From the writer of Sweet Spot, comes the sequel of two familiar characters you already saw coming.
Harper Davis has many titles: marketing connoisseur, almost-lawyer, disappointment to parents, and most importantly: liar. Big. Fat. Liar. But what el...
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"Sawyer," my voice wobbles with panic. I take a step toward him. "Please."
I've never seen him look at me like that. I've never seen that kind of hurt and anger shining through his eyes. Not when they've only ever looked at me with so much love and kindness—things I didn't even know I took for granted until this moment. The moment I'm about to lose all of it.
"Sy," Jenny whispers again. Her face crumples. "Tell me she's lying. Tell me this is a misunderstanding. Please say something."
"How can you even say that, Mom?" Audrey scowls but I see the fear in her eyes too. "Of course she's lying. We barely know her. Sy would never lie to us!"
But Sawyer still won't look at them. He won't take his eyes off me. I would love it if I couldn't see the hate in them.
"Sawyer," I try again and take another step toward him. My chest heaves and I start to lose grasp of my lungs. "Please let me explain."
He still doesn't say anything. I want him to react, even if it means yelling at me or accusing me of whatever any sane person would do in this situation. I know how this looks. I know the things he's probably thinking. That I went behind his back and told my mother the truth about him. That I broke his trust.
Instead of acknowledging all that, acknowledging me, he finally breaks hold of our stare. The expression on his face grows solemn when he finds the entire venue looking at him like he's the act of the hour. My heart sinks even further.
"Come on," he finally says in a quiet and gruff voice. But not to me. To Jenny and Audrey who are still watching him eagerly for answers. "Let's go to the car."
My stomach drops and I strangle out, "You're leaving?"
Nothing. No final look. No reply.
He just guides his family away and leaves me to watch his retreating back as my heart tears itself into pieces. I feel every slice like a war wound, deep and inflicting pain that I'll probably remember forever. Nothing has ever hurt like this before. Absolutely nothing.
So I do the only thing I can do as a human—look for somewhere to place the blame so I don't have to feel accountability for the situation either.
"What is wrong with you?" I throw my mother's way through gritted teeth.
I've never taken this tone with her before but I'll be damned if even after all that, I'm going to play the part of a blindingly respectful and dutiful daughter. She doesn't deserve that right now. Not after what she did. And for once she needs to realize that.
I don't want to say more with everyone around. Our audience is torn between watching Sawyer walk away and mine and my mother's ongoing battle. Embarrassment and pure shame force my legs to move and take me out of here.
I catch a glimpse of those watching me—my friends, my father, who I didn't even know was here and didn't bother stepping in as usual—all watching me with wary and confused and sympathetic expressions.
