by T. K. Leigh
I hate everything about the way he glowers at her, as if silently chastising her, reminding her of her place. It makes the hair on my nape stand on end. She attempts to slink away, but I tighten my grip on her.
“It’s a good thing she never filed for divorce, though. Because I’m here to rectify things.”
“Rectify things?” I shift my attention to Londyn, brows furrowed. “What is he talking about?”
Londyn pushes away from me, increasing the distance between us, a thousand apologies written within her deep, dark eyes. This isn’t a woman who would deceive me about being married. If she didn’t file for divorce, she had a damn good reason for it. Based on the vibes Sawyer gives off, I have a feeling I know what that reason is.
“Wes, I—”
“I’m good friends with the District Attorney,” Sawyer interrupts before Londyn can get more than a few words in. “He’s agreed to drop the charges if I help with his campaign. Help him win the black vote. And like I told Londyn, I’ll only stick my neck out like that if I get something in return.”
He doesn’t need to spell it out. I know exactly what he hopes to get out of Londyn in return. The same thing that started all of this for her years ago. He just wants a woman to play the part of his wife.
“You’re not seriously thinking about taking him up on that, are you?” I ask urgently, barely able to say the words through the tightness in my throat, as if my body fights against the mere idea.
She parts her lips to speak, but before she can, Sawyer cuts her off. Again.
“Trust me. This is a much better deal than her attorney was able to get. At least with me, she’ll avoid prison. She’ll avoid charges altogether.”
“They made an offer?” I ask her directly, something it appears Sawyer is incapable of doing.
She smiles sadly through tight lips. In that one gesture, I know it wasn’t an offer worth accepting. At least not when there’s a better one dangling in front of her, even if it’s from a man who will only use her.
“Sophia—”
“One year of incarceration, suspended after six months, and five years’ probation in exchange for a guilty plea to felony aggravated assault,” Sawyer speaks over her yet again.
It reminds me of how Nick is around Julia. I never noticed it before. But that was before I had the rose-colored lenses I tended to view the world through smashed to pieces. Now I see things I was blind to. Like the way Nick seemed to constantly cut off Julia when she started to speak. The way he’d pull her into his body, his hold not protective, but possessive. The watchful way he’d peer at her. I once thought it was because he was so in love with her that he couldn’t stand not looking at her. Now I know the truth. It was all a way for him to retain control over Julia.
And Sawyer is just as manipulative.
He may never have laid a hand on Londyn, may not have left any visible bruises, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the ones he left below the surface are still struggling to heal.
“They’ll drop the rest of the charges, which are only misdemeanors anyway. Still, she’ll have to carry around a felony conviction for the rest of her life, something that could affect her ability to get a mortgage, a job, find clients for her dream business she’s just started.”
“That’s it?” I direct my question to Londyn. “That’s the best offer they could make?”
“I—” she begins, and as expected, Sawyer doesn’t let her finish.
“If you care about her like you purport to, why wouldn’t you want her to take my offer? She’ll be free. Never have to serve a single day in prison.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
I lean into him, incensed that this man has the audacity to show up and blackmail Londyn into returning to the life she fought to free herself from. “And because I love her, I won’t let her do that.” I take her hands in mine, praying the connection I still feel is strong enough for her to realize she doesn’t need to do this. “I told you I’d fight for you, honeybee,” I say in a soft voice. “And I will. You can’t go with him.”
“So you’ll send her off to prison?” Sawyer booms. “Nice way of showing your supposed ‘love’,” he quips, using air quotes.
I drop my hold on Londyn and advance toward Sawyer, my eyes on fire. “At least I believed her when she told me what Nick did. I didn’t blame her for being unfaithful when nothing could be further from the truth.”
“That’s in the past.” He waves me off, stepping away from me. “All that matters now, all that’s important now, is that I can help her. Do you want to see her locked up? Have you ever been to a jail or prison? Trust me. It’s not somewhere I’d want to spend a day, let alone six months.”
“And after the way you treated her, I wouldn’t want Londyn to have to endure living in the same house as you,” I retort.
“She knew what she was getting into when she agreed to marry me,” Sawyer insists.
“Is that right? So you told her from the beginning that she’d be no more than a piece of property to you?” Spittle forms on the corners of my mouth as I straighten, looming over him by less than an inch, but I’ll take any advantage I can get right now. “That she was nothing more than a means to an end? Something you could exert absolute control over?”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off, giving him a dose of his own medicine.
“At least I treat her like a human being,” I bellow, pointing to my chest, my voice carrying through the condo, probably even outside. “I love her like a human being. And because of that love, I’ll fight for her. Because of that love, I won’t let her accept your offer. I won’t let her return to that life. I—”
“Enough!” Londyn shrieks, sharp and cutting.
I snap my mouth shut, everyone shifting their attention to Londyn as she stands there, eyes clamped shut, fists clenched, chest heaving. She takes several moments to pull herself together, then pins Sawyer and me with a venomous stare.
