There’s a knock, then hinges squeaking as Mom opens the screen door. Their muffled voices float through my closed door and I freeze, trying to hear what they’re saying.
“Sawyer?” Mom calls. “Knox is here. He needs to pick up Owen’s keys.”
Oh. That makes sense, I guess.
I look down at myself still in Owen’s sweatshirt but I traded my leggings for ratty sleep shorts. My hair’s in a messy bun on top of my head. I look exactly how I should, like a girl who’s been crying for six hours straight.
Even if I had the energy to change, what’s the point?
The keys are in my purse, shoved on top of the dresser where I put it as soon as I got back. I grab them and take a breath before unlocking my door.
My legs carry me toward him, shaky but magnetic. I shouldn’t want to be anywhere near him, but each step brings me closer and my body reacts without permission, my breath catching and heart racing, like it’s been trained to want him and forgot it’s not supposed to.
Mom and Knox are in the entryway. He’s wearing different clothes than earlier. Dark jeans and a black T-shirt, the color making his bruises stand out. His hair is still damp like he just showered.
His eyes find mine the second I come around the corner, and the way he’s looking at me has heat flooding to my face. I know he can tell by the way he swallows hard.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
“Hey.”
I close the space between us, hyperaware of Mom standing right there, watching my every move like I’ll collapse into sobs at the drop of a hat.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says, squeezing my shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen.
The silence stretches on as we stare at each other. Knox pushes a hand through his hair, swallowing hard, probably searching for the right thing to say. I hold out the keys, keeping my arm extended to maintain as much distance as possible.
“Here.”
He takes them, and even though I’m trying to avoid contact, our fingers brush for half a second. It’s nothing. Barely a graze.
But I feel it everywhere.
“Thanks. My dad wanted them tonight. For the—” He hesitates, shaking his head. “The bank is going to collect it.”
“Right.”
That makes sense. Richard forced Knox to come here. He has a reason, a purpose. Owen’s car will disappear, just like every other piece of him.
The keys jingle as he shoves them in his pocket. He should leave now…should turn around and walk out that door and we should never be alone together again.
But he doesn’t move.
“Are you okay?”
The question is so absurd, I almost laugh. “No.”
His throat bobs and he pulls his free hand through his hair again. “Yeah. Stupid question.”
“Where’s Ella?”
“She’s back at the house.” He stops. Swallows. “Helping my mom with the plans.”
I nod, not sure why I asked about her to begin with, but now that I know she’s there planning Owen’s services and I’m not, it hurts. I blink back tears.
“Sawyer—”
“Don’t.” I take a step back, wrapping my arms around myself. “Please don’t.”
