by Jamie Canosa
Tears streamed down my cheeks. Was I alright? No, I most definitely was not alright. “I have to go.”
Neon lights reflected in the hazy night. People milled around on the darkened sidewalk, smoking, hailing cabs as they sped by. The show was over, but I hadn’t planned to attend. Seeing him, hearing him sing again . . . in front of all those people . . . it would have been too much. But now my window of opportunity was closing fast, and the amount of time I had before my nerves expired was even less.
Thank god he hadn’t achieved bodyguard level fame. The club bouncer was hard enough to get past. It took a fight over a taxi involving three drunken idiots to distract him long enough for me to slip inside. All the overhead lights were on, a solitary stool casting a long shadow across the stage. Colorful wristbands, flyers, napkins, and beer bottles littered the scuffed wood flooring. My shoes stuck, making a squelching sound as I tried to walk.
I thought I was toast when a woman with blue black hair polishing the bar looked my way, but she tipped her head toward a hallway beside the stage with a knowing smile and went back to her work. Maybe I wasn’t the only after-hours visitor? I couldn’t think about that now. I couldn’t think about anything other than what I’d come here to do if I was going to have any hope of going through with it.
The hall was illuminated solely by the orange running lights lining the floorboards. Two doors were set in the grimy walls. One marked ‘restroom’, making my life infinitely easier. Paper crumpled in my hand as I stood outside of the other.
I could do this. I had to do this. I owed it to myself and it was now or never. Before I could decide on the latter, I lifted my fist and knocked.
“One second.” His voice was muffled through the thick wood, but it still hit me like a kick to the gut.
If I thought that was bad, I was in no way prepared for what the sight of him would do to me when that door swung open. Same shorn hair, same magnetic eyes, but he must have made good use of the prison gym while he was there. His muscles looked like they’d grown muscles. And . . . Jesus Christ, did he have to be shirtless?
His gaze initially went over my head, but quickly dipped to my level and his jaw dropped. “Fi?”
I tried to answer, but my mouth had gone inexplicably dry.
“What . . .?” He blinked as though he could shake me off like some kind of bad dream. “What are you doing here?”
I swallowed hard and licked my lips. Just do it. “Delivering your mail. Apparently the postal service in prison sucks.”
The half dozen letters I’d written before finally giving up bounced off his bare chest and scattered across the floor.
“Ophelia . . .”
No. It was my turn to talk. He hadn’t wanted to hear what I had to say in those letters? He was sure as hell going to hear it now. “You sent them back.”
“Fi . . .”
“You didn’t even read them, Sawyer.”
He reached up to clasp the doorframe on either side of his head. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” The long dormant burning behind my eyes made an unexpected and unwelcome return. I thought I’d cried all the tears I had for him. Evidently, I was wrong. “What was so terrible about me that you couldn’t even read a few letters?”
His throat worked while his knuckles went from deeply tanned, to red, to white.
“I walked away. I let you go, knowing I’d never see you again. I couldn’t keep saying goodbye to you.” He eased his death grip on the groaning wood frame and his shoulders drooped on a heavy sigh. “I couldn’t do it.”
“I . . .” I was prepared for bullshit apologies, blatant lies, even cruelty. But his raw honesty left me speechless. “You said you wanted me.”
“Want you? Yes. Deserve you? Not even close, Sparrow.”
I was floored. “You were willing to sacrifice what you wanted? Just throw away any chance that it could work?”
“If it meant you’d be happy.” He gave a rough nod and took a deep breath through the nose.
“And what about what I want?”
His gaze scorched me, burning a fiery trail through my veins. “What do you want, Fi?”
Painful pressure built in the back of my throat. The past eight months had been a series of endless questions. From my parents, the police, reporters, head shrinks . . . but he was the only one to ask me that very important question. And it had a very simple answer. “You.”
Sawyer’s eyes slammed shut, freeing me from their hypnotic pull, allowing me to look elsewhere. The room behind him wasn’t what came to mind when you thought of a musician’s dressing room. There were no empty beer bottles or pizza boxes lying around. No groupies. Just a leather sofa with that same old guitar leaning against the arm, a glass of water, and a TV muted in the corner.
