Cage (5 page)

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Chapter 5 – Saffron

Pensacola, Present Day

The private flight down wasn’t all that bad, but that’s primarily
because I had my iPod’s earbuds jammed into my ears – and a good book in
my lap. Every once in a while, I’d glance over at Sawyer. I’d expected him to
put on some bullshit display of arrogance, but he sat further ahead, facing the
window. He barely seemed to move, although it was clear that he wasn’t asleep.

Weird.

Dad’s friend Hensley picked us up from the runway when we arrived,
loading up the back of a large black sedan with our luggage. Sawyer gave him a hand,
then grabbed his motorcycle helmet and mounted his cycle – of
course
he’d insisted on bringing that
thing along but there was no way it was going to fit into the plane. Dad had
paid someone an almost criminal amount of money to ship it down here over the
last couple of days.

While Hensley pointed out a few things here or there – updating me
on how Pensacola had adjusted in the years since we’d been here last – I
couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into Sawyer. He’d actually been almost
pleasant
to live with for the last
couple of days, although part of that was that he wasn’t around much.

Since he had arrived with a duffle bag and the clothes on his back, Dad
had taken him shopping around, although Sawyer never seemed pleased about this,
and he never appeared to come back with much. It was when he went off alone
that he returned with a few bags of clothing – the essentials, from what
I could see. It was clear that he packed lightly and minimally, even down to
the clothing that would last him the summer.

Although, maybe he was just planning on buying clothes while we were
here. I felt silly thinking it, realizing that I could have spared the trouble
and just snapped some clothing up after we arrived and got settled in –
but I liked my things, and didn’t see the point in buying more.

Despite the lifestyle my mother’s marriage had offered me, I remembered
us being broke before – and I didn’t like to live in too much excess.

It wasn’t long before we arrived at the family villa. Seeing the Beach House
brought me straight back to before – before our family had come together,
only to be pulled apart. None of us had been here since that fateful night that
Sawyer had left, and my time here had become some sort of a bitter memory.

No, bitter’s not quite the right word.

After we pulled in, Sawyer parked and dismounted his motorcycle, and I
climbed out of the sedan. He wandered over the to side; Hensley began removing
our luggage from the trunk, and I took a moment to soak in the sight.

Standing tall and proud, the Beach House sprawled upwards and outwards
in its entire exquisite, Spanish-Mediterranean splendor. Coated across its
textured walls with a creamy, pale orange, our vacation home was a proud
monument of cultural adherence and beauty. The eye-catching roofing, staggered
across the connected buildings, was clad with the traditional standard –
imported, rounded European clay tiles. The entire structure was lined with
countless black iron windows, consistently applying the same aesthetic to the
two second-floor doorways; symmetrically built on either side, these doorways
stood framed by exquisite wooden balcony enclosures.

My fingertips graced the thick, creamy orange stairway hand-rest,
curving upwards along the steps to the front door. I ran my hand along the
edge, feeling the rough texture that matched the Beach House walls.

I felt like I was home again.

“Welcome home, Saffie,” Sawyer whispered in my ear.

Well, apparently I wasn’t the only one.

I turned to glare at my glorified babysitter. While I expected him to
have another one of his patented cocky smirks across his face, I was surprised
to see him gazing up at the walls with wide, thoughtful eyes. It was clear that
he was having the same sort of reaction I was…and I quelled the sarcastic retort
that had sprung to mind.

“You really missed this place, didn’t you?” He asked.

“…You might say that,” I admitted cautiously.

“Yeah. I think I did too.”

The moment was surreal. After all this time, I was finally back here,
and so was he…but his entire jackass deal was nowhere in sight. He even looked
sad
as he took it all in. His shoulders
were slumped, and there was something in his eyes…something I couldn’t put my
finger on…

“Well, we’d better get you lot inside!” Hensley chuckled loudly from behind.
We snapped out of it, turning to face the charmingly boisterous driver. His
arms were full of luggage, and we quickly scrambled to give him a hand with
everything.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I can easily get this
all inside…”

“Nonsense, Hensley,” Sawyer told him. “You’re not our personal servant.
Let us give you a hand with this.”

“Well…if you insist…” he remarked with a soft smile.

We followed our associate up the stairs, where he paused to set down his
armfuls of suitcases. Whipping a thick keyring from his pocket, he sifted
through a dozen keys in the blink of an eye.

“Here we go! Mister and Missus Samuels, may I humbly welcome you back to
the Beach House…”

With a hard turn of his wrist, the door loudly unlocked, and he stepped
aside while pushing it open.

Sawyer and I passed beside him and into the large foyer. With a flick of
his finger to the light switch, the room was quickly bathed in light.

Oh fuck
, I thought
to myself.
It’s just as beautiful as I
remember it.

