Page 62 of For the Record
“It’s beautiful,” Coy corrected and nuzzled her nose against the scar’s uneven ridges. She wet her lips, laying sweet kisses over Sawyer’s cheek again. “Is the skin sensitive here?”
“Sometimes,” came Sawyer’s raw response. Then, “I’ve never let anyone besides Bree touch it.”
“Not Olivier?”
“Especially not him.” There was so much pain in those few words that Coy pulled back just as a tear slipped out. “Not that he would have. He said just looking at it made him sick.”
Are you shitting me right now?Goddess, if Coy could only travel back in time, find Olivier, and kick his ass, she’d already be leaping through the portal.
“Not to speak ill of the dead, but I think I hate that guy.” Coy kissed Sawyer’s tears away. She shivered, so Coy reached behind them for the nightshirt Sawyer had waiting. “Here, let me help with this.”
“I’m not some damsel, McCoy,” Sawyer griped, shoving the cards she’d been reading into her nightstand. She went to grab the shirt, but McCoy placed her hand on hers.
“I know that. Believe me, I know that,” she said, giving Sawyer a soft smile. “Let me do this for the same reason I gave you a massage and tried to cook you breakfast. You’re important to me, Sawyer. Needing or wanting someone doesn’t make you weak, sweetheart.”
“I never said it did.” The retort had lost some of its bite from before, and Coy’s heart swelled as Sawyer allowed her to pull the shirt carefully over her head. Then she added under her breath, “It’s just ridiculous. I can do this myself.”
“But it’s more romantic since I’m sitting so close. We were having a moment,” Coy reasoned, her grin widening. She stood up, undoing her dress shirt and shorts, letting them fall to her feet. Then thought better of it, picking them back up as well as Sawyer’s discarded clothes. She draped everything over the chair by Sawyer’s walk-in closet.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Sawyer eyed Coy warily, who was wearing just her sports bra and boxers.
“I don’t know if you’ve realized, but my love language is through touch,” Coy murmured, crawling into bed with Sawyer. “And I really, really, just wanna hold you tonight. Or you hold me, Sawyer. I don’t care. But your vibe is off, and the last thing I wanna do is go home and doubt if you’re feeling anything like what I’m feeling.”
“And you think touching me will help absolve you of that?” Sawyer looked skeptical, but she didn’t shoot Coy’s idea down.That was good. Sawyer might not realize it, but Coy was pretty sure physical touch was her love language as well. She just didn’t know how to ask for it.
“I do, and don’t worry,” Coy said and felt herself relax when Sawyer got under the covers as well. “We’re still going at your pace. You’re the boss. Tonight is all about the snuggle.”
“You’re impossible.” Sawyer rolled her eyes, but Coy thought she saw a slight smile as she turned off the lamp. “I’m too old to snuggle.”
“Never,” Coy said, reaching through the semi-darkness to pull Sawyer closer. She tucked Sawyer as close as possible, back to chest, and Sawyer’s ass pressed snugly against Coy’s hot core. Burying her face in the crook of Sawyer’s neck, she inhaled her deeply. Her stomach flip-flopped, and she whispered, “Just like you’re not too old to be my girlfriend.”
Sawyer was quiet for the longest time. Her body was still tense, so Coy knew she hadn’t fallen asleep. Her obvious reluctance to speak or sleep had Coy doubting her plan. She’d basically told Sawyer she was sleeping over, but surely Sawyer would have kicked her out if she didn’t secretly wish for that as well?
Coy was dozing off when Sawyer whispered, “I’ve only been with Olivier.”
Her eyes snapped open. It took a moment for Sawyer’s words to register, but then Coy mumbled, “Oh. Well, that’s okay. We'll learn together what the other likes.” Her arms tightened around Sawyer. “I swear I’ll never pressure you. Your pace, remember?”
Sawyer held Coy’s arm draped across her midsection, giving it a light squeeze. “My pace.”
Chapter 33
Sawyer
Sawyer woke with ascream caught in her throat. She flew up in bed, scrambling to get the covers off. Her heart raced. It was hard to breathe, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Yanking her nightgown up, her movements were jerky as she frantically patted down her bare, flat stomach.
A sob broke free. “Oh, Brian,” Sawyer whispered brokenly. “Oh,mon bel amour.”
He’s gone, long ago. Just a nightmare.
Sawyer laid back down and held a hand to her chest, waiting for her erratic pulse to slow. Tears seeped out, mixing with the drying sweat against her hairline. Her back felt damp as well, the nightgown clinging to her skin. No matter how much time passed, how many nightmares plagued Sawyer’s subconscious, or how many tears she shed, the agony of losing Brian somehow felt infinite.
Sniffling, she slipped from the bed, careful not to jar the sleeping woman next to her.McCoy. Fragments of the night before returned as Sawyer padded the few feet to her bathroom. Warmth settled over the abysmal ache in her chest, and as she peeled off her nightgown and bra and stepped into the shower, the pleasant memory of McCoy showing up was full front in her mind. McCoy had anticipated what Sawyer needed before she even knew. How was that possible? It was like she understood Sawyer in a way no one had before. McCoy had known Sawyer was upset last night, but instead of prying and possibly pushing her away, she had made up a ridiculous excuse of needing comfort. The gentle manipulation was obvious, but rather than the crap Olivier would often pull, McCoy’s antics had been out of the goodness of her heart. And Sawyer had welcomed it.
After her shower, Sawyer dried off in front of the vanity mirror, taking a good long look at her face and paying close attention to the dips and leathery ridges of her bad side. Not once in the last fifteen years had she seen the melted skin and considered it beautiful. But McCoy had. In fact, she’d spent so much time kissing the scar that Sawyer could almost believe she meant it.
McCoy was still sound asleep when Sawyer returned, positioned halfway on her stomach with her arm draped across the space Sawyer had vacated. The sliver of light from the bathroom cast a faint glow around McCoy’s youthful features. Sawyer didn’t think anyone had ever been so attractive to her, but it went well beyond her handsome face and muscular, tattooed arms. McCoy was a rarity in the world. She was protective, yet instinctually subservient, and Sawyer gravitated toward her. For the first time in Sawyer’s life, she wanted someone to see all her scars—on the inside and the outside. She wanted to confide in McCoy, tell her things not even Bree knew.She wanted someone she could trust to share her burden, and she theirs.