Chapter Twenty

Sawyer

My feet pound against the sand for the second time today, my calves pulsing and lungs burning as I push past the pain and sprint the last quarter mile. Sweat pours down my forehead, probably from the extra two miles I decided to torture myself with tonight. The pain is welcome. Pain is necessary. Pain is deserved.

I’m gasping for air as I walk from the beach to my back porch. I grab the towel and bottle of water, chugging half of it in one long gulp. My cell phone starts to ring, but I make no movement to retrieve it. Instead, I watch the waves crash against the wet sand and let the warm breeze cool my overheated body.

I wonder how long I’ll stay out here tonight. The house has too many memories. Everywhere I look, I see her. The missing knick knacks in the living room, the shower stall, the fucking banister, for Christ’s sake, it all haunts me and reminds me of how good it was and how great it could have been.

And damn, was it good. Not just the sex, even though that was the best I’ve ever had, but everything else too. We talked and laughed, shared stories and memories. I was more open with this woman in one week than in the five years I was with Carrie.

So why did I let her walk out that door?

Damn good question.

After a few minutes of wave watching, my phone starts to ring a second time. I consider letting it go to voicemail again, but I’m afraid whoever the persistent asshole is on the other line will keep calling. Secretly, (like a high school girl with a crush) I hope it’s AJ, and it’s that thought that adds a little spring to my very tired step as I make my way into the house and retrieve my phone.

Dylan.

“Hey,” I say in way of greeting, my breathing still a little labored.

“Jeezus, man, you weren’t having sex, were you?”

“I promise you, little brother, that if I were with a lady, taking your call would be the last thing I’d do.”

“Good to know,” he chuckles. “How come you didn’t answer the first time? Busy putting your pants on?”

“Hardly. I actually just got back from a run.” I quickly finish off the rest of my water bottle and toss it in the trash.

“Yuck,” he grumbles. Dylan is tall, like me, but wiry thin. He was better suited for swimming in high school than baseball.

“To what do I owe the honor?” I ask, grabbing a second water from the fridge.

“Actually, Amber is going to see her grandma this weekend in Indy so I thought I might head your way,” Dylan says.

Dylan and I are only two years apart, but despite the closeness in age, we don’t have much in common. When I went off to college, and eventually Texas, he stayed back in Charlottesville and married Amber. They met in high school, but didn’t start dating until they were in college. She’s about halfway through her first pregnancy, and I’ve been told I’ll have a niece arriving at the end of the year.

“I’m not doing much,” I tell my brother. “Might go to DC to see the Rangers play on Sunday,” I add, my throat constricting and making it difficult to breathe. Lately, it seems thinking about AJ has that effect on me.

“What was that sigh? You know, Sawyer, if it’s too hard to watch them play, then maybe you should skip this game.” I realize that he must think my sigh and super cheery disposition are the result of not being able to play the game, as opposed to the real reason.

“Actually, it’s not about that,” I say to my younger brother. “I met a girl.”

Silence greets me. In fact, it’s quiet for so long, I have to check the phone to make sure I didn’t drop the call.

“And?”

“And what? She’s pretty cool, but I probably already fucked it up,” I find myself saying. I’ve talked to my brother about things over the years–my desire to finish college and get my teaching degree instead of entering the majors right away, my career over the years, hell even some of the bullshit with the media–but I don’t ever recall going to my little brother for love advice.

“Yeah? Wait, she’s not some actress or anything, is she? The last famous face you dated you married, and that didn’t turn out so great for you.”

“No, she’s nothing like Carrie. Like, absolutely nothing. AJ is kind and fiery. She makes me laugh and actually listens when I talk, instead of fixing her nails or her hair. She’s a teacher at the school I work at.”

“So if this thing goes south–or you fuck it up, as you so elegantly stated–the fact that you work with her could be a challenge,” Dylan points out.

“No shit. I had a staff meeting yesterday and it took everything I had to keep my focus on the front of the room and not her. But I messed up, man. Carrie showed up at my place Sunday afternoon.”

Again, I’m greeted with silence.

“I bet that went over well,” he prods.

“You can guess. Carrie said some crap about AJ, and it kinda freaked me out.”

“What kinda stuff?”

“That she broke up a marriage and likes to sleep with married guys,” I mumble, my shoulders sagging with exhaustion. “She accused her of only being with me for my money and fame.”

“Direct hit. How would she know that shit anyway? It’s not like Carrie even knows where Virginia is located on the map,” he points out. Yeah, my blonde ex-wife brings every blonde joke to life with new meaning.

