Page 12 of The Inevitable Us

Not wanting to admit to him I’ve been alone with Sawyer, even for a minute, I answer as close to the truth as I can. “I had to call a rideshare.”

His face falls, and he stares at me. “What? Why would you get into a car with a stranger? Why didn’t you call one of your friends to drive you?”

My face scrunches in anger. I pick up a discarded t-shirt that hung over one corner of the tv and throw it at him. “None of my friends are in town, idiot!”

Green eyes identical to mine shoot toward me. “What did you tell Mallory? You didn’t tell her I left early, did you?” Angry at my brother for only caring if he gets into trouble, I spin on my heel and march across the hallway, slamming the door behind myself. I strip out of my clothes and walk into the adjoining bathroom.

I let the water warm before stepping into the spray. “Brothers are stupid,” I mutter while washing my body. By the time I wash my hair and get into my pajamas, it isn’t my annoyance at Rory that’s swimming in my head but the fact Sawyer was angry with me. I toss and turn for hours before finally drifting off to sleep.

Chapter eight

Rosalie

Astheafter-churchrushhits, Sawyer shows up and starts to work on the new camera. Is he deactivating it after my little game? A sting of guilt tears into my stomach when I see him. I stop in my tracks, carrying a tray of sandwiches I’ve just pre-made for grab and go. Sawyer doesn’t acknowledge me except with a curt nod. He usually stops and talks to me briefly, but not today. He has to be mad about yesterday; it’s the only difference. He’s brought Rodrigo, one of the newer guys on my Dad’s security team. Rodrigo is young, tan, and handsome, but not nearly as good looking as Sawyer. He has a boyish look still, but I know he’s twenty-two.

Sawyer busies himself moving the assorted tools back into a canvas toolbox he carries in. They’re scattered over a prep area that I would need to disinfect once they leave. “Why don’t you order us a coffee? I want a drip coffee black to go.” Rodrigo leaves, and I can hear him laughing with Mallory in the front.

I had expected a hello, a friendly smile, something from Sawyer. Instead, he works around me, never looking in my direction. Once he puts the ladder back into place, I turn away from him, busying myself with the task at hand. Two can play the ignore game.

He walks up behind me, crossing his arms, and I pretend not to feel him. I hear him shuffle from one leg to the other. I adjust my earbuds, which are off, pretending I can’t hear him behind me. He clears his throat, and I continue with my task.

Once he clears his throat again and gets no response, I expect him to leave. I wish he would. He’s still angry with me. Finally, I give in to the pull and turn to face him.

“It’s a good thing we have cameras in the kitchen, Rosalie. A herd of elephants could have run through, and you’d not have noticed,” he mocks me with an upturned eyebrow.

“I can hear well enough, thank you,” I shoot back at him before I start to turn back around.

He grabs my arm, forcing me to turn to him. “Do you need a ride tonight?”

I look down at the yellow plastic kitchen gloves I’m wearing to protect my hands from the strong disinfectant. “Why would I need a ride?”

He sucks in a long, patient breath, his chest visibly filling with air before he blows it out with an impatient huff. “Rosalie, I am not playing games about your safety. From now on, if you are supposed to be in the car with Rory, you’re in the car with only him. Rory doesn’t show up; your parents are out of town, you call me, you call Brody, you call Creekman. Whoever your folks left, there will be no broken fence gates, no taking rides from coworkers, and no ride shares. Do you understand?”

Tears prickle my eyes when I nod my agreement to him. “Do you want your sandwich?” I ask meekly, eyeing his coffee.

“No, I’m meeting someone for lunch later at Café Moniqué.” He lets out another frustrated puff of air. “Try to be good today?”

I nod my agreement, but was I ever really bad? My heart plummets when I realize he’s going to a trendy café frequented by couples on the weekends. My social media is filled with couples drinking lattés with cinnamon-dusted hearts every Sunday. Is he meeting a woman there?

Sawyer doesn’t talk about his personal life at work much. Between Brody, who’s much more talkative, and an occasional comment from Sawyer, I know that he lives alone, he’s never been married, and he used to be an Army medic. I know he’s from a small town where his Dad is the sheriff, and that he has a younger sister.

Other than that, I’ve only been able to glean what I can observe about Sawyer. After a lifetime of knowing him, he is still, in some ways, a mystery to me.

Thedaycontinuesasmost Sundays do. No one rushes to vacate tables, but they want their food quickly. There is no actual cooking by this time of day since the meats for salads and soups have already been prepared, and the kitchen keeps a limited menu. I have to make a panini occasionally or assemble a wrap, but that’s it. From time to time, I look up at the camera, wondering if he bothers to check on me, to watch me. Probably not since he’smeeting someone.A prickle of jealousy rolls over me, and I try to swallow the bitter pill.

When my shift ends with no text from Rory saying he’s on his way, I walk outside to check to see if my brother is parked and waiting. I find Sawyer waiting in the fire lane, his legs crossed, standing by the passenger side door, dark sunglasses covering his ruggedly handsome face. He didn’t drive the same SUV as last time, but one of the black SUVs my Dad uses for his bodyguards. My body thrums with anticipation as I walk toward the waiting vehicle. He opens the door for me, and wordlessly, I get in. He slams the door shut, walks around the car, opens the driver’s side, and sits in his seat.

My fingers fumble nervously, trying to buckle the seatbelt. My heart accelerates and starts to pound in my ears when Sawyer leans over, our fingers touching briefly when he takes the buckle from me. The thrill of being alone with Sawyer in such a small space makes my heart flutter at an unhealthy tempo in my ears. Our hands linger for a moment together, barely touching for a second before Sawyer breaks the spell and clicks the seatbelt into place. Once he buckles his seat belt, he turns on the radio, switching it from talk news to a station that plays my dad’s music.

An old pop song comes on, and I mindlessly hum to it, trying to break the awkward silence between us. Why did he show up? Does he know something about Rory? I gaze sideways towards Sawyer. He drives with both hands on the wheel at “nine and three,” the way they teach them to drive in defensive driving school, his focus on the road. All of the security team, the few that Dad allows such a responsibility, drive this way, even in Nashville, where paparazzi rarely follow us. “How did you know I needed a ride? Did Rory ask you to come?”

His gaze never shifts from the road in front of him, and his jaw ticks as if annoyed. “Concerned I’ll tell your parents that your brother isn’t where he’s supposed to be?”

I jerk back slightly, feeling rebuked. “I’ve already told you, if he’s not where he tells my parents he is, I don’t know where Rory is. He’s probably off playing with cars. You know he makes more money working on his friends’ cars than he does at the café,” I stutter out defensively.

Rory spends every moment since he could toddle learning about cars and their inner workings; learning the skills from my Grandpa Christopher, my Dad’s father. They’ve become close over the years, with my brother sometimes visiting alone. Rory is more like Grandpa Christopher than the rest of us. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was. It went beyond the physical.

Grandpa and Rory work on cars during their time alone together, restoring old hot rods. Rory is a natural at it, using the skills to earn extra cash instead of working longer hours at the café as I do.

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