Page 40 of Sawyer

“Sure.”

“Why’d you get engaged to him?”

“Catherine to Edgar?”

“No. Ivy to Clark,” I clarify softly.

She’s been looking down at her script, but now she whips up her head to face me. Her eyebrows furrow together as she purses her lips.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m just wondering,” I say. “He cheated on you. He hurt you. How’d he win you back?”

She lifts her chin. “He apologized. He promised to change. He proved to me, over a course of months, that he could be trusted. If someone is truly sorry for something they’ve done, don’t you think they deserve a second chance?”

“Somepeople,” I say. “But not cheaters.”

“He said it only happened once, and would never happen again,” she insists.

“And you believed him?” I ask her, nailing her with my eyes. Her green meet my blue in a fierce battle of wills. Her cheeks turn crimson. She holds her script against her chest like a shield and fidgets with her ring, staring back at me.

“Really, Sawyer, it’s none of your business,” she finally whispers.

I’m about to make it my business when—

“Okay!” says Bruce. “Wyatt’s all set. Sawyer and Ivy? Any questions? No? Then, let’s run it again!”

***

I can’t get out of that fucking theater fast enough tonight.

Thank God I made plans to see Quinn after rehearsal and drove myself separately to rehearsal. I’m in desperate need of a drink.

He said it would never happen again? Yeah, right.

How could she be so trusting? So gullible? So stupid?

She leaves the theater behind me, walking in the direction of her uncle’s house. Ivy’s headed home to help with her aunt, and I’d lay a hundred dollar bet on the fact that Clark’s in Juneau, cheating on her all over again. It makes me sick. It makes me furious.

I step into the Skagway Brewing Company in an extremely bad mood.

“Sawyer!”

Quinn’s already at the bar, a half-full pint glass in front of him. He jumps down off his stool and grabs me in a hug, lifting me an inch off the ground. Since Quinn is taller and beefier than me,bearhug would probably be more accurate.

“How you doing, man? Damn, it’s good to see you, bro!”

“Quinn, put me the fuck down.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, patting me on the back so hard my teeth rattle.

“Get this man a drink, bartender!” he yells.

“What’reyoudrinking?” I ask him, gesturing to his glass as I sit down beside him.

He gives me a look. “Whaddaya think?”

“Spruce IPA?”

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