“She’s always had people watching me,” I confess. I knew it while we were married, but never let it bother me. It’s not like I was ever doing anything wrong or ever actually cheating like the rag mags always proclaimed.

“That’s…sick. So she dug into AJ’s past?”

“I guess.”

“And what happened then?”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I exhale deeply. “I guess I kinda freaked out. Basically sent her away to see her family and then didn’t return her messages.”

Crickets.

“Dude, you’re the dumbest asshole in the world,” my dickhead little brother says before laughing. “Let me get this straight, you like her, sleep with her, your supermodel ex-wife shows up at your house, and you send AJ away?”

“Well, I sent Carrie away first, but yeah, I guess that’s the gist.”

“Man, you are dumb,” he adds with another chuckle. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, Dr. Phil. I need to talk to her, but I’m not really sure what to say. Plus, the longer I’m silent, the worse it’s getting.”

“You think?” Dylan clears his throat. “Okay, what you need to do is call her or go to her and ask to talk. You need to tell her all that shit about Carrie and about how she likes to mess with your head. She needs to hear the truth before you can ask for forgiveness for being a dick. Ask her about the married guy thing. If it’s true, then you can determine if you can live with that. If you can’t, move on.”

Hearing him say it just reinforces what I was already thinking. I need to talk to AJ. I need to tell her about Carrie and definitely find out more about what she said about breaking up a marriage. AJ doesn’t strike me as that type, but hell, my people-reader has been off before. Case in point: Carrie.

“You’re right,” I tell him, feeling slightly better after talking to him.

“Of course I’m right. I’m always right,” he says with a laugh.

“Whatever, dickhead. You still coming this weekend or what?”

“I can hang back here if you need time to fix the shit you got yourself into,” he says.

“No, you’re welcome here. Just bring your headphones in case things go well with the talk,” I tease, earning a loud groan.

“Please, not that again,” he grumbles.

Back when we were both in school, I had an apartment with a couple of teammates off campus. Dylan was in the dorm and came to my building for a party one of the other guys was throwing. He was crashed on my floor when I returned to my room, hot little sorority girl in tow. We fucked right there in my bed, with my brother trying to sleep on the floor. At one point, I tossed him my mp3 player and headphones to drown out the noise. Sorority girl was a moaner.

“No worries, little brother. You’ll have your own room this time.”

“Thank Christ,” he says. “Anyway, I’ll call you when I’m on my way. I’ll probably head over Friday after work, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure. If you get here on time, we can go to the football game,” I tell him, feeling surprisingly better about my shit-storm life.

We sign off with plans to meet at my house. I also start to make plans to talk to a certain math teacher who deserves an explanation for my recent radio silence. At this point, I’m pretty sure she thinks I was only looking for a good time and nothing more, but she would be wrong. Sure, I have shit I have to work out in my head, but I’ve never thought of AJ as a one-weekend-only kinda girl. In fact, the more I think about her, the more I see her as the every-weekend kinda girl.

My girl.

And it’s time to man the fuck up and fix the mess I’ve made.

* * *

The water turned cold before I finally got out of the shower. My body is bone tired, considering the double run today and the fact that I haven’t slept well for the past two nights. My sheets smell of lavender and sex, which makes me painfully hard that I have to jerk off just to get any relief. I’ve thought about changing the sheets, but every time I go to remove them, the realization that her scent may be gone forever keeps me from replacing them.

How pathetic is that?

Pretty fucking sad, if you ask me.

I’m lying in bed, Sports Center on as background noise, when my phone dings.

My heart rate spikes when I see her name, but then plummets into my stomach when I read her words.

AJ: Thank you for a great weekend. See you around.

She’s telling me goodbye. My fingers fly across the letters as I start to reply, but then reality sets in. No one wants or deserves a text apology. She deserves one where she can look into my eyes and see the honesty in my words, because when I finally talk to her, I’m going to be brutally honest.

I delete everything I started to write.

I type a more casual, breezy response, but that won’t work either. My feelings for her are neither casual nor breezy.

So I delete that too.

For the life of me, I can’t come up with something that’s fitting for the moment, considering I have so much to say.

So instead of replying, I set my phone down.

Yeah, I know what you’re gonna say and you’d be right. Probably my second biggest fuck-up in as many days.

Grabbing the remote, I turn off the television and get to work on my plan of how I’m going to make this right with the only woman I’ve wanted since my wife ripped my heart out. AJ Summer may just be the balm I need to finally heal after betrayal.