Page 71 of The Space Between Heartbeats
His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I wasn’t going to touch you.”
“Yes, you were. And I can’t. We can’t.”
“I know.”
But he’s looking at me like he wants to cross the three feet of space between us and finish what we started at the park. Like he’s fighting the same war I am, knowing what’s right and wanting the complete opposite.
The air is thick with unsaid thoughts. My heart pounds so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Knox.” His name sounds like a plea from my lips. I don’t even fucking know what I want to say. What I want to do.
He takes one step toward me. Just one. But it’s enough to make my knees weak.
“Tell me to leave,” he says. “Tell me to walk out that door and never come back.”
I should. God, I should.
My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
He takes another step. We’re close enough now that I can see the fast rise and fall of his chest. That I catch the scent of his body wash, clean and crisp and intoxicating.
“Sawyer.”
I sway forward unconsciously, my body betraying me, and his hand comes up to cup my jaw, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. My breath hitches, and I want more. I want to be close enough that I can breathe him in.
“Honey, I might make some iced tea. You want some?”
Mom’s voice has me jumping back a step. I’d forgotten she was here. Why does this happen every time I’m near him?
Knox realizes too and backs up so fast he almost trips over his own feet. I press my palms to my flushed cheeks, trying to cool the heat I know is written all over my face.
“I should go,” he mutters, turning to leave.
“Yeah.”
Mom appears in the doorway to the kitchen just as Knox disappears into the darkening driveway. She looks between us, and this time I can read her expression perfectly.
She knows something happened. Maybe not what, but something.
“Thank you for stopping by, Knox,” she calls to his retreating frame. “Please let us know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Helen.” He glances at me one more time, something desperate and dark flashing in his eyes, before he pulls his car door open.
Mom shuts the front door just as a fuzzy moth flies inside, pinging into the overhead light fixture. She crosses her arms, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “What was all that?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Sawyer—”
“I’m going back to bed.” I’m already moving toward my bedroom, needing to escape before she can see the guilt written all over my face. Before she can ask the questions I can’t answer.
Locking the door behind me, I take in the space…Owen’s phone plugged in, his luggage still in the corner, clothesscattered around it, the ring box on the bed. I can’t let Mom know about that, or she’ll lose it. Did Victoria and Richard know? I’m assuming they did if he was going to do it at a family dinner. But maybe not? Owen did always love a good surprise.
I sink onto the bed and pull my knees up to my chest, staring at the moving images on the TV but not absorbing any of it. After a few minutes, I hear a car pull up again, and my stomach flutters, hope and dread tangling together. But then I remember it’s just the pizza delivery person. It’s not him.
Mom opens the front door and murmurs something before locking up. I can smell the pizza drifting into my room. My stomach growls but the thought of putting food into my mouth, chewing, and swallowing seems too exhausting to muster.
I flop down on my back and throw Owen’s pillow over my face to inhale his lingering scent. I wish it calmed me, but if anything, I’m only more restless. Huffing, I get up and sit next to his luggage, taking each piece of clothing out, picturing the last moments I saw him wearing them, before folding them neatly and putting them away. Somehow I’m able to complete the task without breaking down. Maybe I’ve cried all the moisture out of my body?
