Page 53 of Claiming Liberty
“I heard you’re opening the playroom tonight.” I take the water bottle and twist off the cap.
He shrugs, sauntering to the other recliner. “If we make a big deal about it, other people will too. I don’t want to give people reason to be afraid.” He collapses onto the red leather and closes his eyes as he relaxes into it, his hands smoothing over the arms of the chair before cupping the ends.
My brow wrinkles, but I don’t respond. The last thing I need to do is start an argument. I take a drink of the water, then rest the bottle on my thigh.
“So I imagine you’re pissed at me again,” he says. His tone is a weird mixture of hard and disinterested, but I can tell it’s only to mask his disappointment. I think. I don’t know what I can tell anymore.
“Why would I be pissed at you?”
Without opening his eyes, he shrugs.
I turn my gaze to my water bottle and start picking at the label. “Is it because you had Cooper wake me up at seven in the morning to bring a girl back to the manor for no good reason?”
An irritated sigh rushes past Sawyer’s lips, but he says nothing.
“You don’t trust me,” I continue, letting my own disappointment bleed through. It’s only partially fake.
“What reason would I have to trust you?” he asks, gripping the edge of the armrests.
“You’ve known me for decades.”
He barks out a humorless laugh, never opening his eyes. He looks tired. I’d only be half surprised if he fell asleep. “IthoughtI knew you.”
I scoff, but it’s forced. Of course he can’t trust me. We aren't even close to being on the same page. “What are you talking about?”
Sawyer’s eyes finally open, and he narrows them at me. “Robert Gaumond’s dead,” he says, his tone flat. “Care to tell me about that?”
I raise a brow and have a noncommittal response on the tip of my tongue, but I hold it there.
He stares at me expectantly, a tired yet frustrated look on his face. He obviously thinks I had something to do with Gaumond’s death, and I doubt he’s going to believe it’s a coincidence that he died the same time I supposedly killed Liberty.
He isn’t an idiot. He knows Liberty is alive, so withholding information will only make things worse. I’ve lost his trust. Now it’s time to earn it back.
“I’m sorry,” I say, turning my head and lowering my eyes to the plush, striped rug. I close my eyes and pray like hell that what I’m about to say isn’t a mistake. “I love her, Sawyer.”
Silence hangs over the room, and I have to resist the urge to look at him to gauge his reaction.
A tapping sounds on leather for a full minute before Sawyer speaks.
“What happened?”
I chance a look at him, take in his sympathetic frown, then look away like I’m ashamed. I pick at the label on the bottle some more.
“I let her go,” I say, my voice low and weak. I wait for the air in the room to be sucked up, but nothing changes. There’s no surprise on his part. I don’t know why I’d expect there to be.
“Jasper found her,” I go on, hoping my line of thinking lines up with what he already knows. “He called me and gave me the opportunity to buy him off.”
I chance another look, sure I’ll see disappointment, anger,somethingto give away that Sawyer wanted Jasper to kill Lib, but all I see is pity.
It’s a lie. Itmustbe a lie. How the hell is he so good at this?
I’m good at hiding my emotions. He’s good at faking his.
I swallow and decide to take a chance at testing him. “He said you wanted her dead… I paid him to kill Robert Gaumond then disappear.”
Sawyer’s lips part as he slowly inhales a breath. A few moments pass before he speaks. “I didn’t want her dead.” He closes his eyes and rubs his finger and thumb over the lids. “I still don’t. I just…” He drops his hand and gives his head a slight shake, meeting my eyes. His shine with tears I can’t imagine him having.
How? How could someone fake this?