“This isn’t a decision for either of you to make.” She points between us. “Neither of you gets to tell me what I will or won’t do. I’m not a fucking child. I’m a grown-ass woman who happens to have a brain on her shoulders. One who is capable of making a decision without some man telling me what’s best for me. Because neither one of you cares about that. Have you even listened to yourselves? It’s me, me, me, me, me! You mask your needs by saying it’s best for me when neither one of you seems to have a fucking clue about what’s best for me.”
“Londyn, I—” I begin, but she holds up her hand, silencing me. I step back, guilt festering inside me. I’d been angered by how dismissive Sawyer was of Londyn’s wishes. But by trying to speak for her, I’d also rendered her mute.
Just like Sawyer.
“Either way I look at it, I stand to lose something I’ve fought to have for years.” She looks at Sawyer. “Freedom.” She briefly shifts her eyes toward her father. “A family.” Then she turns toward me, a small smile tugging on her lips. “Love.” Her voice quivers, eyes glossing over for a second before her stare hardens again.
“So if this is the last decision I get to make for the foreseeable future, I’m the one who’s going to make it. Not you.” She shoves her finger into my chest before fixing her fiery gaze on her father. “Not you.” She points at him before turning her ire on Sawyer. “And certainly not you. I just…” She shakes her head, at a loss for words. “Just get out of my house,” she says in a pained voice.
I study Sawyer, wondering how he’ll respond to her demand. He doesn’t strike me as the type of person who’d follow anyone’s orders.
“Londyn, I—” Sawyer begins, but she remains steadfast in her resolve.
“Now,” she demands.
He hesitates a minute, then nods at her father, both of them retreating. I stand back, watching them leave, vindicated by her dismissal of them.
“That includes you, Wes.”
I dart my gaze to hers, brow furrowed. “But—”
“You don’t get to tel
l me what to do, either.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” she admits with a sad smile. “But I need to make this decision on my own. I hope you can respect that.”
My shoulders dropping, I briefly close my eyes. I’d spent this past week giving her space so she didn’t think I was making decisions for her. To give her some semblance of control in a life that’s spinning out of control. As much as it pains me, I need to give her this, too.
“I can.”
On a long exhale, I start to leave, but change course, making my way toward the kitchen table, reaching into my jacket.
“What are…” She trails off when I pull out the little box I’ve been carrying everywhere lately and set it on the surface.
“Maybe this will help.”
“Wes…” My name on her lips is a cross between a plea and a benediction.
“I meant what I told you the other night. I’ll go into battle for you, no matter the cost.” I hold out my hand, urging her to grab onto it, needing that spark of electricity that comes to life whenever our skin touches.
She floats her eyes to my hand, as if it holds all the answers. “I know you will.”
She places her hand in mine, our fingers locking together. I squeeze, trying to give her everything I have. My strength. My determination. My love.
Then, reluctantly, I pull away from her, leaving her alone in her condo, praying she chooses to fight. And not for me. But for her.
“It’ll never work out,” a snide voice says as I continue down the walkway.
I stop, turning toward where Sawyer stands beside a dark SUV.
“Just because you refused to treat her like she deserves, don’t be so sure I will,” I retort, erasing the distance between us. “I actually care about her. I actually love her.”
He smirks, tilting his head to the side. “You say that now. But do you love her enough to raise a black baby with her?”
I blink, his question catching me off guard. “To be honest, that’s never crossed my mind. I don’t care what skin color our baby will have. All I care—”
“Well, you should care. You should be thinking about it. If you haven’t figured it out by now, not being white in this country isn’t exactly a walk in the park. It’s hard. And tiring. Are you ready to allow your son or daughter to run to the local convenience store for a candy bar and worry the entire time about whether they’ll make it back home?”
“We haven’t discussed having children, but no matter what, I’ll teach our son or daughter how to be strong, brave, and resilient.” With each word, my voice grows louder, my passion and determination mounting. “I will raise our baby. White. Black. Brown. Red. Yellow. I don’t care. That baby will be our baby. And I pray there will come a time when people will look beyond the different colors of our skin and only see the love we share. Only see that love is love, regardless of the colors involved. And the love I have for that woman…” I point toward her house, my chest heaving through my labored breathing. “Nothing will scare me away. You can’t bring up how difficult our lives will be in the hopes of chasing me off. I know it won’t be easy. It hasn’t exactly been all fun and games up to this point. But through it all, do you want to know what I’ve done?”
He simply stares at me, not uttering a single word.
“I’ve stayed by her side. I’ve supported her. I’ve loved her. Something you couldn’t even begin to know how to do. You may think you have the upper hand, that you’ll be able to convince Londyn to go back home with you. And maybe she’ll agree to your ridiculous proposal. But I won’t stop fighting for her. You can take her back to Virginia, but I won’t stop. You can do everything to hide her from me, to mold her back into a puppet who does everything you ask, but I. Won’t. Stop. And that’s a goddamn promise.”
I spin on my heels, storming toward my car, slamming the door behind me. With my hands on the wheel, I take a few moments to compose myself and slow my racing heart before cranking the ignition. I’m about to put the car into drive when I glance at Londyn’s condo, noticing her standing just inside her front door, watching me, probably having overheard what just transpired.
