A Song For Rory. Cerella Sechrist
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made a face.
“Okay, round one to Rory.”
She didn’t reply, simply tapped a finger on her hip, pretending to tick off the seconds—though she was really just waiting to hear what he’d say next.
“Please stop that.”
She ignored him. He groaned.
“Fine. Listen. I’m sorry. I was a jerk. I was selfish and inconsiderate, and maybe a little bit dazzled by the idea of my name in lights.”
“A little bit?”
He looked at her, managing to catch her eyes with his so that she couldn’t look away.
“I don’t know how else to say it except that I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did—you didn’t deserve that. I’ve missed you.”
Her heart began to pick up speed.
“You’re unhappy?”
He hesitated. “No,” he admitted. “I can’t say that I’m unhappy. I...love what I’m doing. I love performing, and I’ve gotten to travel the world. It’s—” he drew a deep breath “—it’s everything I ever dreamed.”
Her heart continued racing, but this time in anger.
“You came all this way to tell me that? ‘I’m sorry, Rory,’” she said, mimicking him, “‘but really, my life’s great now. Just thought you should know.’”
She grunted in disgust and turned away from him, stomping down the boardwalk. She passed an elderly couple seated on a bench and only barely registered their frowns of disapproval. She wrapped her arms tightly around her midsection, holding herself together or holding back her fury, she wasn’t sure which. Seconds later, she heard the soft thump of Sawyer’s footsteps behind her, trying to catch up.
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“You’ve said enough.”
“But I haven’t told you the most important part.”
She almost stumbled in hesitation, but righted herself and took two more steps before he spoke again.
“You didn’t let me say that it hasn’t been worth it.”
She stopped abruptly, and he ran into her from behind so that she staggered forward. The next thing she knew, his hands were around her waist, keeping her from falling. For a moment, just the span of a heartbeat or two, she let him hold onto her and savored the memory of his embrace. But by the count of three, she came to her senses and pushed him away.
“Don’t touch me.” She whirled on him. “Don’t you touch me.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He backed up, hands in the air. He looked pained.
“I didn’t come back to rub things in. I know I’m not the best guy, but do you really think I’m that cruel?”
She shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the question. As much as she’d tried to vilify Sawyer in her mind over the last couple of years, she didn’t know if she could call him cruel. Selfish, yes. Insensitive, sure. But cruel? No, he’d never been that. The man who had cradled her in his arms the night she’d lost her father was not mean. But even so, he’d broken her heart, and while he might not have done it out of cruelty, his selfishness had wounded her just the same. Just because he was ready to make amends didn’t mean she was ready to let him.
“Why now?” she asked him.
Sawyer hesitated, his eyes flickering with some emotion she didn’t recognize. Guilt? Embarrassment? Whatever it was, she pushed the question to find out.
“After two years of complete and utter silence, why did you come back now?”
“Because I missed you.”
She wanted to believe him, but something didn’t ring true. He wanted something from her, something that went beyond simply missing her and wanting her back in his life.
“A lot may have changed between us in two years, Sawyer, but I can still tell when you’re holding something back.”
He tugged at the baseball cap, a sign of his discomfort. “I’m telling you the truth. I miss you, Rory. More than you can imagine. I think about you all the time. There are nights when I toss and turn because my dreams are full of you and how I let you go. Some days, I forget to eat because my stomach is in knots, wondering what you’re doing, worrying that you’ll move on and find somebody else. I try to write music, but the words won’t come to me because I don’t have you there to tell me which lyrics are good. Sometimes, I can’t even—”
“Wait, back up.”
Sawyer stopped speaking as she held up a hand, but his mouth remained open as he registered her words.
“You’re having a hard time composing music?”
His jaw snapped closed, and he looked almost guilty.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” She began pacing, her steps trying to keep rhythm with her racing heart. “You’re blocked. That’s what all this is about. You’re feeling the pressure to top your first album, and you don’t have anything to write about.”
“Rory, that’s not it.”
She couldn’t even look at him. Because if she did, she might be foolish enough to believe his protests.
“It makes sense you’d come back now. You’re probably due for some studio time, am I right?”
When he remained silent, she had her answer. She found the courage to stop moving and turn her attention on him.
“You thought you could come back here and have some sort of...what, summer fling with me? To kick-start your creativity?”
He appeared offended by the suggestion but a little embarrassed, too. Which only proved her point.
Sawyer hadn’t come back to Findlay Roads because he loved her, because he missed her. He’d come back because he needed a muse. This realization drained the last of her anger and left her feeling sad and tired.
“I really need to get back to work.”
“Rory.”
He stepped toward her, but she automatically took a step back. The hurt in his expression was like a knife to the chest, but she steeled herself against it.
“I’m not here because I need to write new songs. I’m here for you.”
“But it’s not that simple, is it?” she countered, her voice flat.
He conceded with a nod, and for some reason, it felt a little too much like surrender on his part. Was he really giving up so easily? She shook her head, confused. Shouldn’t she want him to give up? To go back to Nashville and leave her in peace?
“I really do need to get back to the restaurant.” Connor was probably worried about her, plus she didn’t like asking her coworkers to pick up her slack.
Sawyer sighed. “Okay. Then is there another time we could talk? There’s some stuff I’d really like to get off my chest.”
She bristled. Not only did he need a muse, but he also wanted her to be his confessor? Nearly two years without a word, and now he was asking her to find time for him to unburden his guilt? Well, maybe she’d show him what it felt like to be humiliated and abandoned.
“Fine then. How about tomorrow?” she offered, keeping her tone cool. “You can stop by the restaurant in the afternoon, before the dinner rush. That’s when I normally get my break.”
Sawyer brightened considerably, and she felt a twinge of guilt. She’d just outright lied to him. She wasn’t scheduled to work tomorrow.
“You don’t think Connor will mind?”
“Leave Connor to me.”