There’s so much restraint in that one word. It kills me.
“I know,” I say. And I truly do. Owen. Ella. All of it sitting between us like a wall neither of us is supposed to climb. I’m the one who said never again. I need to keep my word.
He reaches out and I think he’s going to pull me in, close the distance, finish what keeps starting and stopping between us. And despite everything, I’d let him. I’m weak. The pull is too strong.
His thumb traces once along my cheekbone the way he did in the entryway yesterday. It’s barely a touch. He’s being careful with me and that makes me want him that much more.
He drops his hand and jumps down.
“Go inside.” He sounds seconds away from changing his mind. “Please.”
That gets me.
I slide off the hood. We’re standing close enough that I have to tilt my chin up to look at him. His hands are back in his pockets, which I’m starting to understand is what Knox does when he doesn’t trust them.
One of us needs to be the responsible one right now and it’s clearly going to have to be me.
“Goodnight, Knox.”
He exhales slowly through his nose. “Night, Thorne.”
I make myself turn around. One foot in front of the other across the damp grass, up the wooden porch steps, through the door. I don’t look back because I know if I do, I won’t keep walking.
Inside, I lean against the closed door, listening to his engine turn over, standing there until the sound fades completely down the road and there’s nothing left.
I reach up and glide my finger over the path he traced on my cheek, but of course I feel nothing. It’s not the same without him.
Back in my bed, I toss and turn. This will be my last night here in the cottage. My last night in the place Owen picked for us. I wonder if Knox is leaving Lake Mercer tomorrow too. I should have asked.
I think about Owen’s texts. Knox’s thumb on my cheek. How I’ll have to stand next to both of them soon. One in a casket. One in a suit. And I still don’t know which one I understand less.
There’s too many things left unsaid. I don’t sleep at all.
Chapter 18
Sawyer
I've been staring at the black dress hanging in my closet for twenty minutes, perched on the edge of my bed in nothing but my underwear and Owen's sweatshirt. I can’t do it. I can’t make myself stand up and put it on.
It’s the same dress I wore to my grandmother’s funeral three years ago. The same one I wore to my coworker’s father’s service. I never thought I’d be wearing it to bury my boyfriend at twenty-four years old.
The engagement ring box sits on my nightstand. I left it there yesterday after Mom dropped me off at my apartment. I haven’t opened it since the night I got it out of the locker. I’m still deciding if I want to wear it today. What’s the protocol for wearing your dead boyfriend’s engagement ring when he never actually got to propose? When you never actually said yes? When you kissed his brother before he was even laid to rest?
My phone buzzes on the bed beside me, and I grab it right away, grateful for any distraction from my thoughts.
RESTRICTED flashes across the screen and my stomach twists. I know exactly who it is before I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
“This call is from,” the automated voice begins, then cuts to my father’s recorded voice saying, “David Thorne,” before continuing, “an inmate at Otisville Federal Correctional Facility. This call is subject to monitoring and recording. To accept charges, press one. To refuse this call, press two. To block future calls from this inmate?—”
I press one before the message finishes, my heart already racing.
There’s a click, then he’s on the other line. “Sawyer, sweetheart. I’m so glad you picked up.”
I close my eyes, pressing my palm against my forehead. “Dad.”
“I heard about Owen. Baby, I’m so sorry. I know how much he meant to you.”
