Page 59 of Sawyer

Griffin brought it up first, describing some of the activities they had planned: games, races, and food booths for the pack and their families.

Everyone seemed excited, and soon they were discussing strategies for one of the events—a three-legged race.

Miles grinned, leaning over to me. “You know, Sawyer’s never won that one. He’s terrible at it. Every time he brings someone to the fair, they end up losing.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Oh really?” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

Sawyer glanced at Miles with a small, annoyed look but didn’t say anything.

“I’m serious! He’s cursed or something,” Miles continued, laughing. “One time, he tripped and took his partner down with him. It was a total disaster.”

Griffin chuckled. “That’s ’cause he thinks he’s got better coordination than he really does.”

I laughed along with them, but I couldn’t help glancing at Sawyer. He wasn’t laughing.

His jaw tightened slightly. I’d never seen him lose his cool, but something in his expression told me this wasn’t just about a race.

“I’ll be sitting it out this year,” Sawyer said suddenly, his voice cutting through the laughter.

Noah raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because of my leg,” he muttered, taking a sip from his glass.

I leaned over slightly, lowering my voice. “Does it still hurt?” I asked.

Sawyer’s response was quick, almost too quick. “No,” he said, his eyes still focused on his plate.

His tone made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it.

Cooper, sitting across from him, frowned. “Your leg’s fine, Sawyer. You should be healed by now.”

Sawyer’s head snapped up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shot back, his tone sharp and cutting.

The atmosphere at the table shifted instantly. The laughter faded, and everyone went quiet.

I noticed a few people avert their gaze, suddenly very interested in their dessert plates. Cooper and Sawyer locked eyes, tension crackling between them.

Finally, Sawyer broke the stare, looking away as he stabbed his fork into a slice of pie, shoving a too-large piece into his mouth aggressively.

Miles cleared his throat, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “Well, either way, with Casey here, I’m sure you guys will do great this year. Maybe he’s your good luck charm.”

I chuckled weakly, glancing at Sawyer, but he didn’t respond. He kept his focus on his plate, chewing in silence.

The conversation eventually drifted back to lighter topics—fair planning, who would run which booths—but the earlier tension still lingered.

Even though people were talking and laughing again, I could feel it, like a crack beneath the surface, ready to break open at any moment.

Every now and then, I’d glance at Sawyer, hoping to catch his eye, but he stayed focused on his food, only speaking when necessary.

After the meal, Sawyer suggested we go on with our hike. I was surprised he still wanted to go.

Maybe this was his way of clearing his head. Either way, I agreed—some fresh air sounded like a good idea.

The trail was quiet, the sound of our footsteps crunching against the dirt and dry leaves the only thing breaking the silence.

I’d expected Sawyer to lead the conversation, but his mind seemed elsewhere.

“So, that was fun,” I said, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. “Everyone was really nice.”