by T. L. Keary
But I understand it very clearly when Davis reaches forward and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, his fingertips just lightly brushing my temple.
“Ezra is better.” He says the words so quiet that I think they weren’t meant for me. And I wonder what’s going through his head. Maybe it’s whatever happened between him and Ezra, causing Davis to turn the switch off between us.
But I see something there in his eyes. Something familiar.
“Can I see you again, Sawyer?” he asks, his voice low and quiet.
I hesitate. I consider everything. Ezra. Charity. The circumstances which brought Davis and I together. The six weeks we spent together and now the five months we’ve spent apart.
“I’d really like that,” I answer.
The next morning, after I’ve finished my project from the previous day, I finally grab the file that Dina left. I flip it open, my eyes scanning over the details.
The property is two acres. It’s on the edge of a development, backing up to the trees. The request is for four thousand plus square feet. Four bedrooms, four bathrooms, space for two offices, not just one.
The style is to be modern, the siding a mix of wood and black siding. There’s a rough sketch for reference, but there’s a note included that says the owner is very open to my own ideas.
As I read all of the details, a sense of familiarity washes over me. The color schemes. The style.
There are some differences.
Still, a smile pulls on my lips and my heart hammers a little faster.
I flip back to the beginning of the file. My eyes scan for the property owner’s name, the one requesting the plans.
Davis Knox.
The address is in Woodinville.
The smile that grows on my face is embarrassing, or it would be if I cared. I flip through this file again, taking in all the similarities to his current house, but also the differences.
It’s more than a thousand square feet bigger.
There are two more bedrooms.
One more office.
Something flutters and sparks in my chest.
I reach for my phone, the very same one he bought me. I try to get a grip on the fluttering in my stomach as I dial his number and wait for him to answer.
“What do you think?” he answers, and I can just hear the knowing, controlled smile on his face.
“I think it’s going to be absolutely incredible when I’m done with it,” I say, even as a giddy smile takes control of my face.
“Would you like to see the property?” he asks. “I actually need your opinion, because really, there are two lot options.”
I bite the end of my pen, but even that doesn’t control my smile.
“Yeah,” I say, laying it down, running my fingers over the house plan details once more. “I really would.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
The room is quiet and calm. It’s a simple room, like they all are. There’s a locked door in one corner. There are two couches in here, both worn and slightly dirty. There’s a rug in the middle of the floor, in the same state as the couches. There’s a bin of toys against one wall, and there’s a table with four chairs.
Two guards stand in the room, one right by the door, the other behind the couch behind me. They’re both armed, and it’s the worst combination in the world, guns and infants in the same space.
I ignore them, looking down at my beautiful son, lying on a simple white blanket. I sit on the floor in front of the couch, the blanket between my legs. I grab his tiny feet, cooing to him as I gently kick them back and forth.
He’s so perfect, so beautiful. It’s almost hard to believe he can look this wonderful when his birth was so violent and so ugly.
I’d had this idea in my head of what it would look like. It would be painful, but it would all be so breathtaking when he was out that I wouldn’t care. Ezra would be there, holding my hand and cheering me on, wiping sweat from my brow and pressing kisses to the back of my hand as I pushed. And then our son would be there, and we’d both smile, so blissful and happy.
Instead, I’d been alone. The order held, keeping Ezra from me, even through the birth of his son. It had been me, a doctor, a nurse, and two guards with guns. I’d been in so much agony I thought I would die. I’d survived eight plastic surgeries, yet this had been more painful than all of them put together.
I’d finally asked for the epidural, but it had been too late by then.
There’d been blood and tearing and I screamed and cried and called out for Ezra. But he wasn’t there.
When my son was finally out and the doctor handed him to me after he’d wiped him down, I’d looked at him and I’d just felt sad. Alone.
All this work, all I’d ever wanted was this.
But not like this.
Ten minutes after I held him for the first time, they took him.
Ezra was there, somewhere. They’d taken my baby to meet his father.
As they do twice a week for two hours.
It’s all wrong. It’s not the way it was supposed to be.
Still, I loved—love, my son.
I love him more than almost anything.
He has our dark hair. That’s Ezra’s nose but my eyebrows, not that you’d know it now. He has my jaw, even if it doesn’t look the same. But his ears are all Ezra’s, and even his toes are just like his father’s.
He’s perfect.
The door buzzes and my heart leaps into my throat. I gather our son up in his blanket, swaddling him with practiced skill. I cuddle him into my chest as I climb to my feet, my eyes fixed on the door.
Another guard walks in, immediately followed by Ezra. And my heart just explodes.
Ezra.
He’s here.
I lay eyes on him for the first time in nine months. It’s still him, those are his same eyes, the same lean, broad shoulders, but he’s changed.
His hair is long now. It reaches down to his shoulders. His beard is almost as long, though it looks a little more groomed.
