Me After You Page 2

  When I amble through the walkway she stands up swiftly from the kitchen table, and I’m pretty sure I hear her gasp.

  “Morning,” I murmur.

  “Hi, baby, can I get you something? You want me to make you some breakfast?” She moves toward the cupboards to take out pancake mix. I made pancakes for breakfast on Grayson’s last morning.

  “Cereal is fine.”

  She reluctantly nods and watches my every move as I make my way around the kitchen to pour myself a bowl of cereal and eat. I feel like the star exhibit at a freak show. Her eyes follow me as I bring each spoonful to my lips, as if she’s not sure I’ll actually eat it. Maybe she’ll pour it down her throat and throw it back up. I swear those are her thoughts.

  When I finish eating and put my bowl in the dishwasher she obviously can’t take it any longer. She wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. I’m having a hard time breathing because she won’t let go.

  “Mama,” I prompt.

  She pulls back and holds my shoulders. “You want me to run you a nice bubble bath? It might help relax you a little bit.”

  A bath actually sounds amazing so I take her up on the offer, and you would think I told her she won an Academy Award. She smiles wide and her eyes beam.

  “Do you want some company?” she asks as the tub fills and she puts in the bubble bath. The white foam begins to grow.

  Would I like you to stare at me as I sit naked with only a layer of bubbles to conceal me? “I’ll be okay. Thanks, Mama,” I say instead.

  She makes a face as if I’ve hurt her feelings, but she doesn’t dispute it. “Okay.”

  Once the tub is filled to the rim, she slowly backs out of the bathroom and finally allows me some privacy. With the scent of the lavender aromatherapy and the warmth of the water, my body relaxes against the porcelain, and I shut my eyes.

  “I never realized how invested people get in their dogs.” We curl up on Grayson’s gray couch, his arm draped along the back. His cozy studio apartment is definitely meant for one person. An accordion divider separates us from his double bed with the side of the couch lining the wood floor of the kitchen.

  “Are you kidding? Haven’t you ever seen Best in Show? These people are nuts.” He chuckles. “These people mean business. Their dogs are their lives. They don’t mess around.”

  “That Great Dane is pretty glorious, though,” I say. “You have to give the owner props.” The Great Dane stands impressively still as they examine him, invading his personal space.

  “Imagine what he’s thinking. ‘Hey, get your hands out of there!’”

  I laugh. “What are they even examining? He must feel so violated.”

  Grayson’s hand gently squeezes my shoulder. His fingertips graze the bare skin beneath my sleeve. I feel his eyes on me before he speaks. “You know you’re beautiful when you laugh. I wish I could make you laugh more often.”

  I tilt my head up to look at him. “What are you talking about? You make me laugh all the time.”

  He narrows his intense hazel eyes. “I’ve made you smile. You rarely laugh.”

  It’s been hard to find things to laugh about over the last several months, but Grayson somehow discovered that switch. I don’t know how, but a flicker of hope makes me believe that maybe, just maybe, he could fix me.

  His penetrating gaze drifts to my mouth, lingering for a few moments before lifting back to my eyes. He’s going to kiss me, isn’t he? I’ve only kissed one other person in my life—a person who I kissed for two years. What if I’m not any good at kissing anyone else? What if my lips were only meant for him? What if Grayson doesn’t like kissing me?

  He lowers his head, leaning in, asking without words if it’s okay. My eyes lift to his and I nod once, subtly. His lips brush softly against mine, touching, learning how we fit together. When he feels more confident I’m not going to pull away, he presses more firmly, and this kiss brings warmth and peace and relief. We’re not perfect at it, but it doesn’t matter. His lips lock around mine. Grayson might be the key to putting me back together.

  A knock on the bathroom door brings me back. The water is suddenly cold, and the bubbles have faded away. My fingers feel like they’ve shrunk when I lift them out of the water. They’ve been in the water for so long I wonder if they will stay permanently pruney.

