My heart is breaking for him. "Of course."
His strong arm wraps around me, holding me to his damp, smooth, beautiful chest. For the longest time, he strokes me lovingly. I plan to stay awake all night to watch over him, to be there for him, but he whispers, "Go to sleep. That's what I want. For you to sleep in my arms."
I'm falling in love with him. But I know he can't be falling for me right now. Not when he's in so much pain.
I wake up to find morning sunlight streaming in through the high windows. The door opens as I'm rubbing my eyes. It's Sawyer-fully dressed and carrying breakfast in for me. He sets the tray on the bedside table. Apparently he either bought bacon or convinced his roommate to surrender some to me. There's waffles and syrup too. When we went out for breakfast, I had waffles. Now Sawyer has made them for me.
He picks up a cup of coffee and drinks it while I eat breakfast in his bed. The coffee smells kind of strong, stronger than mine.
"What are you drinking?" I ask.
"Bailey's coffee," he says. "I needed something to face today." He brushes back his long blond bangs. "Would you come with me today? I have to go and see Jaxon's family."
The family of his friend? "Do you think I should go? They don't know me."
"I'd like to have you with me when I go. This is tough for me, Claire." He drains his alcohol-laced coffee. "There's a lot of stuff I didn't tell you last night. But I feel I can talk to you. Tell you anything."
I'm nibbling at a piece of syrup-drenched waffle. "You can."
"I wanted Jaxon to get out of racing. He's been a good friend for two years. But he was reckless. He wanted to be the best. When you race, you have to know when to lose. He didn't like that."
There's something in his tone. "What do you mean?" I whisper.
"He was supposed to lose in that race. But he refused to do it."
And now Jaxon was dead? Fear washes over me. My skin prickles all the way down my spine. "But I-I thought he died in a crash. That he was going too fast and he lost control or something."
Sawyer glances up at me. His eyes are filled with agony; his mouth is a straight, hard slash. "That was how it looked."
I stare at him. "Are you saying someone killed him? Because he wouldn't lose?"
"I don't know." Sawyer looks down at his hands. "The gamblers who bet on the races can win enough in one night to buy a house. But if a racer wins all the time, no one bets against you. You have to mix it up. I get told which races to throw. So did Jax. He was supposed to lose the race two nights ago. But for him, that race was a grudge match. He was too proud to lose."
"And you think someone deliberately killed him? As-as payback?"
"As payback and as a warning to the rest of us. It would be possible to sabotage his bike between him unloading it from his trailer and coasting it up to the start line. A line could have been cut or the steering fucked with."
My stomach feels like it's fallen to the floor. "Sawyer … are these guys the mafia or something?"
He gives a rueful smile. "Close."
I grab his arm. I do it so quickly I almost spill hot coffee on my leg. "Sawyer, this is dangerous! You can't do this. What if someone decides to kill you? You have to stop!"
He shakes his head. "I can't stop, Claire. It doesn't work that way."
We drive in Sawyer's truck. It takes a while to reach Jaxon's mother, Mrs. Winters, who lives just outside Boston.
I want to talk about what Sawyer told me-about the danger he is in. But he tells me that it's his problem to deal with, and refuses to say more.
Mrs. Winters turns out to be a slightly heavy black woman in her early forties. She runs an antique shop called Winters Christmas and Old World Curios. A bell tinkles as we walk in. I'm afraid to move from the threshold in case I knock something over. Christmas trees stand in every corner-trees of white, green and silver, decorated with beautiful ornaments in specific color schemes. There are silver and purple ornaments. Deep red ones on a tree with gold bows. There are musical instrument ornaments and shoe-shaped ones that glitter with fake jewels. Gorgeous furniture fills the store and the room smells of lemon-scented polish. Display stands are everywhere, so things are tiered almost to the antique tin ceiling. It's like walking in a room that shimmers all the time.