Her lips lift in the corners as she meets my gaze.
I don’t know what’s going to happen with us.
But it’s that one look, one smile, that gives me hope this hasn’t all been for nothing. That we’ll get through this, too.
Chapter Twenty
Londyn
“He was a cute kid, for what it’s worth,” Hazel offers later that evening as we watch one of the earliest interviews the media did with Sawyer in the days following the church shooting.
Even as a boy of eleven, he was extremely charismatic, talkative, charming. I was always the opposite, even before I lost my mother. More reserved. Cautious. Contemplative. It’s not that I was shy. I just chose my words and interactions wisely. Unlike Sawyer, who became the poster child for the tragedy.
People’s hearts went out to the poor boy who no longer had a father. It was his first taste of stardom. I still struggle to rationalize the Sawyer who held my hand as I watched them lower my mother’s casket into the ground with the Sawyer who, mere hours ago, all but blackmailed me to be his wife.
Again.
“He was. Sweet, too. Always looked out for me.” I exhale deeply. “What happened?” I ask under my breath, more to myself than Hazel.
“People change, Lo. It’s part of life. You’re not the same girl you were back then, are you?” She nods at my laptop screen as a much younger version of myself huddles next to my father, who’s beside himself with grief.
She has a point. People do change. I’ve changed. So has Sawyer. Unfortunately, he didn’t change for the better.
In the following years, his pseudo-celebrity status as being the poster boy of that shooting ended up going to his head, especially as he forged a career as a pastor and, eventually, civil rights activist. Although I still struggle to truly call him an activist.
“I hate this.” I hit the spacebar on my laptop, pausing the screen just as the camera pans to a younger version of Sawyer looking upon me with affection, arm draped around my shoulders. I’d hoped watching some of these videos would help me make my decision. Instead, it’s only amplified the mess I’m currently in.
When Hazel came over and I told her everything that had transpired, she certainly voiced her opinion about Sawyer’s offer. And just as I did with Wes and Sawyer, I told her this was my decision and it was important I explore all my options, regardless of how crappy she thought they were.
And just like any good friend would, she understood, spending the past several hours listening to me discuss the pros and cons of each with as little judgment as possible.
“You know the theory behind the Butterfly Effect, right?” Hazel asks.
“I do.” My lips curve up slightly as I’m transported back to last summer. To installing insulation with Wes in what would become the primary bedroom of Gampy and Meemaw’s house. How he’d equated my leaving the only life I’d ever known as the first flap of the butterfly’s wings, which set into motion the chain of events that would eventually lead to our meeting.
At the time, I found it sweet and romantic. But I’d ignored the most important aspect of the Butterfly Effect. That a single flap of a butterfly’s wings could eventually lead to a massive storm, upending everything in its path.
“Everything has a cause and effect,” Hazel states. “So you need to decide what effect is most important to you. You’re here in this precise moment. You can’t control anything that’s happened prior. The storm’s already brewing. The way I see it, you have three choices.”
She points to the first piece of paper, where I’d scrawled out the list of pros and cons of accepting Sawyer’s offer. “Do you run in the opposite direction, knowing you’ll never be happy again?” She turns her attention to the next sheet of paper, which lists the pros and cons of accepting the plea deal. “Do you seek refuge away from everyone and eve
rything you hold dear, thinking it’s the safest bet?” She brings her gaze toward mine, her eyes determined. “Or do you take a risk and ride out the storm, knowing there’s a chance it may bypass you altogether? But also that it might destroy everything you’ve built?” She takes my hands in hers. “Do you fight, Londyn? Or do you give up?”
I chew on my bottom lip, shaking my head. If she thought her little analogy would help, she was mistaken. Nothing I do seems to make this decision any easier. There’s so much at stake.
“I need to get out of here,” I announce, pulling my hands from hers and standing.
“Where are you going?” she asks as I grab my keys off the entryway table.
“For a drive. I just need to clear my head. And I can’t think here. It’s too…foggy.”
She rises to her feet, making her way toward me. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She runs her hands along my arms.
“I’m sure.” I offer her as reassuring of a smile as I can muster right now. “I just need space to breathe.”
“I get it.” She pulls me in for a hug. “Just be careful.”
“I will.” I relish in her embrace for a moment before stepping away and heading out of my house.
A few streetlights illuminate the quaint neighborhood, the occasional childish squeal or dog barking cutting through the stillness. Other than that, everything is normal. Peaceful.
At complete odds with my mind.
I slide into my car and pull away from my condo, the burden weighing me down gradually lightening. It’s a little thing, but I forgot how much I enjoyed the freedom of driving. Since everything happened with Nick, I’ve barely driven myself anywhere. But now that I’m behind the wheel, can make my own decisions about where to go, I feel a sense of freedom. Do I really want to give this up?
For the next several hours, I drive around the city with no direction in mind. But I don’t care. There’s a comfort in being able to decide if I should turn left or right. If I should push my luck and go more than five miles above the speed limit. If I should stop and check out some of the Christmas lights that should have been taken down a week ago.