  “Sawyer? You okay in there? It’s been a few hours.” I hear the conflict in my mom’s voice. She doesn’t want to bother me, but she’s too concerned to leave me alone for long.

  “I’m alive.” If that’s what you were evasively questioning. “I’m getting out.”

  “I made some sandwiches if you want one.”

  I sigh. The thought of food makes me nauseous. “Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I can still feel his arms around me. I know how his lips would form to mine and how we would fit together. His fingers would grip my waist and brush my sides. I would almost feel unbroken in his arms. If I stay in the tub any longer I’ll slip under and drown myself, so I burst out of the water to sever the memory.

  ***

  It takes several weeks, but I finally let Mom push me out the door to grab a few things she says we need. She thinks I could use the fresh air. I don’t doubt she’s right, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want to get out. I tell her she needs to mind her own dang business, but it’s a losing battle, because here I am at the local grocery, putting milk in my basket alongside the bread and eggs.

  Valerie rings up the few items Mom asked for, and I scan the little candy section behind me. I’m pretty sure I deserve a little something for getting out of the house. I pause on the Reese’s Pieces and contemplate it, but the knot forms in my stomach when I go to reach for them. I can never bring myself to actually buy them anymore, so I settle for an almond Snickers instead.

  I know Valerie’s name because her nametag says it, but I do recognize her. We used to adjust her sprinklers so when she turned them on they would douse her instead of her lawn. She didn’t find it nearly as hilarious as we did.

  When my mind shifts to the we in the situation, the unintentional smirk on my lips falls. I haven’t thought about him in weeks. I wish I could say years, but he isn’t the kind of person one can easily forget, as much as I desperately want to—have tried to. And being back in this town floods my mind with too many memories of him.

  Her expression turns slightly confused. My smirk probably looks more like a grimace than a smile. I haven’t smiled in weeks. It’s hard to remember what a real smile feels like.

  “You okay, dear?”

  I nod automatically. “Yeah, thanks.”

  I grab my bags and walk outside. Mom is right about one thing. The fresh air does feel much better than the stagnant air in my room. People nod and wave kindly when I pass them. I may acknowledge them, but my mind is too focused on getting back home to curl up in bed and sleep for a few more hours.

  Some people stare and whisper to each other. As much as I absolutely hate it, I can’t really blame them. I’ve been MIA for five years, and now I’m back because my husband—I stop myself from thinking it—and I have nowhere else to go. That’s prime small town gossip.

  Nothing changes in Willowhaven. I thought maybe five years would alter at least a little bit, but I was wrong. Mr. Rochester still owns the local grocery—been running it for the last forty years. I worked there for about a year during my junior year and vowed never to work at a grocery store ever again. Ms. Pearl has the only floral shop in town and Moment in Thyme seems to be as hopping as ever. Henry Adler probably still works at Art’s hardware. He’s been working there since our sophomore year.

  I don’t know what prompts me to look across the street, through the row of trees, as I walk. Maybe it’s to avoid the eye contact of every person walking toward me, but as soon as I do, I regret it. My eyes have to be deceiving me. When my heart recognizes him it stops.

  He waves behind him as he walks out of the hardware store, carrying a brown bag, and then squints at
the sun. It can’t be him. He’s not supposed to be here, but yet, there he is. Six years older, but every bit the boy I fell in love with in high school. Could I actually call him a boy? He doesn’t look much like a boy anymore. Thick stubble lines a much more prominent jawline. He even looks taller.

  What is he doing here? I agreed to come back because I knew there was no way he’d ever show his face again. He promised me that. Through our screaming and tears, he told me there was no way in Hades he’d ever consider staying in this town with me.

  I’m standing on one side of the street as if the sidewalk has formed around my feet, cementing them in place. I can’t move until his eyes drift in my direction. When he sees me, I can’t decipher what’s going on in his head. On days when we used to lay underneath the willows and talk for hours, I learned what every expression meant. I had years to memorize them, but now he’s a stranger.

