Sawyer Says Page 11

  I feel like such a girl. I spend all my time trying to be big, and one face plant on a bunny hill makes me feel small again. I shrug off his grasp by the time the slope levels out. I need to feel like I can stand on my own.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jared says for the hundredth time.

  Once we’re inside, I need all of my extra layers off. I ignore his attempts to help even though my wrist hurts. A pile forms next to me. I don’t feel like I can breathe normally until it’s all gone, and I’m standing in my socks, yoga pants, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. Jared motions for me to sit down. My socks get wet, and I resist the urge to pull them off too.

  He doesn’t think my wrist is broken, but he’s taking me to urgent care just in case. I cradle my hand and watch him as he gets me new socks from the ski shop and slips my regular boots onto my feet. He is so gentle, so sweet. He would have made an amazing father. That last thought is painful so I try to think about anything else.

  I refuse to put my arm back through the sleeve of my coat so Jared zips me into it, my injured hand tucked inside. He guides me back to his car, making sure I avoid any ice patches. He unzips me once I’m in the car so I’ll be more comfortable. He cranks the heat, and I tease him for not needing to look up the address to urgent care.

  Over the years, he and his buddies have been frequent visitors to this location. “Do you have a preferred guest card?” I tease while he parks.

  “It’s Caleb who was always getting hurt, not me,” he replies.

  “Good old Caleb.” I feel my cheeks redden.

  It just feels weird to talk about a guy I messed around with to his friend, who is the guy I’m currently messing around with. It’s not even like Caleb and I saw each other that long. We only dated for a short time when Sarah and I first moved to Colorado. Neither of us breaks the silence that is slowly becoming awkward. I shift to open my door, and Jared hurriedly gets out from his side to come help me.

  “I feel like an idiot,” I admit, letting him lift me down from the truck. “It’s probably nothing.”

  “It’s my fault that it happened.”

  I smirk at him. “I must have missed you pushing me down.”

  “Boarding was my idea. You wouldn’t be hurt if I hadn’t taken you.”

  “Jared, seriously shut up. I fell. It was an accident. It is not your fault.”

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  “I mean it.”

  The waiting room has an electronic check in that Jared fills out for me. After a short wait, I’m called back, and I don’t stop him when he comes with. They do the usual triage stuff; check my temperature and my blood pressure, before we are led to a curtained-off room.

  I lie down on the bed and use my coat as a blanket. Why are medical offices always so cold? I doze off and blink when I hear the metal clinks of the curtain moving. I glance over at Jared. He’s sitting in the chair just off to the side of the bed, nervously fidgeting with his hat. I look up at the doctor when he clears his throat.

  “I heard we took a—” He trails off when his eyes meet mine.

  Blake friggin’ Wilson. What are the odds the only medical professional I’ve had sex with in this state works here?

  Jared looks between us, wondering why the doctor just stopped mid-sentence.

  I pinch my eyes shut and use my good hand gesture to Blake. “Jared, this is Blake. He and I went out a few times a couple years back. Blake, this is Jared.”

  I open my eyes just in time to see Jared narrow his. Fucking awesome.

  Wanting to get the show on the road and the hell out of this urgent care as soon as humanly possible, I point to my hurt wrist and explain my fall as quickly as possible. I sneak a couple of side-glances at Jared, who seems content to avoid them.

  Blake was a cool guy and still seems to be. With Jared two steps behind, he walks me over to have my wrist x-rayed. Watching Jared stand stiffly next to him as it’s happening is surreal. He guides us back to our room before going off to get the actual printouts.

  “Jared, say something,” I plead the moment he’s gone.

  His lips form a thin line, and he shakes his head. Right before Blake walks back in the room, Jared leaves, mumbling something about needing to make a phone call.

  I restrain myself from pointing out the fact that the miracle of cell phone technology will allow him to do that right from this room. I hardly listen to Blake when he comes back to confirm my wrist is not broken. I do have a sprain, and he fits me with a brace and a prescription for an anti-inflammatory and a painkiller. He gets me started with a shot in the butt.

