Page 102 of Faux Real
“Thanks for the ride,” I say, slamming the passenger door shut. Sawyer awkwardly shifts his weight, shuffling the gravel driveway with his shoes as he looks into the distance. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah—” He clears his throat, finally meeting my gaze, his blue eyes glistening from the porch lights. “Well actually, no, I’m uh— I’ve been thinking and—”
Oh no. I know that look. I’ve seen it. I fell in love with it.
Please don’t ruin this.
“Sawyer, don’t,” I whisper, slightly shaking my head. “Please don’t.”
He frowns. “Don’t what?”
“You know what,” I say, unable to look at him. “Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.”
“I miss you, KC,” he admits, his words like a giant wave crashing over my body. “I really do.” He gestures at the car. “I miss driving around with you and listening to shitty music.” He takes a step toward me, a gentle smile on his face as he flicks a piece of chocolate off the corner of my lips. “I miss watching you devour your weight in 3 Musketeers bars.” His hand stays on my face as he whispers, “I miss it all.”
Shit.
Maybe we can’t be friends.
“Sawyer—” I place my hand on his, lowering it slowly. “I saydon’tfor a reason.”
“You don’t miss me?” he asks, his face falling. “Not even a little?”
“I do miss you but—” I bite my lip. “I don’t think I miss you in the same way you miss me.”
“Right.” He nods, running a hand against the back of his head. “Right.”
“Plus,” I add cautiously, “You’re with Corrine,remember?”
“Yeah, I know but it’s just...she’s not—” He sighs, closing his eyes. “She’s not you.”
“No, she’s not,” I agree, sucking in a small breath and pushing my ego aside. “But she loves you, Sawyer. And you love her too...right?”
He swallows, looking over my shoulder as he thinks. A little too long.
“Sawyer?”
“Yeah?” he asks, glancing at me with heartbreakingly sad eyes.
“I know it’s not my place to meddle in your relationship but maybe you should figure that answer out sooner rather than later,” I say, my own heart starting to hurt. “Because faking something... it doesn’t make it real. Trust me.”
He narrows his eyes. “What are you—”
“I’m just saying, be honest with what you want,” I quickly add. “Because otherwise, someone’s going to get hurt.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, jaw locking. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I feel like a jackass right now.”
“I mean, Ididsaydon’tsay anything,” I note in a semi-playful tone, hoping it’ll cut through the super uncomfy tension in the air. “You should listen to me more often.”
“You’re right.” He lets out a lifeless chuckle, shaking his head. “Somehow, you’re always right.”
“I know,” I smile cheekily. “It’s a curse.”
“Well, I guess I’ll get going now.” Sawyer takes a deep breath as the front door of the house my mother is staying in creaks open. We crane our heads, my heart suddenly thumping in my chest. “You gonna be, okay?”
“I think so,” I mutter as my mom pokes her head out of the door, and twelve years of memories flood my brain. All beautiful. All soothing. All comforting. “Oh, God.”
“Kennedy?” Mom calls out, tightening her beige cardigan as she steps onto the porch. “Is that you?”
