Page 90 of The Space Between Heartbeats
My eyes find Moretti first. He’s at a table in the middle, one of his men beside him, with that calculating expression on his face like always.
Then I find Sawyer.
She’s sitting at that back table, her mother’s arm around her shoulders, and she’s already crying. Not the polite, dabbing at your eyes crying that everyone else is doing. Real tears, streaming down her face, her hand pressed to her mouth, trying to hold it back.
Was it my father’s words that got her? Or just this whole fucking situation?
I clear my throat, about to open my mouth and say something about Owen’s spirit living on and how we’ll honor his memory. Some bullshit that my father would approve and Owen would bust my balls about. But then Sawyer moves her hand and the light catches the diamond on her finger…on her left hand.
She’s wearing his ring.
She’s stuck in the back of the room, practically the corner, crying alone, while all these other motherfuckers sit front and center and she’s wearing the goddamn ring he never had the chance to give her.
I don’t know why she’s wearing it…what possessed her to think that would be a good idea, but I don’t fucking care.
Something breaks inside my chest and the words spill out.
“My brother was going to propose the day he died.”
It’s like the volume on the mic increases tenfold. People shift uncomfortably. My father’s face goes rigid.
But I don’t stop.
“Owen bought a ring. He made all the plans. He was going to ask Sawyer Thorne to marry him.” I point toward her table, and every head in the tent turns to look at her. “He loved her. More than any of you knew. More than most of you cared to acknowledge.”
“Knox—” my father warns in a low growl.
Fuck him.
“And right now, she’s sitting in the back of this tent like she doesn’t belong here. Like she wasn’t about to become part of this family.” I raise my voice. “Like she didn’t lose the person she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with.”
I step away from the podium, walking toward Sawyer’s table. People are murmuring now, confused and uncomfortable. I don’t give a shit.
Sawyer’s eyes go wide as I approach. “Knox, what are you doing?”
“Come here,” I say, taking her hand and pulling her into me. She feels so perfect against my chest. It only spurs me on.
She tries to fight me, but her attempt is feeble, as I lead us back to my table. I turn to some cousin I barely know, who’s only here for the free food. “Move.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said move. You didn’t know Owen. You’d see him once a year at Christmas. Move.”
He scrambles to his feet, grabbing his plate, clearly uncomfortable but not willing to make a scene.
I turn back to Sawyer. “Sit.”
“Knox, I can’t—” She’s shaking her head, tears still streaming.
“Yes, you can.” I pull out her chair. “You belong at the family table.”
She sits reluctantly, glancing around at all the staring faces.
“This is Sawyer Thorne,” I say, my voice carrying without the mic. “Owen loved her. She was going to be his wife. If you want to know Owen, truly know him, then take a look at this beautiful woman right here. And give her the fucking respect she deserves.”
My father’s face is purple from holding back his rage. My mother’s wine glass stops midway to her lips. Hailey’s mouth is hanging open, but there’s a glint in her eyes. Good. They need to hear this, damn the consequences.
I go back to the podium and pick up the mic. I should finish whatever the hell I was supposed to say. Appease my father and the masses.
