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“So you’re drunk most of the time?” Sawyer teased.
Fucking joked. And didn’t sound mean about it. I didn’t know how to respond to his tone.
“I was in real estate with my— Not big, high-end deals. Residential. New families. Sitcom shit.” Sawyer’s tone was smooth and cold, but covering a stronger emotion. “He lef— Died. He died. I was numb for months after, and then it hit me and I just— I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Fuck that.”
He was self-editing so much that he wasn’t telling me much of anything, but I didn’t see a benefit to pointing that out.
“I married Grace—my ex-wife—because Evie enlisted.” I’d never phrased it out loud that way before. The thoughts were there, but not pieced together so cleanly. Fuck.
“Poor baby had to share his woman with the world even though he never grew big enough balls to tell her how she felt before she left.”
And now we were back to this. Hurray. “Were you born an asshole, or do you have to work at it?”
“Last night I found out that my father’s been fucking my brother’s wife, so I’m pretty sure it’s genetic.” Sawyer moved on to the third glass.
Wow. Fuck me. “You win. Your life is way more fucked up than mine.”
“Should’ve pegged you for a Deadpool fan.”
“What does that make you if you got the reference?”
“At least as weird as you.”
I couldn’t argue that. Or I didn’t want to. “I married so young.” Apparently I still wanted to talk about this, despite it being a bad idea. “I thought as time passed, some of the doubts—all of the doubts would go away—but I never got rid of that question… Did I let the right one get away?”
“If you could tell eighteen-year-old you anything, what would it be?” Sawyer asked.
Where did that come from? “Really?”
“No. I asked for my health. Yes, really.”
“Back then—both when I got married and when I got divorced—I figured if I just had the answers… if I knew what came next… I wouldn’t make so many stupid mistakes. I’ve thought variations on that so many times over the years.”
“That’s not an answer.” Sawyer stuffed another fry in his mouth.
No, it wasn’t. But that was the point—I used to think I needed all the answers, and I really didn’t. If I put that into words, would he understand? Did I fully understand?
Why was I drinking with this man, anyway? This was becoming a dangerous slope to understanding each other. Did I want that?
21
Sawyer
I was enjoying this, and I didn’t know how I felt about that. Gage made a decent plate of breakfast nachos, the beer was good, and his company wasn’t bad either.
I was a little annoyed he hadn’t answered my question, but not nearly as bothered as I was letting him think. “Horny teenage Gage— What would you tell him?”
“I’m getting there.” He gave me an infuriatingly wry grin. “I’d tell teenage me that life is better when you get to discover it along the way. Sure, sometimes it hurts to fuck up, and sometimes it feels like your heart is being ripped out and you’re never going to survive… But in the end, life is as much about the discovery as anything. Knowing what comes next ruins the fun.”
“That’s it. You’ve stopped making sense. I’m cutting you off.” I slid his drink flight away from him.
Gage tugged the tray back to himself. “If you don’t understand, I’m not the one who needs to be cut off.”
The problem was, I did understand. It all made perfect sense, including that burst of wanting to know. I’d played that game too many times with my memories of Tony. What if I could’ve… But I wasn’t drunk enough to admit that. “Next flavor.”
Gage raised his brows, but picked up the third glass. “You’ll like this one. It starts bitter, but it moves to smooth and rich quickly.”
“Cute.” According to what Gage said earlier, this was the chocolate porter. This was where I should excuse myself and leave. Two beers, and I was still in control. If I kept going, I was going to slip and say something I regretted.
