Page 18 of Waiting For Fate

“I don’t need an apology, Sawyer. I need to move on. Just…let it go.”

How the fuck can I let something go that I’ve never even had to begin with.

I remain silent because what the fuck do I even say to that? She must take my silence as acceptance because she gives me a tight-lipped smile and disappears from in front of me—leaving me simultaneously empty and full of regret. She may think I’ve quietly agreed to let her go, but she’s sorely mistaken. That’s the one thing I will never do.

Leah Gates will be mine, and I don’t care what bridges I have to burn to make it happen.

CHAPTER 7

LEAH

What the fuck is happening?

No, like seriously. What the hell was that?

Sawyer snatches me into some corn stalks, and I suddenly start to forget every reason I have hated him for the last ten years?

His stupid muscular arms.

And stupid swimmable blue eyes.

And the way he smells like a man in all the best ways.

It took me years to be able to smell anything cedarwood scented and not spend the rest of the day missing him.

Stupid Sawyer Clark and the way he makes me feel things I have no business feeling for him.

The worst part about all of this is that I can’t even run to tell my best friends about any of it because they have absolutely no clue what happened between us all those years ago. Nor do they know that I’ve liked Sawyer for far longer than that.

Liked Sawyer. Past tense. I don’t still like him. I can’t still like him because I’ve spent too much of my time hating him.

“There you are.” The sigh of relief as the words come out of his mouth make me snap out of my Sawyer-filled haze and smile. “I was about to start retracing my steps to try and find you.” Jackson walks over to me and wraps his arms around me.

“You worried about me Mr. Morris?” I bat my eyelashes at him, making a huge smile spread across his face.

“You bet I was. I was mostly worried you had disappeared on me before I got the chance to do this.” He leans in and within seconds I can feel my heart beating through my temples. His lips land on mine, and in the middle of chainsaws roaring to life and horrified screaming, Jackson and I are having our first kiss.

He shifts slightly to take my face in both of his hands as his lips glide across mine, making me melt into his touch. He pulls away and I’m left a little speechless because I had not expected that even a little.

“I’m keeping you close the rest of the night, because I plan to do that again.” He winks at me causing my cheeks to flush instantly before taking my hand in his and leading the way towards the exit. I hear someone squealing behind me and as soon as I turn to see the teenage rag doll running past us, something else catches my eye.

Sawyer is standing about ten feet away from us looking downright lethal.

He just got a front row ticket to Jackson kissing me, and some dark part of me is a little happy that he did.

If he thinks he can just cruise back into town, hand me a ticket to his game and whisk me away into some corn stalks to remind me of the good ole days and all will be hunky dory, then he’s got another thing coming.

You don’t get to break someone’s heart—unknowingly or otherwise—and expect time to do the dirty work of apologizing for you. He may want to apologize now, but I want him to know how it feels to hurt the way I did when he let all my calls and texts go unread. So, if it’s my attention he’s wanting, then he’s gonna have to work a hell of a lot harder than this to get it. But one thing is certain when I see his hands balled into fists and his jaw so tight it looks painful—I definitely have his.

“You okay Sweetheart?” I feel my mom’s hand wrap around mine, snapping me out of the state of shock I am in over the text that I just received.

I had picked up my phone to respond to a text Jackson had sent me when I was on my way over here a little while ago—since I had forgotten to before coming inside—but as soon as I hit send another one popped up and all but knocked the air out of my lungs.

I have dinner with my parents every Sunday so we can fill each other in on what’s happening in our lives. Usually, the conversation flows from the moment I walk in the door until I’m walking back to my car, but right now I couldn’t form a coherent sentence if I wanted to—and Mom notices.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I shake my head as if that will somehow make all the thoughts swimming around my brain disappear like an Etch A Sketch. She gives my dad a knowing look before glancing back at me with a raised brow. For some reason my stomach drops, and I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar or sneaking back in the window past curfew—neither of which have I ever done.

“Everything okay? You seem awfully distracted tonight.” She takes another bite of her food and I realize I’ve been twirling my fork on the tablecloth for God only knows how long. I quickly drop it onto my napkin and reach for my water, trying to think of a valid, albeit fake, reason I could give her for why I suddenly got so silent.

---