Page 35

Chapter 35

Sawyer

For a long time, she stared at the closed door, half expecting McCoy to walk back in. And for just as long, she stared at that door, half expecting her feet to move on their own and run after her. Neither happened. Sawyer folded her arms across her midsection, pressing her lips together in a tight grimace.

“You can come out now.”

Bree appeared before her moments later from the direction of the living room with a sheepish look on her young face. Together, they returned to the kitchen, Sawyer sitting down at the island while Bree nuked her untouched breakfast.

“How’d you know I was listening in?” Bree set the bowl of porridge down in front of Sawyer, followed by a spoon and milk.

“You weren’t as sneaky as you thought growing up, and you’re still just as curious.” Sawyer gave her a wan smile, picking up her spoon. “Thank you, darling.”

“ Maman , Coy loves you,” Bree said, hands on her hips now. She blew out a frustrated breath, a wayward strand of brown hair blowing off her face in the process. It was such a familiar gesture to Sawyer that she almost smiled.

Sawyer stirred the porridge, quietly replying, “McCoy has never been in a relationship before. She’s never had to work very hard for someone’s attention. It might seem like she loves me, but I doubt—”

“I can’t believe you’re gaslighting her right now. You, of all people.” Bree shook her head and snorted, looking nonplussed. “How utterly audacious of you. Papa would be proud.”

Sawyer sucked in a breath, Bree’s words acting like a knife to her already tremulous gut. Her spoon clattered to the counter. “ Esti . Why would you say that? Mon amour , you have no idea. None whatsoever.”

“I know Papa was mean to you. He may not have hit you, not that I saw, but loveless words and abandonment go a long way,” Bree tearfully proclaimed. She clasped her hand over Sawyer’s arm, prying Sawyer’s blurry gaze from the countertop to her daughter’s. “I know that when Papa was drunk, he’d blame you for Brian’s death.”

“Bree Sophia.” Sawyer gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth.

A massive ball lodged itself in her throat. It was a struggle to make anything out behind the well of tears, so Sawyer turned her face away from Bree and let them fall. Dizziness overcame her, and for a second, she thought she might be sick. Burying her face in her shaking hands, faint images of a stillborn Brian fluttered through her memory like wings on a moth. Colorless and disappearing from her reach far too fast.

Muffled sobs filled the kitchen. Sawyer wasn’t sure if it was her or Bree, perhaps both. Arms wrapped around her, holding her for all she was worth, and then Bree’s voice was hoarse against Sawyer’s ear.

“Je suis désolée, Maman. Tellement désolée.”

“You don’t know …” Sawyer whispered brokenly.

“I know it wasn’t your fault.”

But it was. Just like Olivier loved to remind her. It was her fault. If only she had taken better care … if she had rested more … fought with Olivier less …

“I shouldn’t have brought that up,” Bree sniffled. “I was wrong to do so. I just wanted you to see that Coy is nothing like Papa. Let her in, Maman . Let her love you. Let her help heal some of the broken inside you.”

“Bree …”

Bree pulled away, and fresh tears pooled in Sawyer’s eyes as her daughter cupped her cheek with one hand. She placed the other palm up over Sawyer’s heart. “You’re a force to be reckoned with. Everyone knows that. But only I know what’s really in here, hidden from the world. Not even Cindy and Lori know all of you because you hold them at arm’s length. Tu n’es pas fatigué, Maman ?”

Sawyer swallowed, blinking past more tears. She nodded. “ Tellement, mon amour. ” Tired was an understatement. Life was exhausting … but mostly, she was tired of running from it. I don’t know how to stop.

“You can start by showing up on Coy’s doorstep and apologizing,” Bree surprised Sawyer by saying. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken those thoughts aloud.

“Let’s say you’re right, and Coy doesn’t actually love you.” Bree shot Sawyer a speculative look. “Maybe it’s lust. How will it grow into anything more if you don’t give her a chance?”

“Hmm,” Sawyer hummed, noncommittal. She wiped her eyes, picking up her spoon again. Bree made more coffee as she ate. The porridge was cold but delicious. I’ll have to let McCoy know.

“For the record, I think you’re wrong.”

“Hmm. Maybe.” Was it possible to genuinely fall in love with someone over the course of a few months?

Sawyer needed to find out.

Three hours later, Sawyer realized she didn’t remember McCoy’s address. She didn’t know Greg Miller’s address either, or even if McCoy was truly there. It was Sunday, so the shop was closed, but would McCoy go there if she was upset to tinker on a car? It bothered Sawyer that she didn’t know. She prided herself in learning every nuance there was to someone, especially since she’d permitted McCoy to discover such an intimate piece of her.

I slept with a woman, Sawyer marveled for the umpteenth time. She slowed her Range Rover down for a red light. Was she being rash again, hunting McCoy down throughout the city? It would be simple to just call the younger woman or send a text, but each time Sawyer tried, nothing came out. To put everything she felt into words seemed as daunting as it was proving impossible.

