Me After You (6 page)

“Oh c’mon, yes you can.” She skims my appearance, eyeing the messy bun on top of my head. “You could use a little more makeup, but you’ve got that ‘I don’t care’ vibe going, and it’s working for you.”
 

“I don’t care about the way I look. I’m not ready to be thrown back into society. It’s too soon.”

“I’m not asking you to hit on the next hot guy you see. I’m asking you to dip your toes in and socialize. Just be around people. Your parents might not want to push you. They might think time is what you need, and they’re right, but you don’t need time alone any more. You need time to learn how to be human again. He’s been gone for almost four months, Sawyer. Life is going on without you. It’s time.”

I sigh with closed eyes and nod. “Okay.”

“Good. Okay. Let’s grab a bite to eat, listen to some songs, and then we can go. Baby steps.” She smiles. I take her outstretched hand begrudgingly, but smile back because I love how much she feels like home.

We grab a couple of corndogs and sodas and head toward the crowd around the stage with the live band. It’s a little bit country, but I’m okay with that. The lead singer swings his hips, his cowboy hat propped on his head, dipping it to every girl who calls out to him. I bob with the music and watch Alix sway and raise her arms in the air, carefree. I don’t remember what that feels like.

After a few songs she leans into my ear, and I’m ready for her to tell me we can go. I’ve done my time. We’ve been here long enough. I deserve the reward of my warm bed.

“I need to pee. I’ll be right back.” Before I can register what she said and protest, she’s gone. I breathe and tell myself I’ll wait until she gets back and then leave. She can stay if she wants to. I’ve spent my fair share of time among the living.

My eyes drift over the crowd and immediately lock with green eyes that are so easy to get lost in. My mind draws a blank before it registers we’re staring at each other and have been for who knows how long.
How long had Dean been looking at me before I saw him?
He’s coming toward me and running seems like the best option, but there’s not enough time before he’s standing in front of me. My heart reacts to him before my brain does, and it aches for me to throw my arms around him and feel his body close to mine like we’ve done so many times before. His gentle smolder hooks me like it’s done so many times before.

After following Dean to Aiden’s house and watching him take care of Aiden’s grandparents week after week, I couldn’t get him out of my head. It turned out to be more than restoring the shed. He helped Aiden with yard work and worked on their cars. Nearly every time I passed Aiden’s house Dean was there, taking part in some way to help them with things Aiden’s grandparents could no longer do for themselves.

Dean’s not the popular hotshot who every other girl fawns over, or the all-star athlete. If anything, people avoid him. Though he’s not free of trouble, he’s not like his friend, Josh, who I know has been suspended more times than I can count for drug possession or bringing weapons to school. It’s understandable when people move from one side of the hall to the other when Josh walks down it.

Dean is different.

There’s a subtle tenderness behind Dean’s rough exterior. I’ve watched him for years. He has a gentle smolder. That may seem to be contradictory, but it’s the only way to describe the gaze in his eyes. It’s as if he has a secret that he holds dear, and will do everything in his power to keep it safe. Yet, he screams for attention, for someone to notice he actually exists.

I notice. I notice every day.

Dean passes me in the hallway and I offer a smile. I do that whenever we make eye contact. I can’t help it. He makes me smile. He nods and life goes on as we pass one another. If we’re being true to our normal routine, he’ll keep walking, the same as every other day, and I will make my way to volleyball practice, but this time, after I’m halfway down the hall he calls my name. It’s the first time he’s ever said my name. His voice is somehow raspy and gentle at the same time.

When I turn and our eyes meet, I know in the pit of my stomach that whatever he is about to say is going to change everything. And I couldn’t be more ready.

In about five seconds I will hear his raspy voice. He will say my name and that voice will caress every letter. I want him to take away my pain, but that doesn’t make any sense. He was the one to create the pain in the first place. My fingers curl into fists to gain control of myself. Then my brain kicks in, and the feelings of sadness and betrayal burst to the surface all over again in a volcanic explosion. When a hesitant smile rises on his lips, the sadness and betrayal is masked again by nostalgia and longing. How can someone change so much and somehow look exactly the same?

