by Kelsie Rae
Saylor
A Signature Sweethearts Novel
Kelsie Rae
Copyright © 2020 Kelsie Rae
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. The reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
Cover Art by Cover My Wagon Dragon Art
Editing by Wickedcoolflight Editing Services
Proofreading by Stephanie Taylor
May 2020 Edition
Published in the United States of America
Created with Vellum
Contents
Prologue
1. Saylor
2. Saylor
3. Saylor
4. Owen
5. Saylor
6. Owen
7. Saylor
8. Owen
9. Owen
10. Saylor
11. Owen
12. Saylor
13. Saylor
14. Saylor
15. Saylor
16. Saylor
17. Owen
18. Saylor
19. Saylor
20. Owen
21. Saylor
22. Owen
23. Saylor
24. Saylor
25. Saylor
26. Saylor
27. Saylor
28. Owen
29. Saylor
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Sneak Peek of The Model
About the Author
Also by Kelsie Rae
Prologue
Saylor
“Don’t,” I plead, my voice cracking at the same time my heart threatens to.
“Say––”
“Don’t,” I repeat, cutting him off. “Don’t do this.”
“It’s not like I want to do this, Say––”
“Stop. Please. I’m begging you.” The warm pavement almost burns my bare thighs as I nearly collapse onto the steps outside my house. I’d worn a jean skirt with a pair of navy blue sneakers tonight because he always loved them. And I loved how confident they made me feel. But now, I’m regretting my clothing choice because it leaves me feeling bare. And in this moment, I need all the protection I can get.
“Say….”
Dropping my head into my hands, I dig my nails into my scalp and tangle them into my hair. The bite of pain isn’t enough to keep my heart from breaking, though.
“Say…look at me,” he begs.
I can’t.
Shaking my head, I squeeze my eyes shut but can still hear his movement as he squats down and sits beside me. I have so many memories on this porch with him. So many smiles. So many stolen kisses. So many late-night talks about our future and everything we’re going to achieve. Together.
I almost want to laugh because I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Babe. You’re killing me right now,” he rasps.
With a dry laugh, I hastily wipe away a tear from beneath my eye before he can see the physical evidence of what he’s putting me through.
“I’m killing you right now?” I scoff. “Are you kidding me?”
I finally find the courage to look up at him. The pain is clearly etched onto his face, but it does nothing to ease the ache in my chest. If anything, it only amplifies it.
“Don’t do this, Owen,” I plead.
“You think I want to do this?” His jaw tightens. “Do you think I want––”
“Then why the hell are you doing this?” I spit, my frustration finally boiling over. “We’ve talked about this. We can make this work. I can––”
“Stop, Say. Just stop. I’ve been fucking sick over this, okay?”
“Don’t play the martyr and say you’re doing this for me. That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Say––”
“Stop saying my name.” I shake my head in an attempt to erase all the times he’s said it. The deep grittiness in his voice when he’d whisper it against my ear. The light ease when he’d say it on a laugh. All of it. I just…I can’t hear it anymore. Not from him.
“Baby––”
I laugh, though there isn’t any humor in it. In fact, it hurts more than anything else in the world. “That’s even worse.”
“I’m not going to hold you back, Say. I refuse to.” His voice is quiet. Pained. It’s excruciating.
And only fuels the flames.
“No. You don’t get to say that to me. You just want to enjoy the spotlight. That’s it, isn’t it? You want to be able to go to college and enjoy the plethora of new college girls who will be worshiping the new football god at their school. Heaven forbid you stay in a committed relationship, right? Where’s the fun in that?”
“Wanna talk about bullshit, Say?” he snaps. “What the hell are you talking about? I love the shit out of you. You know that! Don’t discount my feelings for you or everything that we’ve shared together. That’s not fair.”
“That’s rich coming from the guy who’s throwing it all away just because he’s moving. Especially when you refuse to let me come!” I shout, my entire body trembling. The air is still a little chilly, and the evening rain only amplifies the cold. But I’m so hot with rage right now that I don’t really give a shit.
“And take you away from your family?” he counters. “And your dream school?”
“I would do it for you––”
“And that’s why I can’t let you.”
There’s a finality in his voice, but I refuse to give in.
“Owen, please––”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not going to hold you back from your dreams. I’m not going to––”
“You are my dream!” I scream. “And I’m even fine being second to yours. How’s that for irony, huh?” My shoulders deflate as I voice aloud my greatest fear. I’ll always be second to football with Owen. Everything will be. He used to eat, sleep, and breathe football until he saw me one day in high school, and I changed everything. Or at least, I thought I did. Now, I realize I was nothing but a distraction, and he just didn’t know how to get rid of me.
