Page 25 of The Quiet After The Fall

I laugh but there’s nothing funny about it. “Yeah. Me either.”

“But not for the reasons you think.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fidgeting with the AirPod case. “I don’t care about Ella like that. What I care about is that Owen had everything. You. The life he wanted. My parents looking at him like he hung the goddamn moon.” He stops to breathe while I wait for his next words. “And it still wasn’t enough for him.”

I hate that I want to comfort him. That everything he’s saying makes sense and I’ve felt the same things before…not with the cheating, but just with everything.

“He never had to choose.” He’s quiet, but there’s long held animosity underneath. “Not once. Not ever. He just took what he wanted and left the rest for someone else to deal with.” He finally looks at me, but I can’t hold his gaze. Not when it looks like there’s no light left behind his eyes. “He left everything on my shoulders.”

The train rocks, knocking my purse off my lap. I don’t reach for it or say anything. What could I say? He’s right and we both know it and saying it out loud doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll feel sorry for me,” he says. “I just need you to know that what he did to you, he did to both of us.”

The city is coming into view now. Lights multiplying outside the window, the skyline rising up out of the dark.

My chest aches like he tried to punch through my skin and yank on my heart. I hate Owen right now. I hate Knox. Richard. Ella. All of Ashford. I hate this impossible situation. But mostly, I’m just fucking sad.

“I know.”

Two words. The only thing that makes sense to say.

He hands me back my AirPods. I hold onto them until we reach the city.

Chapter 7

Knox

She’s not yelling at me to go home.

Shocking, but it’s something. A breadcrumb that I’ll savor like a meal. I keep reminding myself of that as I follow her off the train and up the steps into the heart of Midtown. After everything I told her, I can’t believe she didn’t tell me to go the hell home. All I got were those two words. I know. Then the train stopped and she picked up her purse and stood when the doors opened, sidling past me and not checking behind to see if I was following.

Of course I was.

I’m still behind her now, half a step back, watching her navigate the sidewalk, sidestepping pedestrians and tourists. Turning to look in store windows or glance up at street signs.

Her hips sway in that tight skirt, taunting me with every step.

We’re heading west, that much I know. She seems like she has a destination in mind. Or maybe she just wants to keep up this facade of determination. Either way, I’m right there with her.

After a crosswalk, I fall into step beside her. She doesn’t acknowledge me, just keeps moving, eyes forward, chin up. The city surrounds us, swallowing us whole. It’s hard to focus on my thoughts with the blaring horns and music bleeding from open doorways. With people everywhere—talking, laughing, or just weaving through traffic like water around a riverbend.

Neither of us speak for blocks.

This is the most time I’ve had with her in weeks. I’m not going to waste it by opening my big fucking mouth before I have something worth saying.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. There’s no way I’m answering whoever the hell it is.

It keeps going. Buzzing again and again until I silence it without looking.

Sawyer glances at my jacket pocket, then back at the sidewalk. If she has anything to say, she’s keeping it to herself.

We pass a couple arguing outside a restaurant and I watch her turn her head ever so slightly toward them. I wonder what she’s thinking. If she’s remembering a time she argued with my brother. Or maybe she’s thinking about me?

I hope it’s me.

My phone buzzes again. Jesus Christ.