He’s no longer a young, rebellious boy riding up on his motorcycle to sneak me out of my house after midnight. He’s incredibly handsome with his muscular arms and facial hair. It’s not quite a beard, yet a little more than a five o’clock shadow. But rather than the look I’m so familiar with—dark fitted pants and a t-shirt displaying his favorite rock band—Dean wears washed out jeans and a blue striped button-down with rolled up sleeves. His black feather tattoo peeks out below his sleeve on his left forearm. That’s the only thing about him I recognize.

Somewhere in the last six years, Dean grew into a man.

His hair is different than I remember, not quite as long. It doesn’t swoop across his forehead anymore. It stands on end as if he doesn’t care what it’s doing, but somehow looks just right. It’s still long enough to run my fingers through. I mentally cringe, kicking myself for the unexpected image that runs through my mind. I shouldn’t like the sight of someone else this much when I’m so torn up over Grayson. The real man. The man who left me because he didn’t have a choice. The man who would be by my side if it hadn’t been for the men who took his life.

“Hey, Sawyer.” His voice hasn’t changed a bit. The smallest of words and my knees nearly give way. If he’s paying attention, he’ll see my knees wobble slightly.

“Dean.” His name chokes me. I’ve missed the sound of his name. I’ve thought it so many times over the last six years, but not once said it out loud until I got back to this town. If I said it out loud, he became more than a memory. And I wanted Dean to stay a memory. I needed him to stay a memory.

“It’s good to see you.” His eyes are hopeful, sad, and somehow hold the same mystery that lured me into his life before.

I attempt to smile in response. I have no words. I can’t talk to Dean. He left me. And I know it’s been six years, and I should let it go, but I can’t. I see his face and it brings back every tormenting recollection I’ve been trying to suppress. I can’t go there. I wrap my arms tightly around myself. Maybe it’s for comfort. Maybe it’s to attempt to hold what pieces I have left together. But somehow, when I have my arms wrapped around my torso, I feel as though I have a chance at shielding myself from any effect he still has on me.

The fact that he left me shouldn’t matter now. I got married. I had over four years with a man I loved more than life. So why, when I look into Dean’s eyes, do I feel as if the gaping hole in my chest is getting bigger? I know the answer, but I bury it away. I bury it down deeper, into nonexistence. If a memory is nonexistent, it never happened. I need those memories to be nonexistent.

His hand rubs the back of his neck, possibly contemplating his next move. “How are you?” He says a little louder to be heard above the music.

It’s a stupid question, and he knows it as soon as he says it. He gives an embarrassed smile, but he doesn’t know how to recover. I can tell he wants to say something else, something more, but I can’t stand here for one more second. A magnetic pull draws me to him, and I have to fight it. I refuse to give in.

“I’m gonna go,” I say.

He wants to stop me, but he doesn’t know how. There’s too much between us. Too much left unsaid. Too much pain. Too many lies. Too much betrayal. Too much time passed.

Too much.

I turn and maneuver around the crowd, sensing his eyes on me as I go.

“Sawyer,” he calls urgently as if it’s the last word he will ever say. I look over my shoulder. The stage lights hit his eyes with a twinkle. Looking into his eyes hurts. It’s such a familiar place, but I let that place go. There was no other way to live if I didn’t let him go. “See you around?” There’s hope there, and I want to squash it like he squashed mine.

I can only nod once.

At first, I didn't believe him when he told me he didn’t want me. How could he suddenly not want me after two years of spending nearly every waking moment together? After every kiss and glance, every laugh and smile. How could all of our little moments of something suddenly mean absolutely nothing to him?

Then days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, and finally, months turned to years without so much as a text from him. And I knew the boy I loved, my Dean, would never have done that to me. He never would have completely abandoned me. So, I did what I had to do. I cut him out of my heart the best I could.

At least, I thought I had.