  “Usually, the nurses do this, but I can’t miss the chance to see that ass again,” he says with a smile as he preps the needle.

  I laugh. I can’t help it. I also can’t blame him. I do have an adorable ass. What sucks is that’s the moment Jared decides to walk back into the room.

  Blake leaves, making a point to give me one of his business cards with his cell phone number written on the back. He’s gone before I even have a chance to tell him I won’t be calling him.

  Jared’s quiet as we walk out. He still opens my door for me but avoids my eyes as he helps fasten my seatbelt. Running into someone who I used to mess around with sucks, but the way Jared’s acting is starting to piss me off. He’s making me feel guilty, and I haven’t done anything wrong.

  “You’re acting like you’re pissed at me,” I venture as we’re pulling out.

  His hands flex on the steering wheel before his eyes meet mine. “I’m not a jealous guy. That just isn’t how I act. I felt uncomfortable watching you with that guy, so I left.”

  “So, seeing me with him made you jealous?”

  He nods, his eyes forward.

  “Jared, I haven’t talked to Blake in forever.” I feel defensive.

  “I believe you. It still sucked. I could tell he was still into you.”

  I reach out to put my good hand on his knee, trying to reassure him. “You do know I’m not like that, right?”

  I watch the confusion flash across his face. “Not like what?”

  “The type of girl who switches guys out like a hot potato,” I answer.

  He drops one hand to cover mine, squeezing it. “I never thought you were.”

  “Then why did you get so upset?” I ask.

  A whoosh of air leaves him as he relaxes his shoulders back further against his seat. “All I could think of was how bad I wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up. That you were mine.”

  I’ve always been too laid back with whomever I was seeing to deal with possessiveness. My usual move would be to hightail it in the opposite direction whenever I noticed it brewing. Jared saying I’m his scares me more than anything ever before has. I like it.

  “Are you going to say anything, or have I pushed you away?”

  I look out my window. “This is uncharted territory for me. I’ve crashed with guys before, but never lived with someone I was seeing. Also, I’ve never been with someone I have as much history with. I’m not sure I’m right for you, though.”

  “I am.”

  I have a voicemail from my old school waiting for me once we get home. I knew I wouldn’t have time to text or anything so I had left my cell at home for the day. Apparently, Carmen had retired some years back, but they had forwarded my contact information on to her. Now all I can do is wait and see if she gets in contact with me.

  My phone is still in my hand when it starts ringing. I look down and see it’s Sarah before glancing up at Jared. His guilty expression confirms my suspicion. He must have texted her or something.

  I groan and answer, “It’s only a sprain. I swear I’m fine.”

  I spend the next fifteen minutes telling her all about my fall and glaring at Jared for telling her. She has enough on her plate already. She doesn’t need to be worrying about me.

  After we hang up, I turn to face Jared. “Why did you tell her?”

  He shrugs, not looking the least bit sorry. “You know she would have freaked
out if she found out about it after the fact.”

  He has a point. I just wasn’t going to tell him that, though. “Then why didn’t you say, ‘Hey Sawyer, call Sarah?’”

  He walks over to try to hug me, but I avoid his arms and walk toward the kitchen.

  “You know you would have put it off, and then forgotten about it,” he calls out after me.

  My face falls; I know he can’t see me. When did he get so good at predicting my behavior? Will nothing I do ever surprise him?

  The butt shot painkiller is wearing off so I fill a plastic bag with ice and wrap a paper towel around it.

  “Dude, I could have gotten that for you,” Jared fusses, coming up behind me.

  “I’m not an invalid,” I huff, taking my icepack to my room and shutting the door behind me.