  His features freeze in disbelief. It’s as if he can’t believe I’m here, as if I’m the one who left without a trace. I want to scream at him and ask him why he’s looking at me like that. He doesn’t have the right to feel incredulous.

  He takes a step toward me and I bolt. This can’t be happening. I can’t handle any more bombs right now. And Dean Preston is a bomb with the power to decimate my entire world.

  What’s left of it, anyway.

  DEAN

  “TINA’S BEEN GOING on and on about that new restaurant in the city.” Henry swipes my tools at the check out. I smile and nod as if I’m interested in what he’s saying.

  “Yeah, Lily’s mentioned it to me, too.”

  “If you and Lily ever want to double, have Lily give Tina a holler. We could use a night out. Tina is always talking about how I never take her anywhere.”

  I swipe my card to pay and chuckle. “All right. I’ll have her do that. It’d be nice to get out of Willowhaven for a night.”

  “I hear ya, man.”

  I walk out of Art’s, throwing a wave behind me at Henry and blink back the sunlight. As summer approaches, the sun gets brighter. And hotter. Dang, it’s hot! My eyes adjust and wander across the street. I’m not sure why. I know where my truck is parked, and it’s parked in the opposite direction. But it’s as if my eyes know she’s there.

  Sawyer stands motionless on the sidewalk outside of Pearl’s with an expression full of everything I never want to see on her face—disbelief, hurt, sorrow—and it’s all trained on me.

  She’s back. Full force. The whirlwind that makes up Sawyer Hartwell is a few feet away from me. But she’s not Sawyer Hartwell anymore. She’d gone and taken a common name like Johnson or Brown. An ordinary last name doesn't match up with this extraordinary woman.

  It doesn’t matter that I knew she was back. Knowing she’s here and seeing her face before my eyes are two very different things. She’s been here for almost a month, but I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see her.

  She’s just as beautiful as I remember—if not more—even with the sadness straining the features on her face. I feel myself gravitating toward her, and the look on her face as I take one step says it all. I’m not allowed to go any farther. Not that it would have mattered, because she takes off before I can say a word. I watch her retreating figure grow smaller and smaller as she runs down the concrete until she’s completely out of sight.

  I don’t know what I planned to say to her. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t encompass all that I feel. I’m sorry for so many things. For not listening. For not trusting her. For lying. For being so dang stubborn. For leaving.

  For her sudden loss.

  I maneuver into my truck, tossing the brown bag on the passenger seat. My tools fly out and hit the floor. Before I realize what I’m doing, my hands feel bruised from beating the steering wheel over and over. Leaning forward, I rest my head over the top of the steering wheel to catch my breath.

  My mind plays back an image of Sawyer I’ve been holding onto for the last six years. An image that isn’t so foreign, that looks nothing like the expression I just witnessed. When she sees me, she smiles warmly, brightening her entire face. When she looks at me nothing else exists.

  “Hey, Sawyer,” I call.

  As she’s walking down the hall, she turns her face to look at me, and her eyes beam. They always seem to shine, and I wonder if it’s possible that she’s part angel. Not in the cheesy pick-up line kind of way. Literally. She’s too sweet to possibly want anything to do with me. And yet, whenever we pass one another in the hallway she never ceases to smile. She should look the other way or pretend I don’t exist, but she never does.

  “Dean… Hey. What’s up?”

  It’s possible that this is the first time I’ve ever heard Sawyer say my name. Though we’ve lived in the same town our entire lives, we always mingle in separate circles. Her circle doesn’t accept mine, not that I deserve to be in her circle anyway. She’s so out of my league. There has never been a reason for us to ever talk until now.

  If it weren’t for my buddies, would I ever have dared to approach her?

  Never.

  Her long ponytail falls over the front of her right shoulder. She’s heading to volleyball practice so I should make this quick to keep her from being late, but as soon as she says my name I lose my train of thought.

