Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You really care about him, don’t you?”
I blinked, dragging my attention fully back to Richard. “I do,” I told him honestly. “I really do.”
“I saw him earlier. Right before you told my father off. He was coming toward us across the room and then just stopped. He watched us for a second and then seemed to reconsider before turning and walking away.”
I didn’t understand. “He just… walked away?”
“I assumed he was giving you space since he knew you and I had to put on the act for Dad. But now…” He paused, a concerned expression crossing his face. “I think he might have been headed for the exit.”
My pulse kicked up a notch. “He left?”
Richard cringed. “He might have just needed fresh air. He looked a little upset.”
Sawyer was upset? Just the thought caused anxiety to shoot through me. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”
I didn’t bother to wait for an answer. Instead I turned and started shoving my way through the crowd. I reached the exit, bolting outside into the warm spring air and scanning the sidewalk frantically. There were a few partygoers scattered about, but no sign of Sawyer.
“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath. I yanked my phone from my pocket and hit speed dial for Sawyer’s number. It rang once, then went straight to voicemail.
I quickly typed up a text. Where are you? You okay?
Three dots immediately appeared, and I paced, waiting for his text to come through. The dots disappeared, reappeared, and disappeared again several times before his reply finally appeared.
Sawyer: I left.
It had taken him a long time to type up such a simple response which meant there was more he’d wanted to say but for some reason hadn’t.
James: Why?
There was another long, agonizing wait.
Sawyer: I don’t think I can do this.
I froze and stared at the text. I didn’t know what he meant by this, but I was terrified he might be referring to us and not just the party. My fingers were trembling so badly that it took me several tries to type out my response.
James: Don’t think you can do what?
Sawyer: This. Us. New York. Galas. It’s just not who I am.
My legs felt weak, and my head swam. Everything had seemed so perfect earlier—how had it all fallen apart so quickly?
James: Did something happen? Was it Richard? I promise there’s nothing between us anymore.
Sawyer: I know. Nothing happened. It just became obvious that this life isn’t right for me.
James: Can we talk about it? Please?
Sawyer: I’m sorry James.
James: Sawyer, whatever this is, we can fix it.
Sawyer: You’re an incredible man, James, truly. I hope you find love and happiness. I’m sad that it won’t be with me. Goodbye.
This couldn’t be happening. It didn’t make sense. I pressed the button to call him, but it went straight to voicemail. I tried again with the same result.
James: Please can we just talk? I need to hear your voice. I need to know you’re okay.
I waited for a response, but none came.
James: Sawyer, please.
Nothing.
James: Please. Just talk to me. Please.
Numb, I stared at my phone until the screen went dark. Belatedly, I realized that none of my last three texts had gone through. He’d blocked me. He didn’t want to hear from me.
There was a low wall edging the sidewalk, and I sank onto it. The sound of the city—the party, the street, the cars—receded until it was all just white noise. I shoved a hand into my hair, grabbing hold and tugging, wanting to feel something. But everything was numb—my thoughts, my heart, the blood pumping through my veins.
I didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense. He’d come to the city to be with me; he’d wanted to share a life together. We’d told each other our true feelings. He’d seemed excited about moving in together and starting a new future.
And then he’d just… left.
The thought caused my heart to squeeze so tight I let out a gasp of air. I pressed a fist to my chest, hoping to ease the pain, but nothing helped. Had he not meant what he’d said? But if so… why had he come? Or had the gala itself truly done that much damage in so little time? Had someone said something to him?
Still in shock, I hailed a cab, not wanting to go through the effort of calling back the town car. When we pulled onto my street, I felt a spark of hope that maybe Sawyer might be there waiting for me, like he had earlier today. He would tell me that it had just been a misunderstanding—a brief bout of doubt because everything seemed to be changing so quickly. But when we reached my brownstone, the stoop was empty, the windows dark.
I was alone. Again.
I paid the driver and trudged inside, my legs feeling as if they weighed a thousand pounds each. Once inside, I paused. Like I’d told Sawyer, Richard had been the one to decorate the brownstone when we’d decided we’d move in together, and I’d never bothered to redecorate after he’d left. His influence was everywhere: walls, floors, furniture, art. It was all edgy modern, cold and sharp. I hated it.