Then he walks out. He's as naked as I am.
Dumbfounded, I step under the spray, letting it beat down on me. The warmth presses into my skin, but on the inside I feel cold. Worry gnaws at my stomach. I turn off the water, towel-dry my hair, and dress. When I come out, Sawyer is clothed again. Two grilled cheese sandwiches sit on plates at the table.
Sawyer waits for me. He doesn't pick up his sandwich until I've sat and picked up mine. I take a bite. "You're just not going to tell me what made you upset enough to fuck me like that?"
His eyes cloud over with shame. "I would never hurt you on purpose."
"I know. But there was a different emotion to that than I've ever seen from you. Something has upset you, and it worries me that you're refusing to tell me what happened."
"I just…" His shoulders slump. "I can't tell you, Jessie."
"Because it would hurt me?"
He nods slowly.
I stand, the sandwich in my hand. "You already have." I pick up my plate, and before I've thought it through, it sails out of my hand at the wall. Right where my back landed earlier.
I go to my room and lock the door behind me.
31
Sawyer
Jessie was gonewhen I woke up this morning.
I feel terrible about last night. I didn't mean to hurt her. The second I heard the pain in her voice, I snapped out of the role I'd allowed myself to occupy.
I'd sunk down deep in my grief all afternoon until Jessie came home. And then I saw her, and even though I love her, I was overwhelmed by emotion.
And I can't tell her a damn word of it. Because I love her. I cannot shatter her world like mine has been. She can't know what her dad did. Even as frustrated as she gets with him, he is her hero. I won't be the one to take that away from her.
I have to come up with something. Some reason for the way I behaved last night. I'm going to have to find a way to continue on like I was before, without letting on how much I'm hurting. How angry I am.
But how? How can I stay with Jessie, given what I know of her father?
How can I leave? What could I ever say that will make sense to her?
The longer I think about it, the longer I’m certain this cannot end well. Not when all I want to do is pound on the front door of the homestead and confront Beau. I haven’t yet, for many reasons, one of which being I don’t trust myself to see him right now. I don’t have much of a temper, but given the right set of conditions, just about anybody can snap.
My dad has called three times this morning. He finally left a voice mail, asking me how I'm doing and pleading with me to stay calm and remember this all happened a long time ago. He has a twenty-plus year head start on moving past all this.
Is there a statute of limitations on lies and deceit? It's something I've been going over and over in my head, and I don't have an answer.
There are other answers I'm looking for, too. Ones that aren't subject to opinion. Something about the fact my mom was having an affair with Beau when she died is really rubbing me the wrong way, and not just for the obvious reason. Is there more to the story? It seems unlikely, but… what if?
It sounds insane, but what is insanity at this point anyway? I’m already out of my mind with shock. At this point, anything is possible.
Since waking up this morning, my thoughts have gone from red hot anger to something darker. Maybe it’s just grief cycling it’s way through me, but I’m the kind of person who needs to see something through once I have an idea.
Which is why I’m here. I open the front door of the police station and walk inside. The person at the front desk asks how they can help me.
"Sheriff Monroe, please?"
The guy picks up the phone, speaks in a hushed tone, then hangs up. "He'll be ready to see you in a few minutes."
A few minutes turns out to be twenty.
"You can go on back," the guy informs me, pointing to the office at the back of the station.