T
HERE
’
S
A
MOMENT
, when you first catch someone’s eye, where true feelings are revealed before they get a chance to fade away and be replaced with an expression they want you to see. I’ve learned that throughout the years. My dad was my first lesson. When our eyes met every day there would be a distant sadness, but it would last for only a fraction of a second before his eyes would harden and indifference would glaze over them, exactly like the alcohol always did to him.

When Sawyer first looks at me there is light and reminiscence as if she forgets that she hates me. I get a glimpse of my Sawyer and her sunshine eyes. Then, slowly, like oozing molasses, the resentment and pain conceal her face. I don’t know what’s worse, knowing that she might actually miss me or that she wants so badly to hate me.

I move through the crowd, stepping around people to get to her. I have to be closer to her. It doesn’t matter that her expression could kill me with one glare. Sawyer brings back feelings I haven’t experienced since high school—feelings I thought I was somehow immune to.

“Hey, Sawyer.” I say the words hesitantly, and it’s so surreal I can’t help but smile. She’s standing in front of me. There was a time when I thought I’d never get a chance to say her name again. The urge to hug her is crushing. I have to put my hands in my pockets to keep them from reaching out and running my fingers down her soft cheek. If I stretch my memory, I can almost remember how it feels.

She says my name, and it sounds tainted coming from her lips, as if she swallowed poison, and yet it’s the best sound in the world because it’s coming from her.

I begin to say stupid things. Everything coming out of my mouth is nothing I really want to say. I know I have a smile on my face, and it shouldn’t be there, but I can’t stop it. She’s here, and she’s talking to me.

Sawyer attempts to smile at me, but it’s so sad it makes my heart hurt. I can see how uncomfortable she is, and I want to grab her and hug her and make her forget every bad thing that has happened to her. I hate that her discomfort actually looks painful. I have to say something to keep her talking. I have to say something so she won’t walk away.

When I ask her the first thing that pops into my head I want to smack myself for not coming up with something better—something that won’t make her think of how she’s really doing. I don’t want to scare her away. I know she won’t tell me the honest truth anyway. But I truly want to know that she’ll be okay. I want confirmation that all of the rumors circulating around town are exaggerations.

“I’m gonna go,” she says hastily.

Don’t go.
I can’t say that, but nothing else I say will make her stay. She spins away from me, escaping as fast as her feet will take her. I’m not oblivious to that fact.
Am I really going to let her walk away?
I need to see her face one last time.

I shout her name to be heard over the music. She turns her head over her shoulder and looks at me reluctantly. Everything inside of me is pushing me to go to her, to grab her and hug her and kiss her and beg her to join me in erasing the past—letting us start fresh.

I need to see you again,
I think
.
“See you around?”

She nods detachedly and disappears into the crowd.

Though things could have gone a lot better, they also could have gone a lot worse. At least she didn’t bolt away from me instantly. That’s progress.

“Where did Sawyer go?” I turn at the sharp voice to see Alix. Though we’ve crossed paths occasionally over the last few years, we’ve done our best to avoid each other as much as possible; me, because of my shame for disappearing without a trace, and her, because she obviously hates me. Most likely more than Sawyer does, if that’s possible.

“What did you do, Preston?” She jabs my chest with her pointy little finger, a pinprick to my sternum. “I leave her alone for
five
minutes—
five freaking minutes
—and you somehow run her off in less than that.” I open my mouth to speak, but she doesn’t give me the option. “Do you realize how long it took me to convince her to finally get out of the house? Ugh! She doesn’t need you making this any harder than it already is. She’s trying to heal from losing her
husband
, Dean, and I barely pulled her out of that dark ugly hole. She’s scarcely on the rise, and all you’ll do is make things worse. So leave her alone, or so help me, I’ll make sure she never forgives you.”

Before I get a chance to defend myself, she’s already stalking away.

Yup. Alix sure hasn’t changed.

“Was that Alix?” Lily appears by my side with a Coke and cotton candy in either hand.
 

“Yeah.”

She nods and takes a sip of the Coke. “She was in true Alix form. What did you do? She was chewing you a new one.”

“I said hi to Sawyer.”

Lily chokes on her drink. “Sawyer was here?”