  “Dean?” Her left eyebrow lifts, and she smiles out of the corner of her mouth as if she knows she makes me lose my mind.

  I clear my throat, hoping that will buy me time to find my balls again. “Would you wanna hang out this weekend?”

  Her entire mouth smiles now, though she’s a little shy as she says, “Okay. I’d like that.”

  “Really?” I didn’t actually believe she would say yes. I wanted her to. I wanted her to so badly, but the odds were stacked against me. Remain cool. “Sweet. Can I pick you up around seven on Friday?”

  “Okay.” She nods then ducks her head timidly with a shrug and begins walking backward. “I’ve got to head to practice now. Coach doesn’t give any leniency for tardiness.”

  “Right. Yeah. Have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” She lifts a hand, curling her fingers forward in a small wave, and with that little wave, I know there’s no turning back.

  Hook.

  Line.

  Sinker.

  I start the engine of my truck, but I can barely think straight so I wait in park, my engine idling. I’m in no condition to drive. The garage would probably clear my head. Working on my bikes always helps, but Lily is probably waiting at my house now. Freak. I forgot all about Lil. I shift my gear into drive and take off down Main Street, heading for home.

  SAWYER

  I HEAR MOM call my name when I walk through the garage door, but I don’t stop as I throw the groceries on the countertop and dart for the safety of my bedroom. The stairs seem a mile high. I stumble and whack my shins on the edge of the landing, but continue on. I don’t feel the pain, or maybe I just welcome it at this point. When the door shuts behind me, I fall against it and release every emotion I’ve been bottling up for the last six years.

  But this time, not one tear is shed for Grayson.

  As I stand at my locker exchanging books, I hear Dean Preston’s voice. It’s probably a little strange that I know the sound of it when I’ve never even hung out with the guy. But he has one of those distinct gruff voices that can make any girl’s heart flutter.

  “So he needs this to happen today?” Dean asks.

  “Yeah. It’s nothing you haven’t done before. This should be a piece of cake for you. Just do what you do best.”

  Oh, I know what Dean does best. It’s not a secret that he’s a good fighter. But I never realized it was ever more than fights out of provocation. Was he organizing one?

  “I’ve got this. It won’t be a problem for much longer.”

  I peer out of the corner of my eye to see him talking to Aiden Ballard a few lockers down. They stand with their heads together, devising the plan.

  “Just meet Joe in the alley by Art’s
Hardware. He’ll have everything you need. I’ll meet you there to make sure the job gets done right.” Aiden smirks. “And I know you’ll be compensated.”

  “I don’t want the money. I’ll do it for free.”

  What in the world are they talking about? Dean catches me staring. He’s caught off guard at first, looking a little nervous. Maybe he realizes I heard every word of their conversation, but then he flashes me a smile, releasing the butterflies in my stomach, before they walk away.

  I’m too curious not to follow Dean after school. I park my car across from the alleyway Aiden mentioned and wait for him to show. It doesn’t take more than five minutes before he pulls up on his motorcycle across the street. He hitches up his backpack and looks around. A man comes out of a side door and motions for Dean from down in the alley. They talk for only a minute, but it looks shady. What kind of deal has he gotten himself into? Dean comes back tucking a crowbar in his backpack. Umm… what would he need a crowbar for in a fight? A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. Maybe it wasn’t going to be a fair fight. I don’t really know what’s going on here, but now I’ve gone too far.

  I try to remain inconspicuous as I follow him halfway across town to an older looking home. He walks to an old, rundown shed by the side of the house, takes the crowbar out of his backpack, and leans it against the side. Aiden comes into view and nods. They talk for a few minutes, waiting, and I wish I could hear what they’re saying, but if I get out or try to get any closer I’ll be discovered.

  An elderly gentleman comes out from the behind the house and walks over to Aiden and Dean. Maybe they aren’t supposed to be here? Aiden gets closer to the man and Dean reaches for the crowbar. Wait a second. He’s not going to… He wouldn’t actually…