Page 69 of The Space Between Heartbeats
I’ve been curled up in bed, the door locked and cable TV on for background noise. Some rerun of Law and Order that I couldn’t care less about. I just needed something to muffle my cries so Mom doesn’t try to burst in again.
I’ve been this way since driving Owen’s car back here this afternoon. Crying on and off, feeling like the absolute worst person in existence. Every time I pick up the ring box, I feel like vomiting. I probably would if my stomach wasn’t completely empty. Instead, I dry heave, choking on tears and mucus, and wishing I could blink and take it all back.
The accident. The kiss. Not answering when he called. Hell, even the years of back and forth between the three of us.
All of it.
Owen’s phone sits on my nightstand, plugged into his charger. It took forever to come to life with the battery completely drained. When it finally powered on, the notifications started rolling in. Dozens of missed calls. Text messages. Voicemails I can’t bring myself to listen to yet.
I reach for it now, my hands shaking as I type in his passcode. I’m not even sure why I feel the need to look through it. Probably just to feel close to him again. Maybe to remind myself that whatwe had was real, that he loved me and I loved him, and his phone might be the last piece of him to hold those memories.
His wallpaper is a photo of us from December when we took the train from Ashford into the city to see the tree. We’re all bundled up, smiling although there were crowds of people all around us. His arm is around my shoulder, pulling me in close, and behind us stands the Rockefeller Center tree with its thousands of twinkling lights. We look so happy. So normal. Like nothing could ever go wrong.
That day was perfect. Even with me spilling hot chocolate down my shirt, and him stepping in a questionable puddle while walking onto the subway platform. We froze our asses off and braved crowds of tourists, but none of that mattered. It was one of those days that made me happy to have chosen a life with Owen.
My throat tightens as I open the photo app. I must be a glutton for punishment because the second I look at the sheer number of photos, I have to put it down and collect myself. There are hundreds of them, thousands probably, going back at least five years.
When I work up the nerve again, I scroll through the most recent ones. The first is a selfie of the two of us at Wonder World. Now that I see it, I remember him taking it near the ring toss booth. My eyes sting but I keep going. More from Wonder World—a selfie of him and Ella in front of the Big Top Cafe, his arm around her and both of them beaming. That must have been when Knox cornered me outside the restrooms. There’s another of Ella and I walking ahead of him. When I zoom in, I realize how tense I looked, how stiff.
I swipe past and find pictures of heart-shaped pancakes on a paper plate. I laugh despite the tears clogging my throat. There’s a few sunset shots in front of the cottage. A screenshot of a dumb meme. There’s a picture of me sleeping in his car on the way toLake Mercer. Candids from the last dinner party we went to with his coworkers.
I scroll back further, needing to put some distance between this trip and my memories with Owen. These are from a few months ago. I remember him posting some on Instagram. It was spring time, and I was working all weekend. He was at this bonfire at someone’s house, a whole group crowded around the flames. There’s Ella, laughing at something off camera. I didn’t realize she was there.
A soft knock at the door startles me, and I shove Owen’s phone under my pillow like I’ve been caught doing something wrong. I’ll have to examine the reasons why that was my instinct later.
“Sawyer?” Mom says through the door. “Honey, are you hungry? I was going to order some takeout. I’m thinking pizza. It’s the closest place around.”
“I’m fine,” I call back, my voice hoarse from crying.
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m not hungry.”
She pauses and I know she’s on the other side of the door, debating whether to push harder. Lucky for me, she relents.
“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind.”
Her footsteps fade and when I know she has to be back in the living room, I release a shaky breath and pull Owen’s phone back out from under the pillow.
But this time it feels like a brick in my hand. I don’t have it in me to keep looking. Not right now.
I set it back on the nightstand and pick up the ring box instead. Open it. Close it. Open it. The diamond catches the light from the TV, gleaming. It’s beautiful. As I look at it more, it really does remind me of Owen. It’s classic, thoughtful, and safe.
Everything Ishouldwant.
My lips still feel warm where Knox kissed me. I can still feel his hands on my waist, the way his fingers pressed into my skin like he was trying to memorize the shape of me. The way he groaned when I pulled him closer.
I snap the ring box shut and press my palms against my eyes.
This can’t happen again.
Those words came from my mouth. They echo in my mind, a promise more for myself than anything.
But I can still taste him.
The sound of tires on gravel pulls me from my spiral. I push myself up and peek through the curtains. It’s too soon for the delivery person to be here.
My heart lurches when I spot Knox’s Jeep. What the hell is he doing here?
