay friends?” Her voice catches at the end, and her gaze darts to the side before returning to me.
No. I’d rather pull you into my lap right now and kiss you until neither one of us can breathe.