“I had sex with McCoy,” Sawyer said into the silence of the Rover. It was difficult to bask in the pure enjoyment of the act when she was so humiliated over not climaxing. Was sex supposed to feel so out of control? Sawyer thrived on discipline. Every single moment with Olivier had been on his terms, but one thing he could never command had been her lack of response to him. With McCoy, Sawyer had become lost in wanton desire for the first time, and it had been terrifying.

“Turn right onto Davie Street,” directed the SUV’s GPS. “Your destination will be on the right.”

“Okay,” Sawyer breathed. Moments later, she parked a few doors down from O’Rourke’s Pub. “God, what am I doing?” If anyone knew the address to McCoy’s place, she figured they’d be here. Perhaps Sloane was working, or Frankie. So much had happened that it was hard to believe Sawyer’s date night with McCoy had been just last night.

The pub was busy with their noontime rush when Sawyer entered, so she asked the first server she spotted if Sloane was working. “What about Frankie? Is she in?” Sawyer asked when she learned Sloane was off today as well. Is it a Miller tradition to keep Sundays work-free? If so, it was no wonder McCoy got annoyed that time Sawyer insisted she come in.

The server pointed down the short hallway off the side of the bar, “In her office, the last door on the left.”

“Thank you,” Sawyer replied, before heading in that direction. The office door was closed when she arrived, and Sawyer squared her shoulders, taking a deep, encouraging breath before knocking.

“Come in,” came Frankie’s low, almost sultry, voice.

Tabarnak , Sawyer thought with a shiver. If Frankie’s voice gave her goosebumps, then she could just imagine what it’d done to McCoy in the past. Ugh, don’t think about that.

“Sawyer, what a surprise,” Frankie said when Sawyer opened the door. She stood from her desk, gesturing to Sawyer. “Please, come in.”

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” Sawyer began, taking in the attractive, pin-stripe white suit Frankie had on. If memory served, she’d been wearing a different suit the night before. “I was hoping you could give me McCoy’s address. I want to surprise her and can’t remember the exact street in Richmond.”

“She’s not home. Shut the door. Let’s have a chat.”

Sawyer blew out a breath, and as she shut the office door, she said, “I don’t have time—”

“McCoy is upstairs. In my apartment.”

“—for a chat,” Sawyer finished slowly. Frankie’s statement sunk in, and she narrowed her gaze on the other woman. “What did you say?”

“No need for jealousy.” Frankie waved the idea off with a flick of her wrist. She sat back down, gesturing to Sawyer to do the same, and then crossed one thigh over the other. Her confidence as she controlled a room was breathtaking to watch. “I’ve known McCoy a long time, Sawyer. Though some might say it was just about sex, they wouldn’t have a fucking clue what it’s like in a Domme/sub dynamic.”

Sawyer frowned further. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m who McCoy turns to when she’s feeling vulnerable.” Frankie shrugged, studying Sawyer from across the room. “I was her Domme, and I promised to protect her wellbeing.”

“You aren’t her Domme now,” Sawyer said tightly.

Frankie smiled. Smiled , and Sawyer had the strongest urge to slap it off her face. “I can see why she’s so entranced with you. Have you noticed yet that McCoy is a bit of a chameleon around others? Maybe not, since you’re just discovering one another, but if you pay attention, you’ll see she acts differently depending on who she’s with. With her friend group, “The Fab Five” as they call it, McCoy is the funny one. With her friend Naz, she blends in to be part of “the guys” even though she hates smoking cigars. Sloane brings out the mother hen in her, and out there—” Frankie paused to point outside to her pub, “—she was the player. For years, I watched her flirt with others and lead them to the washroom or out the front door.”

Why is she telling me this? Sawyer tensed. She knew McCoy wasn’t like that, at least not with her. Was this Frankie’s way of steering Sawyer away from her? She opened her mouth to put a stop to the conversation when Frankie held up a finger in a “just a minute” gesture.

“And then up there”—Frankie pointed to the ceiling—“behind closed doors, McCoy can just be. No pretense, no judgment, as vulnerable as she needs to be. I noticed something last night though, Sawyer. McCoy is all of those things with you. It’s kind of incredible to witness. Her eyes never wander far from you. She makes you laugh, fusses over you. From what Sloane told me, you protected McCoy. So why is she moping on my sofa right now?”

“You love her.”

Frankie hesitated and looked away. “Not in the way you think.”

“How could you not? McCoy is …” Everything , Sawyer almost said. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, holding the words in.

“McCoy never once gave up anything to be with me. Not like she’s done with you,” Frankie explained, her voice raspier now. “I kept waiting for the hookups to stop, and then maybe I would have … but it never happened. Now I know why. McCoy was never meant to be mine, Sawyer.”

“Yes, well.” Sawyer cleared her throat, turning toward the door once more. She was over the threshold when she thought to add, “You might ask yourself, Frankie, what were you willing to give up to be with her? I’ve chosen. Maybe next time, with someone else, you will, too.”