Still, I’m too selfish to let him go. I can’t. I need him. I love him.
“You want to leave and chase your dreams, and I’m okay with that, Owen. I really am. I’m your biggest fan, remember? I’ve told you that I’ll go. I’ll follow you. I’ll get a job. I’ll––”
“Say, you can’t honestly think I’d be able to live with myself if I let you waste your future for me. You need to stay here with your family. You need to go to college. You need to––”
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. “Don’t tell me what I need. I need you! I want you. I’ve told you this a thousand times. Why won’t you even try a long-distance relationship? You won’t even try,” I repeat, my voice cracking a second time as the tears finally spill down my cheeks, winning the battle I’d been fighting. “Why won’t you try?”
“Because you deserve more than sitting around, wasting your time with an asshole like me who can’t put you first.”
“I don’t care about that,” I choke out. My arms pebble with goosebumps as the anger finally burns out and is replaced with an overwhelming grief that is crippling. I rub my hands along my arms in an attempt to keep the numbness at bay.
“I’m a piece of shit kid, Say. Do you know how guilty I feel? How selfish? You’re in love with a selfish bastard. You’re too good for me. You’ve always been too good for me. You deserve much more than the life you’d live if you waited for me. I can’t ask you to wait. It’s not fai
r to you.”
“That’s not true,” I argue. “And it’s not your choice to make. It’s mine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he corrects me, though I can see how much it pains him. I look up to see a different boy in front of me than the one I fell in love with.
“Don’t,” I plead. “Don’t break my heart, Owen. Please. I’m begging you.” Raising my hand to my mouth, I chew on the pad of my thumb as I watch the future I’d dreamed of slip through my fingers.
“I love the shit out of you, Say. But I promise that one day, you’ll find someone else who will be able to give you the life you deserve, not the shitty one you’d be destined to have if you were stuck with my sorry ass.”
I turn to stone as he presses his lips against my forehead for the last time. The heat from his mouth brings an onslaught of memories to the surface, hitting harder than a sledgehammer. Our first date. Our first kiss. The night I gave him everything. The night he promised we’d make it through anything. The night he got the call that he’d received a full-ride scholarship across the country, along with a position on the football team that promised he’d be the star. I remember everything. And I feel it all too. Until the pressure of his lips disappears.
The numbness I’d been keeping at bay finally overwhelms me, and I welcome it with open arms.
“I love you, Say,” he repeats on a breath. “I’m so sorry.”
“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t let me go,” I whisper.
“Say––”
“Bye, Owen. I really hope that when you look back at this moment, you’ll realize how badly you screwed up and that it’s the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.”
I stomp up the steps toward my front door and slam it behind me, closing the door on the love of my life and the future I’d thought we’d build together.
Because it’s obvious I was the only one who was willing to fight for it.
1
Saylor
“So…how was the first day of school, Miss Swenson?” Skye asks as I push the door to our home open. She moved in after she found out her husband was lying to her. He’d manipulated her into helping him receive his inheritance by marrying him––which she knew––but he left out a few key details. Turns out, he’s the selfish bastard she’d initially pegged him for. And it hit her. Hard.
She’s been my roommate ever since, and while the company has been amazing, it’s been torture to see first-hand how miserable Skye is. She even sent him divorce papers, but the giant asshole is apparently out of the country and can’t sign them. Which means she’s stuck being married to him for now, and I can’t even imagine how helpless that must make her feel.
It sucks having your heart broken, and to witness it happening up close and personal to your little sister is a whole new level.
But it’s been nice having her here even if I’ve had to bite my tongue more times than I can count to stop myself from saying, “I told you so.”
Because if there’s anything beneficial from my past, it’s that I learned the truth about love at the ripe old age of eighteen. It isn’t real. Not for most of us. It’s like winning the lottery. Sure, a few people hit the jackpot like my sister, Sway, and her fiancé, Anthony. But the rest of us? We’re stuck throwing money down the drain in the form of blind dates and stolen moments with strangers who won’t call the next morning.
I sigh, then collapse onto the couch next to Skye and answer her question. “It was fine.”
“Liar. Tell me all the details, Say.”
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you. Was he there?”
He. As in my very own He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Heaven forbid we actually say the bastard’s name. Still, I know exactly who she’s referring to, just like Harry Potter whenever someone would talk about his nemesis, Lord Voldemort.
At least Harry wasn’t attracted to his adversary, though.
