The Fundamental Theory of Us (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, Sawyer called her phone service provider and asked them to block Chase’s number.

For all the good it would do. He’d just get another phone, and another, and another. He had unlimited funds and enough hate to fuel his constant need to remind Sawyer that he had something over her, something so awful even her mother and sister couldn’t—or was it
wouldn’t
?—believe.

She pottered around her apartment for a while, cleaning, then doing some homework. When he dropped her off at her door last night, Andrew asked if she wanted to train in the morning. Of course she said yes. She might never go back home for good, though she’d have to return for visits. For Courtney. She wouldn’t let Chase keep doing what he wanted. Next time, she’d be ready to stand up for herself, since no one else would do it for her.

At ten, Andrew knocked on her door. Sawyer grabbed her phone, then thought the better of it, and left it on the counter. Her cell was just one more thing tethering her to a life she left behind. To people who didn’t care. Not like Andrew. He had a strange alpha way of doing things, even if his heart was in the right place. Unlike her family.

Andrew stood in her doorway, his shirt clinging to his sculpted chest the way she wished she could let herself do. His gaze roamed over her body in her new fitted workout gear. “Ready to go?”

Behind him, Rosie danced on the floor, her tail wagging. Good. Sawyer wasn’t the only one excited for today.

She took his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Andrew worked her harder that day, which she asked for, and it stayed with her for the next few days. After evening classes, when they had time, he took her out again, until Sawyer ran the course in the dark by heart. He pushed her and she pushed herself. Her muscles ached, but every time she moved, she remembered the feeling of accomplishment, from climbing and jumping without pause to the definition building in her arms. She used to moan and grumble about pushing the baking carts filled with trays across the kitchen. Now she did it with ease.

The final class before the Thanksgiving holiday came and went in a blur. Normally the hours dragged on. Not this time. Last night, Sawyer packed her bag and Andrew put it in his truck with his. An intimate gesture, but really, they lived out of each other’s pockets since the first day he took her out on his course. And there was no doubt in her mind: they were dating now. He hadn’t kissed her properly yet, or made any moves for more. Then again, he
had
promised to take things slow—a promise she was grateful for.

When class ended, Sawyer packed her books in her bag and headed for her car. They were leaving this afternoon, making the drive to Andrew’s house, not his mom’s. Not yet. He warned her that he hadn’t been back to his place since before the start of school and there was only one bed. He said he would take the couch on the main floor, leaving her his bed. That wasn’t fair, or, to be honest, what she wanted. Especially when she trusted Andrew. He had every opportunity to turn on her like Chase had, and he held back. Not once did he push her for things she might not be ready for. Was she ready now? Sawyer didn’t have a clue. The thought of feeling Andrew’s body pressed up close, with nothing between them but skin and mingled breaths, it excited and frightened her in the same heartbeat.

Someday soon, she had to break away from her fears. She wanted a family—obviously not right now or even in two years from now, though maybe in the future. Of course, babies meant sex. She had to slay the dragons in her head before letting the knight into her life. Was Andrew that knight? Maybe. It was too soon to tell. She wouldn’t let him fight her battles for her.

At her apartment, Sawyer showered and dressed, and after, knocked on Andrew’s door. He and Rosie were ready to go, and soon, they were on the road. Closer to dinnertime, Andrew stopped at a drive-thru for a couple burgers. She held his for him while he drove, feeding him like a kid. At one point, in heavy traffic, she dabbed ketchup on the end of his nose, laughing like she hadn’t laughed in forever. He grinned, grabbed a fry, and scraped the ketchup off his nose. Rosie just lay on the back seat fast asleep for most of the drive.

Two hours later, they stopped at a corner store and stocked up on basics: eggs, milk, bread, butter, peanut butter and jam, a case of bottled water, and a giant bag of dog food. Andrew warned her that his place needed some TLC, and he drove the short distance from the store up a country road lined with tall trees in the dark. When he stopped, Sawyer peered through the windshield at a beautiful craftsman home with peeling paint, broken shutters, and the kind of old-fashioned wraparound porch she’d only seen in movies.

She jumped down from his truck, with Rosie on her heels, and stood in front of Andrew’s house, framed by a lush, wild lawn. The exterior of the house needed a thorough scrub and fresh coats of paint. The front bay windows were boarded up. Another set of windows above had broken shutters hanging at a precarious angle. She realized her mouth hung open and she snapped it shut.

Andrew came and stood beside her. Nervous energy flowed between them—his because he obviously wanted her to like his house, which she did, and hers, because they were really, truly alone out here.

“I know it’s not much to look at, but once I’ve had some time to get it fixed up—” Andrew shrugged.

In the distance, somewhere beyond the house, perhaps lost in a tangle of the dark woods, Rosie barked, like she was letting them know where she’d gone. A smile pulled at Sawyer’s lips. Her fears weren’t unfounded, though she had nothing to fear from Andrew.

“It’s fine,” Sawyer said.

Andrew’s shoulders dropped. “Wait ‘til you see the inside. Give me a few minutes to make sure it’s still safe.”

While he opened the door and checked the place out, Sawyer went back to the truck, grabbing the overnight and grocery bags, and hauled them up the front steps. Andrew must have brought bricks with him. Rosie’s dog food didn’t help matters. Probably should have taken a couple trips.

Sawyer stepped inside and gasped. The place needed a lot more than TLC. The floors were rough, all the crown molding and baseboards were missing. Someone had stripped this house bare on the inside, giving little care to how they left it. And there was so much stuff lying around, unopened paint cans, furniture pushed together with sheets draped over, building supplies and tools. The stairs had been restored, though, and she paused at the bottom step, admiring the shine on the wooden steps and the soft carpeting running down the middle.

Andrew suddenly appeared and relieved her of the groceries. “My house is a dump. I’m sorry.” He glanced around again. “Maybe we should go find a motel or something.”

“No way. You’re not spending money when you have a perfectly good house right here.”

“There’s nothing perfectly good about it,” he muttered.

“We’re staying right here.” Before she changed her mind, Sawyer yanked the overnight bags away from Andrew’s grasp and went up the stairs in search of the bedroom.

At the top of the stairs were three doors. One led to a bathroom with an old claw-footed tub, another, to an unfurnished bedroom. The third door opened into a light, airy room with nothing but a queen-sized bed and a single, rickety night stand inside.

Sawyer set the bags down on the end of the bed and turned, bumping into Andrew’s chest. His hands shot out to steady her, and he pulled her close, molding her body to his. He held her in a fierce grip and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he whispered.

“Thanks for pushing me to come.” She pulled away and looked up into his eyes. Andrew watched her with an intense heat she couldn’t decipher. She wasn’t sure exactly what she expected to see. The look he gave, so intense, so full of something, it made her hands shake.

Downstairs, Rosie bounded through the open front door and up the stairs in search of Andrew. Or so Sawyer thought. Rosie licked Sawyer’s hand first. Andrew laughed, calling Rosie a traitor, and Sawyer took the opportunity to escape downstairs. She was being silly. Andrew didn’t expect anything from her yet, not tonight. But … what if he did? What if he wanted what she wasn’t sure she was ready to give him?

Oh hell.

Sawyer went into the kitchen, hoping to find something to keep her busy. Andrew had already put everything away. Nothing to do there. They had dinner on the drive, so she didn’t have to try and cook anything until breakfast. She checked his stove—a wood burning stove—and hoped he didn’t plan on asking her to make breakfast.

Everything in his house seemed original, like nineteen-hundreds original, except the fridge, which was brand new. She left the kitchen, squeezing her fists, and shut the front door. Alone with Andrew. No one else around for, well, it could be miles, for all she knew! What had she been thinking, agreeing to this?

You weren’t thinking. You were looking at his eyes, and his body, and they made you stupid.

Sawyer shut her eyes and leaned against the wall. Sounds of Andrew and Rosie moving around upstairs filtered down. Soft shuffling—Andrew. Excited clicks of nails on the finished wood—Rosie.

What the hell am I doing?
Sawyer straightened and opened her eyes, taking in the downstairs. She couldn’t tell what was junk and what was being kept. She found a safe route through the jumble of stuff on the floors to an olive green couch that had seen better days, and after clearing a space to sit, she plopped down with a sigh. Her elbow brushed something and it clinked. Three bottles, one full and the others empty, of Scotch. The temptation was instant.

Sawyer grabbed the bottle, yanked it open, and took a swig.

Chapter Nineteen

Andrew took the stairs at a snail’s pace, listening for signs of Sawyer. She polished off his bottle of Glenlivet on pretty much an empty stomach and passed out on the couch.

When he came back inside to wash some grease off his hands, she wasn’t on the ground floor. He checked on her a few hours ago, found her tucked up in his bed, and went back outside to take some measurements. After that, he ended up chopping wood, working through his frustrations, until his arms ached and the axe fell from his grip.

At the top of the stairs, he paused with a hand on the frame of his open bedroom door. Warmth buzzed in his chest at the sight. Sawyer lay on her back with her hair spread out over the pillows. A few strands were tangled in her fist, wrapped so tight her knuckles turned snowy white. If he didn’t look at her face, he’d swear she slept peacefully—but her brows knotted and her lips turned down. Rosie was curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Tonight, Andrew planned on taking the couch downstairs, even though he’d be uncomfortable. For now, he sat beside Sawyer and brushed the hair from her cheek. She snatched his hand, her eyes flashing open. When she saw him, she relaxed her death grip and murmured something as she turned onto her side, pulling his arm closer. She tugged him again.

A second later, she said, “Lie down. You’re making me queasy.”

Andrew rested his head on the pillow, swung his good leg up first, and carefully pulled off the prosthesis, trying not to rock the bed too much or make any noise. He tucked his stump under the blanket so she wouldn’t see it. Sawyer wriggled closer and he noticed how chilled she was. He pulled the blankets higher on her shoulders and held her close, letting her absorb some of his excess heat.

“Andrew?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

She paused, her breath warm on his ear. “I drank your Scotch.”

A smile curled his lips in the dark. “I know.”

“I didn’t drink it all, though.”

“The bottle was empty.”

She giggled. “I spilled it. Your couch smells like booze.”

Andrew’s smile stretched wider.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Another pause. “I drink too much.”

He waited for her to continue.

“It’s not like I’m addicted to drinking, but—” She broke off with a soft groan. “I’m addicted to the way it dulls the pain.”

Andrew knew he probably wouldn’t get another opportunity like this. “Pain from what?”

Sawyer curled into his side and slowly worked her head onto his chest. Her hands rested on his stomach, her fingers tight on his shirt. “Family.”

“Ah.” Seemed a good enough reason to blur out the pain with alcohol.

“They think,” she began, then shook her head, her hair tickling his chin. “It doesn’t matter what they think. But
I
used to think their opinion mattered more than my own.”

Andrew snorted. “I hope you don’t feel that way now.”

He felt her shrug. “Maybe books and movies exist because that’s not real life.”

Talk about a one-eighty spin on the conversation. “I thought we were talking about family.”

“We were.” She sighed. “Family equals life. Life doesn’t equal the pretty fantasies in fiction.”

“I don’t know. I hear there are some pretty messed up books out there.” He found a handful of them in his sister’s room growing up. They started off in Hell and wound up all right in the end, though. Maybe that’s what she meant—not everyone got their Hollywood happy ending. “You might be right. It also sounds like you’re discounting happiness for
you
.”

He waited for a reply. Sawyer’s breathing slowed, her body still against him. She had fallen asleep. She trusted him in a way he doubted she trusted anyone else, and that made him smile. Andrew shut his eyes, listening to the sounds of his house settling for the night. The big oak outside his bedroom window swayed in the wind. A branch scratched the eaves. He smiled and held Sawyer tighter.

****

Sunlight streaming through the window stung his eyes through the lids. Andrew woke with a fuzzy head and aching muscles and a warm weight pressing down on his chest.

And pounding on the door. He sat up, knocking Sawyer onto the mattress. Who could be at the door? Not his mom—she promised no pop-ins. Colleen was laid up with her new baby. Nathan wouldn’t bother coming out here unless it was an emergency, and then he’d use the phone before pounding the door down.

Only one way to find out who’d come knocking. Andrew reached for his prosthetic leg at the same moment Sawyer propped herself up on the wall. He hadn’t gotten around to finding a headboard yet. Why decorate when no one saw the place? She mumbled, “Good morning,” as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. When she opened them fully, she saw his leg. Her eyes bulged.

Annoyed by her reaction, Andrew turned his back to her and shoved his stump unto the cup. “Sorry you had to see that.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder, a soft, reassuring touch. The pounding on the door intensified and she yanked away. “I didn’t know.”

Andrew paused. “You didn’t?”

She scooted beside him, her gaze glued to his leg. “No. All that running and jumping. Training that couple, and me. I mean, you’re practically a super hero.” Pink flashed across her cheeks.

He started to respond, but the knocking on the door drove him insane. Andrew squeezed her shoulder, then headed downstairs. Rosie was up and at the door, her tail wagging. Some guard dog she’d make. She licked the hand at his side as he pulled the ratty old curtains that came with the place away from the window. When he saw the tall, broad frame and light brown skin on a familiar face, Andrew tensed. He hadn’t expected this. Needed time to compose the shit storm in his head.

Sawyer clomped down the stairs and stood next to him. “Who is it?”

“Someone I didn’t expect to see again.” Andrew opened the door before he chickened out.

“Jesus, Warren. I’ve been knocking for like a fucking hour.”

“Hey, Josh.” Andrew held onto the doorframe in a white-knuckle grip. Joshua Evans was still tree-top tall, though he’d lost some of his bulk over the last year. He’d grown his hair out, too. “Didn’t hear you straight away.”

Josh’s frown melted when he spotted Sawyer. “Nah, I guess you didn’t, not with a pretty girl in your bed.”

Every muscle in his body grew taut at the remark. Andrew waited for Sawyer’s inevitable denial. It never came. She slid closer to him and looped her arm through his, her body pressed so close he could feel her hip bone.

Josh raised a brow when neither of them spoke. “Well, you gonna make me stand out here all morning? Or maybe do the neighborly thing and invite me in for coffee?”

“Coffee,” Andrew repeated. “Yeah, sure. Sorry, man. It’s just early.” He stepped aside to let Josh in, wondering if he even had coffee in the house.

Josh shut the door and introduced himself to Sawyer with all his usual flourish. Andrew kept searching his former CO’s face for signs of the scars he should have and found none. Plastic surgery? No, Josh wasn’t that kind of guy. He wore his scars with pride. Unless they were under his clothes.

“Sawyer Layne, huh?” Josh followed Sawyer into the kitchen where she opened and shut cupboards, pulled three mugs down, and started up the old wood stove to boil some water. “Like them richer than Croseus New York City Laynes with those clinics?”

Sawyer stiffened. With her back turned, Andrew couldn’t read her, but he read her agitation from the way she held her breath and lifted her shoulders up to her ears. “I wouldn’t know,” she said, locating a package of instant coffee in the pantry. “Not much of a news watcher.”

“Well, I’m sure if you were related to them, you’d know all about it. Anyhow.” Josh clapped his hands and turned his attention to Andrew. “You, buddy, owe me one.”

Here it comes
. Andrew had been waiting for this moment since he woke up in Germany minus a leg. Minus his best friend. Minus a purpose in life.

Rosie sauntered over to the wood stove and plonked herself down on the rough, hardwood floor. Crazy dog.

Harsh lines in Josh’s dark face melted. “Why’d you run away without an explanation, Warren? You owed me that much. Instead of manning up, you ran.”

Too surprised by Josh’s words and the softness in his voice, Andrew took a step back into the counter, bumping an unopened can of paint and roller brush. He expected a firestorm of anger. Cussing. Not this.

After setting a pot of water on the stove to boil, Sawyer skipped out of the room, saying she needed to use the restroom. She was giving him a moment alone with Josh. Silence stretched spider’s web thin between them. Wood in the stove crackled and the comforting scent of smoky fire filled the room, warming his soul.

Andrew knew what he had to do. Time to face the music. “I felt sorry for myself—I know I shouldn’t have, because better guys than me lost their lives, and I still had mine. I couldn’t sort out the shit in my head, so I took off.”

Josh nodded, the way he always did when the wheels of his brain were spinning, cogs locking into place and plans formulating. “You seem like you’re doing all right now, though.”

All right? He wouldn’t say
that
. Putting his shit on Josh after everything they had gone through together wasn’t right, either. “I’m getting there. Rosie helps.” Andrew motioned to the dog, fast asleep in her new favorite spot.

Josh lifted a black brow. “And Sawyer?”

He nodded. Whether she knew it or not, Sawyer helped. More than helped—she reminded him that, even in the darkest storm, the sun still shone. He just had to wait for the clouds to pass.

“But what about you?” Andrew shoved his hands in his pockets. “After the IED went off…”

Josh nodded. A few black curls bobbed. “I caught some shrapnel, Warren. That’s all. Whatever you heard, you heard wrong. It’s my heart that’s the problem. The reason I had to take medical discharge.”

“Your heart?” Andrew’s stomach tightened.

“Yeah. Some defect they didn’t notice before or something.” Josh waved a hand, dismissing further questions. “Tell me about your girl. Quick, before she comes back. Last I heard you were getting married to a bitchy redhead, now you got yourself a knockout blonde?”

Andrew smiled. “Miranda left when she heard about my leg. I met Sawyer at Appalachian University.”

Josh laughed as he stepped closer. “Concise, to the point. As always.” He slapped Andrew on the shoulder and that one action said everything they couldn’t voice. “So you and this Sawyer girl serious?”

Andrew glanced toward the kitchen door, expecting Sawyer back any minute. He didn’t hear rattling pipes, so she wasn’t in the shower. Knowing Sawyer, she’d shut herself in his bedroom to give him and Josh privacy to talk.

“So it’s like that.” Josh’s laughter filled the space.

“Like what?”

“New enough that you don’t want to screw it up.”

They had already been there and moved past his screw up—he hoped. “Sawyer’s … different.”
Special.

“I can see that. She reminds me of a deer.”

“A deer? Really? That’s so fucked up on so many levels, I don’t know where to begin.”

“Hear me out. You know when you’re close and you don’t spot the deer, but then you both see each other at the same moment, and the deer doesn’t move, thinking if it stays still you can’t see it? Then you move and it bolts? Well, like that. She seems like she’s gonna bolt if you move the wrong way.”

He should have felt angry on Sawyer’s behalf, however, Josh pinned her perfectly after a few minutes. Experience taught him that changes didn’t happen overnight and when he wanted something, he had to work for it. He wanted Sawyer—wanted her like he had never wanted any other woman. It might take time, a lot of time. His years in the Marines instilled patience, and he’d put in his time. Sawyer was worth it.

Josh opened the fridge and searched through it. He came back out with the carton of eggs and slab of butter. “So you gonna make up some of those eggs, or are we standing here all day like a bunch of fools?”

“What am I, your chef?” Andrew grinned, though, and found his cast-iron skillet in the cupboard next to the stove. “You get the toast then.”

When Sawyer came back downstairs, Andrew and Josh had made the breakfast, three cups of coffee, and cleared enough spots at his kitchen table. At one point, he and Josh swapped numbers again. Rosie munched happily from her bowl, looking up every few bites to check on Sawyer, who had gotten dragged into a conversation with Josh about math. Josh did his “math is the Devil” spiel, and she argued the need for younger kids to understand that math had connotations in everything, and made sense when the foundations were laid down properly.

After breakfast, Sawyer kicked Andrew and Josh out of the kitchen. They took their second cups of coffee on the back porch and watched Rosie run off into the trees. Josh leaned on a support beam and dug around in his pockets, coming back out with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Andrew frowned as he watched his former CO light up.