But where the last time I saw him, when he looked absolutely tortured and in agony, I see…peace in his eyes. They seem clear, if not hesitant.
“Ez,” I breathe, feeling a smile break out on my face. I take a step forward, cradling the baby, but one of the guards clears their throat, a clear warning.
I stop in place, but my eyes still roam over him, taking in every detail.
“Charity,” Ezra says. His voice is cool, calm. Controlled.
“It’s so good to see you,” I say, and my words come out breathy as I smile.
He doesn’t say anything in return. He stands there, ten feet away from me. His hands are clasped together, held in front of him. He looks at me with caution, all of his body language sounding caution and distance. “How have you been?”
“Good,” he answers, though his tone is serious.
I blink, waiting for him to say more. Surely there has to be more. After what we shared, after these nine months apart, surely there must be more.
“I…” I stutter through my words. “I’ve missed you.”
His expression is impassive, and he still stares at me, not saying a word.
I swallow the hard lump in my throat, but it doesn’t go down. I feel my stomach sinking, my hands feel cold and numb.
“Did you miss me?” I ask. And I hate how small and how strained my words sound.
Ezra shifts, crossing his arms over his chest. He takes one deep breath, and it’s like I see this shift come over him. Like he’s going to war or stepping over the edge of a cliff.
“I did, at first,” he says. “Every second, so much it drove me insane.”
His eyes drift off, taking in all the details of this room. He takes his time and I wonder if he feels sorry for me, knowing the mother of his son has been stuck in this drab and suffocating place for all this time.
“But then I slowly remembered that you’re not Sawyer,” Ezra finally says, his eyes coming back to meet mine. “I remembered that you lie
d and pretended and tried to kill two very important people in my life. I remembered that you’re insane. And eventually I stopped missing you so much.”
My mouth is dry. I try to swallow, but my tongue sticks. I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I realize I’m holding onto the baby a little too tightly when he squirms, making a little fuss.
“You don’t mean that, Ez,” I say, shaking my head. “You know that everything I did was because I love you.”
Ezra shakes his head just once, his expression changing. “No. You know, I’ve spent a lot of time the past nine months reevaluating what love means. And what I felt, what you did, none of that was actually love. That was all obsession. And obsession is never healthy.”
I want to argue with him, to make him see reason. It’s like he’s punched me right in the stomach, leaving me winded.
And I hate that I see in his eyes that he believes every word he’s saying.
“Ez,” I breathe. I shake my head. “This…our story can’t end like this. We love each other, we’ve done so much for each other. All these years, all this hard work. This can’t be how it ends.”
I see Ezra’s jaw tighten and the look in his eyes gets just a little darker. “We never had a story, Charity. Really, you were just helping to write Sawyer and Davis’ story.”
Something in me chills. I feel my jaw tighten and my teeth grind together.
Ezra nods. “It was the twist neither of us saw coming,” he says. I’m trying to read him based on his tone, but right now I can’t. Hate, acceptance, it could be both, but I can’t tell. “That all the hell we all went through, the both of them nearly dying, and it brought them together. You were trying to write the fake story of Sawyer and Ezra. But in the end, it was all about Sawyer and Davis.”
There’s something heavy and ice cold in the pit of my stomach.
“They’re engaged,” Ezra says the words. “As of two weeks ago. They’re not waiting long; the wedding is in two months.”
No. No. No.
This was supposed to be the ending to mine and Ezra’s story. Not Sawyer’s. Not Davis’, who messed everything, everything up.
Neither of them was supposed to get my happy ending.
Ezra nods, as if he can read my thoughts.
“I’m still working on it,” he says, moving along. “Not being angry at Davis. Not hurting whenever I see Sawyer and thinking about our camping trip. I want to hate them, but it’s kind of hard when I look at them and see how damn perfect they are together. How happy they are with each other.”
I feel Ezra’s heartache, all the way over here across the room.
I should say something to comfort him. I should know how to make him feel better.
But I’m just frozen here in shock.
Ezra nods his head. “But seeing them together, it’s been enlightening. My therapist says I need to recognize all the differences between how I felt about you, about Sawyer, and how she is with my brother. She said I need to realize that people are still individuals, that there are still choices, that we can exist without the other person occupying every single thought.”
His eyes drift down to the floor and he’s quiet for a long moment. I can feel the wheels in his head turning, considering everything that’s gone through his head in the past nine months.
Then he nods again.
“I’m going to find that someday,” he says. His eyes rise up to meet mine again. “I’ve still got a lot of learning and thought adjusting to do. But someday I’m going to be ready, and I’m going to find someone who loves me in a healthy way and I’m going to be able to do the same thing.”
His eyes redden just slightly, and I see a bit of moisture pooling in them.
“But it’s not going to be with you, Charity,” he says. And his words are like an ice-cold blade, straight to my chest. “Never with you.”
He clears his throat and shifts his stance. One of the guards steps forward, and I’m in too much shock to realize she’s taking the baby from my arms. But then he’s gone and the guard crosses the room and lays my son in Ezra’s arms.