Mrs. Winters takes us back into her office and insists on making us coffee. "This store was my dream," she says softly. She is wearing a black suit and black jewelry. "I was a cleaner before this-I did houses in the daytime and offices at night. Jax bought this place for me from his bike racing winnings. Told me I had to quit my cleaning jobs and finally live my dream."
Sawyer is sitting his legs spread, his hands dangling between them. "Jax was so proud he was able to do that for you."
"I know he was, Sawyer, and I let him do it. That's going to haunt me the rest of my days." Mrs. Winters picks up her coffee mug with shaky hands. "I knew it was dangerous. I wanted him to get out. I should have tried harder to stop him." She reveals she knew the races and the betting weren't legal. Now guilt is beating her down.
That makes my stomach twist. Sawyer said he couldn't stop. God, what if he ends up like Jax?
Sawyer doesn't mention his suspicion that Mrs. Winters' son was murdered. He says, "Jax loved it too much. He was addicted to the thrill. He was good at it. You couldn't have stopped him, Mrs. Winters. And he was really proud of what he could do for you."
"I'm grateful for what he did. But I didn't want it to cost him his life."
Sawyer asks to see photos of Jax when he was younger. I'm afraid it's going to hurt the woman too much. But actually, she brightens up as she shares stories of Jax's childhood with us. He really did sound like a good, loving son. A great guy.
As we're leaving, I ask if there's anything else we can do.
Mrs. Winters shakes her head. "No. I've got two sisters and a grown up daughter. Jax's half-sister. They're all taking good care of me." She looks at Sawyer. Wags her finger at him. "You know, there is one thing you can do for me. You can quit taking risks with your life, Sawyer. You were a good friend to Jax. I know you protected him. Jaxon tried to hide things from me, but I could see through his stories. He was a proud boy and I know his mouth got him into trouble. He wouldn't admit it, but I know you kept him out of a lot of that trouble. I like you, Sawyer. So listen to me and give up bike racing."
"I'd like to, Mrs. Winters."
He leans in, gives her a kiss on her cheek. She hugs him. "I think the funeral will be next week," she says softly. "Come to the funeral, Sawyer."
"Of course I'll be there," he says.
We drive back to Yardley campus. Sawyer drives me to my dorm. He doesn't ask me to see him that night. Nerves make me blurt, "Don't you want me to come over tonight?"
"I'd like it, but I have to race again tonight."
I feared as much. "Sawyer, you can't! Not this soon."
"If I don't do it, I'll likely end up dead."
"But you can't keep racing until you do get killed. There has to be a way out. If these people you are afraid of killed Jaxon, couldn't you give evidence to the police? Get them arrested?"
"I can't risk that, Claire. It's not me I'm worried about. It's my mom."
"What about your mom?"
"They could use her to force me to do what they want."
Now I see. "You're afraid they would threaten to do something to her."
"Yeah, that's exactly right."
My voice rises in sheer panic and pain. "There has to be a way out."
"I'm trying to find it, Claire. I swear to God I am."
Three days later, I walk into my calculus class, where I should see Sawyer. I'm praying I see him.
My nails are bitten down to the skin. The first day that Sawyer didn't call-the day after I went with him to see Mrs. Winters-I wasn't worried. But for three days, Sawyer hasn't phoned or texted me, returned my calls, or come to class.
I'm really scared. Is he okay? Did something terrible happen to him at the hands of these mobster-types who bet on the races? Or has he decided he just doesn't want to talk to me? Did I push him too much?
Or worse, could he have been arrested for being at the race where Jaxon died? He says he didn't race that night which was why he wasn't held when the cops arrived. But he was there, with his bike. Can he get charged for that?
I take a seat near the back and scan the room. No Sawyer. I can understand he might avoid me if he is afraid I am going to keep nagging him about quitting. But why would he ditch his classes?
Could this mean something bad has happened? Oh God. Should I go to the cops right now? Should I at least go to Sawyer's house and see if he's there?
The professor drones on in the background-he's working out a proof on the board-while I sit trapped in indecision. I'll go to Sawyer's house. If he's there, I'll talk to him. If he's not, I will have to go to the police-