I, on the other hand, can’t help it. The guy is a football god. Or he was until his knee exploded on national television. But even then, he’s been a coveted bachelor with devilish good looks and a magnetic personality that’s opened more doors than I can count.
Owen.
Owen Daniels, to be exact. The bastard who stole my heart and didn’t bother to return it when he left me here.
Releasing a shaky breath, I answer Skye. “No. He didn’t walk his son into class or anything.”
I’ve been freaking out ever since I saw Grady Daniels’ registration papers for my class. Why? Because his dad wrecked me years ago, and I still haven’t managed to pick up the pieces and put myself back together again. Owen, however, obviously didn’t have much trouble leaving me in the past since he has a freaking kid now, who happens to be enrolled in my class.
What are the damn odds?
I should never try to win the lottery because the odds are definitely not in my favor. Ever. Why can’t I catch a break?
“So, his kid was there?” Skye prods, clearly more invested in the situation than I am. Or maybe she can see how much I need to vent. I’ve been holding everything in for far too long.
“Grady,” I return, snuggling into the gray couch cushions. “Yeah.”
“And?”
“And he’s adorable,” I reply grudgingly.
Sweet. Well-mannered. A real chip off the old block.
“Does he…look like him?”
“Yup. Could pass for his twin if you had them side by side and the same age.”
Tucking her feet beneath her butt on the couch, Skye rests her head in her hand while making sure to tread carefully. You’d think I was a ticking time bomb.
“And how are you handling it?”
I purse my lips. “Looking into the eyes of a little boy who should’ve been mine? It’s been great, thanks for asking.”
“Shit, Say––”
I shrug away from her. “It’s fine, Skye. At least he didn’t come to the Meet Your Teacher Night, right? And parent-teacher conferences are at least a month away. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get hit by a car by then and won’t have to face him. Maybe he’ll get struck by lightning and won’t make it to his appointment. Maybe––”
“Maybe you’ll have to just suck it up and prepare for the worst,” Skye finishes for me, her eyes shining with remorse.
“No, thank you,” I deflect, wishing a bottle of wine would appear in my grasp since I’m too emotionally exhausted to get off my ass and pour myself some.
Skye sighs. “His little boy is in your class, Say. He lives ten minutes from here. You’re bound to run into him at some point. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Just…prepare yourself, okay? Don’t let him make you feel weak. You’re stronger than that.”
“Am I, though?” I challenge. “‘Cause I don’t feel very strong.”
“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” she returns before resting her head on my shoulder as the television screen dances with images of Schitt’s Creek. I settle into the cushions a little more.
“I wish I was stronger, Skye. The idea of seeing him again….” My voice cracks.
“I know, Say. Trust me, I know.”
The remote rests on the coffee table, so I reach forward and turn the sound up in hopes of drowning out our fears of the inevitable. She’s right. She does know what I’m going through.
And I hate that neither one of us has a way out.
We’re screwed.
2
Saylor
“Shit,” I mumble under my breath as I race toward the brawl on the soccer field. Hooking my arms under Grady’s armpits, I pull him off Turner, then drag them both to the classroom.
It’s been a month since school started, and things have been going well. My nerves are still a mess by the end of the day, but the fear of running into Owen at the drop of a hat has been put at ease, so I’ll take it. However, our inevitable run-in seems to have been pushed up a bit now that his kid just got caught pummeling a fellow student.
What the hell was that about, anyway?
After running a few paper towels under the faucet, I offer them to a very disheveled Turner.
“Hold this against your nose,” I tell him.
With a scowl firmly painted across his boyish features, he takes it from me.
A few pieces of grass are sticking out of Grady’s hair, but he refuses to look at me as I chew on my lower lip while trying to not let my past taint the situation. This is bad. Normally, it wouldn’t be a big deal, and I could handle it like a champ. But this is Turner’s last straw, and Grady’s been a pretty awesome student so far. But it’s not like I can sweep this under the rug without talking to his parents.
And talking to Grady’s parents sounds like my own personal brand of torture.
Thanks a lot, boys.
“Hey,” I demand, my gaze bouncing between both of them as they cower in their plastic chairs. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
They shake their heads.
My attention shoots over to Turner again. “Stay right here. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they both murmur in unison.
Once I find Turner’s mom’s contact info in my cell, I press call, then bring the phone to my ear as I step out into the hallway.
“Hello?” Mandy answers after a few seconds.
“Hey. We have a bit of a situation.”
“No,” she groans, her voice laced with defeat. “What now?”
“Turner got into a fight.”