“The court told me I had to have this meeting with you,” he says, carefully adjusting the baby in his arms. “I’ve done that now. And you’re going to live a very long time in here. And I’m never going to see you again.”
Tears well in my eyes and I take a step forward, which triggers the guard behind me to step in my way with her hand on her gun.
“I hope you figure out the difference too,” Ezra says. His words are genuine, and it breaks me into a million little pieces that he thinks this. “Obsession isn’t the same as love. And it hurts, figuring that out. But it’s also been the most free I’ve felt in a long time.”
Ezra turns, taking two steps toward the door, but he hesitates, looking back. “Goodbye, Charity.”
“No, Ez, wait,” I say, again stepping forward, but the guard steps in front of me.
Ezra doesn’t look back again. The other guard opens the door for him, and he steps through.
And then he, and my son, are just gone.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Sawyer
I’m surrounded by all my bridesmaids and they fuss and make a big deal over my hair and my veil and my dress, and it’s the best thing ever, but also slightly exhausting.
The last thing I ever expected was the knock on the door. And for the face that appears to be Ezra’s.
“Sorry,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “I know this is probably the worst timing ever. I wondered if I could have a word, Sawyer?”
I feel all of the bridesmaid’s eyes flick to me, but I don’t hesitate when I smile and say “Of course.”
I don’t miss the whispering and words as they all file out the door in their dresses. Ezra blushes, stepping out of their way, nodding to each of them as they go.
All the single ladies check him out without shame, and even one or two of the married ones do, too.
He closes the door and hesitantly steps inside.
He looks very handsome in his suit. There’s something a little more wild and rugged about him, like his outside is reflecting the storm he’s gone through on the inside. I know if his hair were down, it would reach past his shoulders, and he only just cleaned up his beard from wild to stylish two days ago.
I don’t miss him observing me, too. He takes in the white dress, my styled hair, the long veil pinned in it.
But I don’t see pain in his eyes.
“I just…wanted to talk to you for a second,” he says. He seems nervous, anxious.
“I’m glad you’re here, Ezra,” I say, being careful with my words.
He tries to smile, though it kind of looks like a grimace. But he really is trying.
“I just wanted you to know that…” he trails off, fiddling with his hands. He smiles and shakes his head. “I feel so stupid for saying this.”
“Ezra, it’s fine,” I say, standing and nodding at him.
He blushes, and I’m grateful that he does that instead of looking angry or betrayed.
“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” he says, his tone dropping low but even. He looks up at me, and in his eyes, I see peace. “For the way I was. For all the unjust anger I flung in you and Davis’ direction. I’m sorry if I made you feel like all of this was your fault.”
My automatic reaction is to say that it’s okay. To put him at ease. But he isn’t wrong. He did make me feel like this was my fault.
But I know this apology isn’t just for me. It’s for him, so he can heal and move on.
“It kind of ripped me apart, thinking you could be happy with Davis but not me,” he admits. “But that was me being stuck in the past.”
His look softens as his eyes rise to meet mine again. “You and my brother are great together. Anyone can see it. So, I just wanted you to know that. And I’m done being a jerk. I’m done clinging to the idea of something that was just overbuilt in my head.”
He holds his arms open, and I know how big this is. He migh
t have slowly been able to look me in the eye these last two months. But he’s never gotten more than ten feet close to me.
I smile, crossing the space, and I hug him, hard and fierce.
“I’m sorry,” he says once more. “And I’m really proud to have you as my sister-in-law.”
“Thank you, Ezra,” I say, squeezing him once more.
With a small smile, he walks out.
And that last tiny shred of guilt I felt disappears. My heart feels lighter. I swear I can breathe easier.
Women have been blamed for men’s feelings for centuries. And we’re reversing that finally. We’re not taking that blame anymore.
But this is Davis’ brother. This is someone who was and now is again an important part of my life.
I’m so glad this hurt and drama is over.
“You ready, beautiful?” one of my friends asks as they step back inside.
With a big, genuine smile, I nod. One hands me a bouquet, and then one by one, they step out, and in the distance, I hear the processional music starting.
My heart thunders in the best way as I step out of the dressing room, turn the corner, and step through the doors.
Davis stands at the end of the aisle, wearing his suit, his shoulders back and his chin held high.
He’s never been anything but cool and confident. And I love that about him.
But when his eyes meet mine, I see his expression falter. I see something tremble in his lower lip. He raises a fist to cover his mouth as he watches me walk down the aisle towards him. He’s keeping his composure, but just barely.
I smile, the happiest I’ve ever been in my life as I stand across from him, taking his hands. I vow to remember this look in Davis’ eyes for the rest of my life. The absolute vulnerability and joy.
I mean every word of our vows, everything about being there for one another, in sickness or health, through good times and bad. My heart is racing as Davis speaks.