"You have no idea," Jett murmured. "The tattoo in his ear…it's an NSN."
"A what?" I asked.
Jett backed his chair up because the dog had started to get agitated again. He gave the dog one last look and then turned around to face me. "NSN. National stock number. You don't have a dog there, Doc. What you have is a weapon."
CHAPTER EIGHT
JETT
The knock on the door came as no surprise. I assumed it was Maddox coming to make sure I was sticking to our deal.
"Yes, I'm still alive," I bit out.
I heard the door open and just like that, I had a convenient outlet for my anger. "Don't start with me, Maddox, you never said I had to be all sunshine and roses for thirty days."
"It's me," I heard Sawyer say. I was tempted to turn around just so I could drink in the sight of him, but I managed to resist.
"What do you want?" It was a stupid question. I knew exactly what he wanted. I just wasn't interested in giving it to him.
"For starters, I'd like to remove your stitches," he said. My traitorous body responded when it sensed him behind me. "Then I'd like you to tell me what I've done to piss you off."
"Liar. You want to know about the dog."
I expected him to respond. To deny it. But when he said nothing, I couldn't help but look over my shoulder at him. He was only a couple of feet from me, so I couldn't really see his entire frame. I ended up turning my chair around. Sawyer stepped back to accommodate the move. As soon as I was facing him, his eyes met mine. He looked… God, I didn't even know how to describe what he looked like. The best I could come up with was that the light in his eyes was gone.
Just gone.
"I keep trying to tell myself that you're not like him," Sawyer said in what I could only classify as a barely there whisper. He seemed so disappointed. And fuck if that didn't hurt.
Before I could even get a chance to respond, he turned and began walking away. Something in the way he moved, like his body was broken somehow, had my throat tightening. It was final, him leaving like that. Too final.
"Sawyer, wait."
He kept right on moving. If I’d had my legs, I would've been able to reach him… to stop him from walking away from me. But that wasn't an option, so I did something I hadn't done since that day in the desert under the hot burning sun.
I begged.
"Sawyer, please," I choked out. "I'm sorry, please don't go."
To my relief, Sawyer stopped, but he didn't turn around. Terrified that I had no way of holding on to him, I did the only thing I could. I told him the truth.
"I'm an asshole, okay?" I blurted. Sawyer didn't move, didn't respond. That just ratcheted up my fear which loosened my tongue even more. "I saw something down there that I didn't like, okay?" I bit out.
It felt like my heart didn't start beating again until Sawyer turned around to face me. "We're all upset about the dog, but that's no reason—"
"It's not… it's not about the dog. I mean, yeah, it's upsetting to see an animal end up like that, but…"
"But?"
Sawyer glanced at my hands which were resting on the wheels of my chair. He had to have noticed how I was tapping my fingers incessantly on the rigid tires.
"Look, there's nothing I can say that won't make me look like the petty dick that I am. But you didn't do anything wrong." It was the best I could give him. There was just no way to explain to him that I was seething with jealousy over how he'd interacted with the young man that had arrived with the sheriff. Not only was it completely unreasonable, given the fact that Sawyer and I didn't have any kind of relationship, it was also an emotion I had no control over and no clue how to deal with as it ripped through my insides. Green-eyed monster… why the fuck did they call it green when all I’d seen was red as Sawyer had so warmly interacted with the stunning young man.
"Can you… can you please take out the stitches?"
He took a long time to think it over and I couldn't really blame him. I let out a breath when he finally stepped forward. He motioned to the window seat before moving past me. I hated how quiet he was. I also couldn't stop thinking about the him he'd referred to. Who did he think I was like? Obviously, no one good considering my behavior. But I didn't ask him about it because I didn't want to press my luck.
"How's the dog?" I asked instead.