Page 23 of Sawyer

“That’s a shame,” I’d murmured. “Because we’re over.”

Then I’d turned around and left.

He’d chased after me, down the stairs and outside to the parking lot, with a sheet wrapped haphazardly around his waist as fellow students looked on.

“Baby! Ivy! Come on! Talk to me!”

“Screw you!” I’d bellowed back, getting into my car and slamming the door.

For three weeks, I’d avoided Clark like the plague, despite a ridiculous number of texts, voice messages, and floral arrangements delivered to my dorm room. The day after exams were over, I’d jumped on a flight to Skagway and headed south to my happy place, my safe place, my summer heaven.

A week later, I slept with Sawyer Stewart for the first time.

Thatsummer everything changed between me and Sawyer.

Flashback 1

Ivy

Sixteen Months Ago

I really, really don’t want to burst into tears the moment I see Aunt P. and Uncle Alan…but that’s exactly what happens.

With my flight arriving midday, and my cousins finishing up their last week of school, only my aunt and uncle are waiting for me in the terminal building with balloons and smiles. It’s their kindness—their pure delight to see me and deep reserves of love for me—that opens the floodgates of my embarrassment, disappointment, and hurt. They pull me into their arms for a giant bear hug, and I cling to them fiercely with tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Ivy! What happened?” asks my aunt, leaning away to scan my face. “What’s wrong?”

I can’t stop crying. Tears stream. Sobs rise up from my throat with ugly choking sounds.

“C-Clark ch-cheated on me,” I manage to say.

“Oh, honey! When?”

“Th-three w-weeks ago.”

“Asshole!” mutters Uncle Alan.

“Watch your mouth,” chastises Aunt P., pulling me back into her arms.

I can’t hold it together anymore. I’ve used up all of my strength getting through the last few weeks of school, which included four final exams amid whispered rumors about Clark cheating on me and our subsequent break up.

By the time I boarded my plane to Skagway this morning, I felt like splintered glass on the brink of shattering. All it took was a hug from my aunt and uncle for me to break.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” says my aunt, pulling me close again. “That’s terrible.”

“My twelve-gauge works like a charm,” says my uncle gruffly.

“Now, stop it, Alan,” says Aunt P. “You’re not shooting anyone.”

“Just saying Iwould,” he says. “And gladly.”

She tsks him before turning back to me. “Did he meet someone new?”

“I d-don’t know if they’re—they’re a c-couple or if it was j-just a one t-time thing. But I c-caught them to-together.”

She cups my face and looks into my eyes. “Then he wasn’t the right man for you. The right man would never risk losing you.”

As we walk to the baggage claim area, I dry my eyes on my jacket sleeve, feeling better than I’ve felt in weeks. There’s nothing like a good, old-fashioned, heaving, messy, sobby cry to make you feel like a brand-new person.

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