A shaky breath drew my attention back to the solid body in front of me. I was momentarily distracted by a set of eight-pack abs, but there were other, less obvious, differences. Deeper shadows under his eyes, a slight hollowing to his cheeks, a new scar on his chin.
His skin was warm and smooth beneath my fingers as I delicately traced the curves of his tattoo across his chest. Every loop and coil had been permanently ingrained in my memory. Except for one thing . . . “This is new.”
From a distance it looked like an ink blot, but upon closer inspection I saw a small bird perched on the wire directly above his heart.
His muscles quivered under my touch until he couldn’t take anymore. Covering my hand with his own, I felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm.
“It’s a sparrow.” His chest pressed against my hand on a deep breath. “Just because I couldn’t be with you didn’t mean I didn’t need you with me.”
Butterflies took flight in my belly and my lips parted. I tugged on my hand until he let me go, a wary look overtaking his face.
“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t think you’d ever see—”
“It’s not that.” I yanked the sleeve of my sweater up to bare my wrist and flipped it over for him to see. The simple black design of a birdcage was inked into my skin. Open and empty. “You told me to free myself. To find my happiness.” Sawyer’s eyes brewed an emerald storm. “Looks like I found you.”
Sawyer cradled my hand in his. Eyes transfixed on the image, his thumb swiped over the tattoo before coming to rest on my pulse point. “Sparrow . . .”
“Sawyer, I—”
“No.” He straightened, but rather than let go of my hand his grip only tightened. “You can’t.”
“I can. Because I do.” I was done letting other people make my decisions for me. I was done being afraid. “I love you, Sawyer. And I don’t care how, or why, or who knows it. I don’t care what anyone thinks. If you don’t—”
A sudden tug on my arm sent me crashing into him. I looked up and before I could even reclaim my balance, his lips crashed down on mine. Then all of the balance in the world wouldn’t have done me any good. Hot and hungry, he tasted exactly like I remembered. Minty sweet. I couldn’t get enough.
I heard the door shut and somewhere in the back of my mind it registered that we’d moved inside his room. The cool feel of leather pressed against the backs of my legs and I went down with Sawyer right beside me.
Soft lips brushed over my eyelids and across my forehead. His nose swiped along the side of mine. Tongue and teeth played along the slope of my neck, eliciting a quiet moan. My body felt like it was in an oven. Sparks skated across my skin, following the path of his charmed mouth. Twisting in his lap, I grabbed his face and dragged his lips to mine.
“Wait. Stop.” Sawyer seemed to have trouble following his own commands, nibbling on my lips a moment longer before pulling away. His chest heaved beneath my hands. “Are you sure about this?”
“Sawyer,” I groaned. My body was on fire.
His heart was beating so fast it was practically vibrating. Or maybe that was mine. “Sparrow, are you sure?”
He was killing me. “Stop asking me that.”
“I know you will.” I cupped his face between my palms and met those beautiful emerald orbs head-on. There were a lot of things I wasn’t sure about. I wasn’t sure where my underfunded education was headed, or what path his music might lead him down. I wasn’t sure how the press would react to us or what my parents might do. I hadn’t the slightest clue what our lives might look like a year from now. The future was a scary place. But the one thing I was sure about . . . Whatever it held, I wanted to face it with him. “Yes, Sawyer. I’m sure.”
Acknowledgments
A big squishy hug goes out to all the people who helped me get this baby together.
My family for being patient with me as usual and enduring long hours of closed doors and late dinners.
Emily for creating a stunning cover that impacted the story in more ways than she’ll ever know.
Cindy for being the best editor in the WORLD!
And all of my go-to peeps for being there when I need help promoting or making decisions. Thanks for keeping me sane, Kendall, Micalea, Sherry, Sarah (Emily and Cindy also belong on this list) . . . I love you guy
About the Author
Jamie Canosa is a full time author of YA/NA literature, which she absolutely loves. When she’s not writing or spending time with her family, she can usually be found with her nose in a book. She currently resides in Upstate NY with her husband, and their three crazy kids . . . plus the cats, the dog, and the rabbit.
Learn more about Jamie at:
http://jamiecanosa.wix.com/author
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJamieCanosa