Ruthless knight

Sawyer

I press down on the ivory keys, filling the church with the chords from “Counting Blue Cars” by Dishwalla. 

It’s a new one for me, but the second Dylan played it, I fell in love. 

I live for the kind of music that makes you ponder the meaning of life while making your soul feel alive. 

Which is exactly why I decided to strip it down. Not only does it heighten the emotion of the song, it makes it easier to soak in each word. 

Doing a quick glance around to make sure the church is empty, I open my mouth. 

Normally it takes me weeks to memorize sheet music, but not this time. This time it’s as though every note comes straight from my heart. 

I close my eyes, letting the song take me away. 

When I reach the chorus, I hold nothing back. My vibrato emanates from the tips of my toes, reverberating through the walls.  

“Jesus Christ…your voice,” Cole says. 

I croak mid-lyric and my fingers slip on the keys. 

“What the he—” I catch myself. “What are you doing here?”

In a church of all places. 

His shoulders rise in a shrug. “Figured this is where I’d find you.” He grins. “I was right.” 

I’m seriously regretting coming here before choir practice now. 

Not taking the hint that I want him gone, he walks over to the first pew and sits. “I didn’t know you played piano…or sang. Especially like that.”

“It’s nothing.” 

There are far better musicians and singers out there. In fact, I hardly even consider myself one.

But I can’t focus on that right now. I’m too concerned about why he’s here. “Did you need something?”

He looks around. “It’s a little smaller than I imagined, but it’s nice.” His lips twitch. “You know, for a church.” 

I try again. “Is there something I can help you with?”

He stretches his arm across the pew. “Do you think God is a her?”

“Huh?” 

“The song.” 

“Oh.” I highly doubt he came here seeking spiritual enlightenment, but I indulge him anyway. “I suppose anything is possible. There are all sorts of different religions out there. Some even have multiple gods.”

He leans back, assessing me. “You mean to tell me you’re actually admitting another religion may have it right, and there’s a chance your people got it wrong?”

“My people?” 

“Christians. Jesus lovers.” 

 “I love Jesus, but it doesn’t mean everyone else has to.” 

“That isn’t what I asked you.”

There’s an edge to his tone, but I’m not insulted. 

Despite my frustration with him, I like that he’s asking questions instead of assuming.

Therefore, I give him the truth. My truth.

“Just because I have my own beliefs regarding God doesn’t mean I can’t respect the fact that other people have theirs.” I shrug. “At the end of the day, we're all just trying to get to the same place, right? Who am I to judge?”

“What about those who don’t believe at all?”

I rub my palms on my skirt. “I carry a heaviness in my heart for them.” 

His green eyes gleam in challenge. “Because they don’t believe what you do?”

“Because it must be awfully hard to have the weight of the world rest solely on your shoulders every day.” I look him right in the eyes. “But no matter my personal beliefs, I would never try to convert someone, nor tell them they were wrong for not believing. I’m sure they have their reasons for it…just like I have mine.” 

He stares at me for the better part of a minute before he speaks. “There is no one in the world like you, Sawyer.” 

My heart folds in on itself. I hate that he’s looking at me like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever encountered. 

But not nearly as much as I hate the way my heart kicks up whenever he’s in the room…

And the deep, dull ache in my chest whenever he’s gone.

Like my soul is attuned to him and only him. 

 “Look, I don’t think you came here to debate religion,” I say, trying to put some distance between us.

“You’re right.” Walking over to the piano, he pulls out an envelope. “I came here to give you this.”

“If it’s another present—”

“It’s not a present.” He hands it to me. “Promise.”

Baffled, I open it.

A weird combination of surprise and despondency tangle in my chest when I see the check made out for ten-grand. 

“I can’t accept this.”

Not only would it feel wrong, I don’t want him to think his donation will persuade me to uphold my end of the contract. 

As far as I’m concerned, our fake relationship is real over. 

“I had a feeling you’d say that.” His features harden. “Take the money, Church. You earned it.” 

I hold it out to him. “Hardly.”

We were barely even together. 

And yet? It felt like my entire world ended the night he got drunk.

God, I loathe all these conflicting feelings I have regarding him. 

One second I want to punch him, and the next I want to launch myself into his arms and go back to when things were good between us. 

But mostly? I just want to know what caused the events of that night. 

Why he got so blackout drunk and said all those brutal things. 

How he can be so open and blunt one minute…but so closed off the next. 

What he’s trying to escape from.

If he sincerely regrets hurting me…or if it’s all just another part of Lucky Seven’s act.  

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m allowed to donate money to whatever organization I want, Sawyer. If you don’t accept it, I’ll just give it to your uncle myself.”

Stubborn ass. 

“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll give it to my uncle.” Whatever gets him going. “Anything else?”

 “Yeah.”  A muscle in his jaw bunches. “I fucking miss you…a lot.” 

“Co—”

“You don’t have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know.” 

I peer at his hand. The bruises and scrapes are starting to fade. “Hopefully your hand doesn’t interfere with the big game.” 

He doesn’t look too worried about it. “I’ll manage.” 

We awkwardly stare at each other until I break eye contact. “Thanks for stopping by—” 

“I don’t like this.”

“What?”

 “The small talk that’s happening now. The awkwardness.” The groove in his forehead deepens. “It’s not us.” 

I start to tell him there is no us, but the door opens and people start shuffling inside. 

“Choir practice,” I tell him. 

His brows furrow. “Can we talk after?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The organ in my chest protests. Stupid traitor. “I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but he simply gives me a quick nod before taking off. 

“Who was that?” Amanda asks after he leaves. 

“My boy—” I stop myself. “Just a guy I go to school with.” 

A guy who’s still holding my heart in the palm of his big hand.