  Once I’m settled on my bed, I kick myself, wishing he would come in and keep me company. My normal reaction to this situation would be a fight or flight type scenario. In the past, I would either be already gone or picking a fight with Jared until he was. This time, I stare at my closed bedroom door wishing he would walk through it. I am so screwed.

  When it finally dawns on me that Jared isn’t going to chase me, I go back out into the living room. He isn’t home. It takes a couple of minutes to sink in after I find his note on the fridge. He’s sorry he upset me, and he’s going to give me the space I need.

  Just my luck, the first time I fight my internal urge to flee, the guy I want flees instead. It’s fucking poetic. One handed, I make myself a bowl of cereal, pop some painkillers, and go to bed.

  The next morning when I wake, my wrist is throbbing. I pop a pill and wait for it to kick in before taking off my brace so I can shower. Washing my hair and myself one-handedly sucks. Of course, my stupid ass would push away the guy who would do it all for me.

  I pull on a pair of leggings and a sweater dress to avoid dealing with zippers and buttons. Even though Jared is already at work, the condo feels extra empty knowing he didn’t’ sleep here last night. I have to get out of here. I decide to drop by the studio. There’s a chance the right floor materials will be delivered today, so that’s a good reason as any to stop by.

  Once I’m in my car, I immediately pull out my phone. Instead of texting Jared, I’m distracted by a new email from my grandmother’s estate attorney. He wants to know what I want to do with her remains. I sure as shit don’t want them. She had been cremated, so her ashes can sit in his office until the end of time for all I care.

  I ignore it all together and keep reading. It turns out there is an offer on the house, and he still needs my input on donations to the farm. I read over the offer details. It’s pretty much asking price with a request that they have a home inspection, which is standard enough.

  They are also asking for the closing to be in thirty days barring the home inspection goes well. I say a silent prayer that the home inspection goes all right, given the age of the house. I email the lawyer back to tell him to accept the offer.

  I tell him I need more time for the farm matter. It takes me way longer than normal to type that all out with my brace. The silver lining is my fingers stick out just enough that I don’t have to type with my other hand. I’m halfway to the studio before I remember I forgot to text Jared.

  I say it repeatedly until I get there so I don’t forget. Once I park, I send it; hopeful it will produce my intended results. It’s only been one night. I don’t want Jared to stay away any longer than that.

  I pop into the sandwich shop next door and pick up a carton of coffee and a bag of bagels with some cream cheese for the workers. I order an egg sandwich and a tea for myself before I head over. When she notices my hand, the manager walks over with me to help carry everything.

  John opens the door after I knock. “What happened to your hand?” he asks, ignoring my tagalong and the food.

  “I’ll tell you inside. Now help take these bags so this nice woman can go back to work,” I plead.

  He relieves her of her load while I thank her again for the help. She leaves with a wave. The smell of fresh-baked bagels distracts the men working as they come to see who brought the food. John grabs one for himself and directs me toward another table before the workers descend on the food.

  “Do you feed them?” I joke, unwrapping my sandwich.

  “They’re animals. Now, tell me about your hand.”

  I give him the rundown, leaving out some of the more embarrassing parts I had told Sarah.

  “I sprained my wrist once,” he says, holding his left hand out and twisting it before shoving it into his pocket. “I was carrying some drywall scraps and couldn’t see the case to a drill on the floor. I tripped over it, dropped all the drywall and fell. Used my hand to break my fall and messed it up. I’m better about keeping a clean worksite these days.”

  Luckily, it wasn’t as though I had a job my sprain would keep me from doing.

  While we talk, I check my phone a couple times to see if Jared has texted me back yet. My face must show some disappointment because John asks if I’m expecting to hear from someone. I apologize. I hate people who can’t hold a simple conversation without looking at their phones every two seconds, and here I am, doing it myself.

  I drop my phone into my purse and promise myself I won’t look at it again unless it rings until I get in my car.

  “Still expecting the floor delivery today?” I ask.

  John grins. “We just got it unloaded in the back before you walked in. Wanna see it?”

