He doesn’t flinch. He just watches me, waiting, like he actually gives a shit about the answer.
And for a brief, flickering second, I hate that he might see too much.
That maybe he sees the cracks.
That maybe he knows I’m not just the monster they all think I am, but something worse.
A man who wants to be good, and fails every damn time.
Sawyer leans back against the wall, arms loose by his sides, his posture calm but wary.
‘‘She ran off,’’ he says, voice breaking the thick silence.
‘‘Isabella.’’
He glances at me, gauging my reaction.
My chest tightens, but I don’t let it show.
‘‘I think we should... get along,’’ Sawyer adds after a beat. ‘‘At least for her.’’
He exhales slowly, like the words cost him something.
‘‘So... I want to apologize. For my attitude. For my words. I don’t know anything about you, or about you two. Isabella has her reasons for everything, and maybe I should have trusted that.’’
The air feels heavy between us, but somehow, less hostile.
I stare at him for a long time, weighing the apology, feeling the fight drain out of my body by inches.
Finally, I mutter, rough and low, ‘‘I’m sorry I tried to rip your head off... twice.’’
To my surprise, Sawyer lets out a croaked laugh, short, genuine.
‘‘I’ll take that,’’ he says, a small, almost disbelieving shake of his head.
We fall into a silence, but it’s different this time. Not suffocating. Just... tired.
Then, Sawyer speaks again, softer now.
‘‘You know...’’
He pauses, staring at the opposite wall like the words are carved into it.
‘‘I’m not so different from you. If I can believe the things Isabella told me.’’
He hesitates, then slowly crosses the room, lowering himself onto the other end of the bed, not close, but not distant either.
‘‘I served two tours in Afghanistan,’’ he begins.
His voice is steady, but there’s a roughness under it, something frayed.
‘‘I was a medic. Supposed to save lives. But out there...’’
He swallows hard.
‘‘You end up taking them too. Sometimes to survive. Sometimes because there’s no other choice. Blood’s blood, no matter from who it is. And eventually, it gets into you. Stains you.’’
I don’t move, but something in me shifts, recognizing the weight behind his words.