  “Do turds attract flies?” I grin.

  John laughs at my joke, collecting our wrappers and throwing them away before motioning me to follow him. One pack is already open.

  “We needed to make sure they sent the right stuff before we accepted the delivery,” he explains.

  Reaching out with my good hand, I trail my fingers across the smooth wood of the exposed plank. “It’s perfect. I can’t wait to see it when it’s all done.”

  He hooks his thumbs into the belt loops of his faded jeans. “I’d say you could help us but not with that hand.”

  I roll my eyes. “Not handy, so I wouldn’t have been able to do much more than watch anyway. How long do you think it will take now that it’s here?”

  “Floors should take three days. We’ll need another day or two to finish up the trim.”

  “That sounds great,” I beam.

  John asks me to wait before going into the front room to rally the guys back to work. They follow him back two by two and carry packs of wood laminate back toward the front of the studio. Once they’re back to work, I hang back and talk with John for a couple more minutes.

  As he walks me to the door, I grab his arm. “I almost forgot to ask. Catherine, my facialist, has a table she wants to have delivered. It’s going to go in the first of the two spa rooms. Can I give her your number to coordinate that with you?”

  He looks down at my hand on his arm. When I pull it away, he nods, “That’s fine.”

  Once I’m back in my car, I check my phone, still nothing from Jared. My impulse is to be annoyed. I haphazardly put myself out there and expect instant gratification. Logic tells me he is probably teaching a class or his phone is in his car or the reception probably blows on the side of a mountain.

  These are all valid points. That still doesn’t stop me from wishing he had replied. I scroll through my contacts and text Catherine with John’s number. I make a mental check and head home. My wrist is sore, but I skip another painkiller in lieu of an ice pack. My plan is to research the farm my grandmother was sending money to so I can answer the attorney.

  Pulling up Google, I type Hamilton Farm into the search field. The first link is one directly to the farm’s website. Clicking on it, I gasp when the home page comes up. I grew up on this farm. There’s a contact number. I grab for my phone with my bum hand and groan when the brace won’t allow me to pick it up. I reach across my body with my other hand and take it.

  I dial the number and listen to it rin
g while I try to figure out what to say. A woman answers. She says, “Hello.”

  “Hi, is this Hamilton Farm?” I ask.

  “It is. How can I help you?”

  “My name is Sawyer Sterling.”

  She doesn’t let me get any further. “Oh darling, I’ve missed you.”

  Um, excuse me? “Ahhhh.”

  “Sawyer, it’s Miss Bess. Do you remember me?”

  I rack my brain. I’ve never been terrific with names and that was a long time ago. “I’m sorry. I don’t.”

  I feel bad for admitting it. I’d probably be able to place her if I saw her. I’m much better with faces. If she’s offended I don’t remember her, she doesn’t let on. I explain that my grandmother has died and that it’s now up to me to decide if we’ll be continuing the donation.

  “You should come out here. There are lots of folks who would love to see your face, darling.”

  I try to explain that I’m opening a yoga studio, that I’m needed here, that I was just in New Hampshire. I know what I’m doing. I’m trying to convince myself. Ever since I saw the farm on the home screen of that website, I’ve felt pulled back to it. Miss Bess must remember me well enough to let me continue my one-sided argument in peace.

  A couple minutes later, I agree to come out and let her know I’ll call her back once my flight is booked. I’m buzzing when I hang up the phone, a weird natural endorphin-produced high.

  I’m going back to the farm. Back to the last place I existed before my parents died.

  I’m still glowing when Jared walks in. “You’re back,” I stammer.

  “Are you already breaking up with me?” he asks, lifting me up out of my chair.

  “Call a guy your boyfriend one time…” I tease.

  “By my count, it’s three,” he murmurs, dropping his lips to mine.

  I pull back. “It felt all wrong when you weren’t here.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I left like that. I just didn’t know what else to do, and I felt like I was just in your way.”