Beautiful, stained hardwood floors stretched across the villa –
accented perfectly by the off-white paint across the crisp, modern walls.
Various pieces of exquisite décor tastefully surrounded us –
predominately represented by a modest array of paintings on the wall and
display pieces from world travels available on accent tables or nearby shelves.
Above us hung a beautiful crystal chandelier, twinkling in the splendor of its
own lights. My eyes trailed past it and up to the second floor, wrapped in
exquisite black iron railings as it stretched across the foyer.

“I’d forgotten how much I missed this fucking place,” I heard Sawyer
murmur beside me. “Never thought I’d be back here again…”

My brow furrowed.
 
Had he seriously meant to leave us forever?

I opened my mouth to press the issue.

“Well, you’re free to dawdle as much as you’d like, but preferably
after
you’re both situated on the
luggage front!” Hensley laughed from behind. “Although, I don’t blame you…it’s
nice to see the house getting some use. It’s been
dreadful
checking on things here while it collected dust.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised it’s in as good shape as it is,” I admitted
quickly. “I’d honestly expected to walk in on cobwebs…and sheets over the
furniture.”

“Oh, you don’t
seriously
think
your parents were going to have you stay here if that were really the case?”
Hensley popped up beside me, peering slyly into my eyes.

I tried to turn away, but he’d already seen them.

“My word! You
did!
For
shame
, Ms. Saffron! Of course they bid a
crew of housekeepers to whip the house back into shape! Must have been about
two weeks ago, if memory serves…why, they even came back yesterday, just to
freshen it up!”

“That makes sense,” Sawyer commented. “I’m happy they had the foresight
to do so.”

“
You too?”
Hensley shook his
head in mock disappointment. “Well, this will just have to be our little
secret,” he smiled. “Can’t have your parents knowing you think so very
little
of them…”

Sawyer and I shared a smile.

As we started moving our things towards our rooms, I couldn’t help but
reflect on how
different
my
stepbrother was being. His usual jackass demeanor had evaporated upon us
arriving here. Even on the drive, he’d been distant. It was almost as if he
hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near me.

But that had changed when the Beach House came into view.

He acted like he had before, in those brief flashes. Instead of
antagonizing me, he was calm, agreeable, and almost carefree.

It had been a long time since I’d seen him relaxed.

Then again, it had been a long time since I’d
seen
him.

It occurred to me that he might have changed. The first impression had
left a little something to be desired. He had visibly been the same unrepentant
asshole he was when he abandoned us, but now…

I was starting to have my doubts.

Hensley left to check on some things around the Beach House while we
continued moving our luggage to our rooms. We’d packed enough apiece to last us
the summer, and it
showed
in the
volume of suitcases.

Surprisingly – or maybe not – Sawyer had fit his possessions
in less than a
quarter
of what I
brought. It’s not like I had packed heavily, either. I’d limited myself to
maybe ten pairs of shoes, and roughly three outfits tailored to each of them. A
girl never knows what she’ll need to be prepared for, right?

“Do you need a hand with this?”

I glanced over at him as I paused. In the moment, I was struggling with
one of my largest suitcases, trying to extract it from the vehicle.

“I…wait, are you already done?”

“Yeah, I finished up a few minutes ago. Looks like you could use some
help.”

“Sure, if you…don’t mind…” I responded, standing back.

Sawyer slipped into place in front of the deep trunk. With the heat, he
had pulled off his unbuttoned over-shirt and the top beneath, revealing a
trimming, black tank top. For the first time, I was seeing the definition of
his strong, toned arms…and a slight gasp caught in my throat.

The muscles rippled as he effortlessly extracted the suitcase from the
vehicle. I couldn’t peel my eyes off of his skin as I realized how
built
my stepbrother was. I knew he had
bulked up in the intervening time – I would have to be blind to have not
noticed – but this was
way
more
than I had thought. Without his leather jacket or sweaters, Sawyer couldn’t
hide his muscular build anymore.

But it wasn’t all just mindless bulk. His musculature was streamlined,
allowing him to move easily and carefully. He had stopped short of becoming an
amateur bodybuilder, but it was still a distinct difference from the
underdeveloped teenager of my past.

“Something the matter?” Sawyer smiled coyly.

I realized that I had been staring at his build…and long enough for him
to have noticed.

“No, no, nothing, I was just…”

“Admiring, maybe?”

“Oh, quit it.” I admonished him. “Let me just grab this…”

I reached for the suitcase, but he lifted it out of the way. It didn’t
escape my notice that I’d struggled with the damn thing, but he was
effortlessly maneuvering it around with just his wrist.

“No, I said I’d help you with this, remember? If you’re having this much
trouble with getting it out of the car, how do you expect to get it up to the
second floor and across the house?”

He had me there.

Pausing to grab another of my suitcases with his free hand, he followed
me as I carried my small one and led him back into the Beach House. We climbed
the staircase on the immediate left, and then continued onward into the left
wing. We passed down the corridor towards our bedrooms, between frames
featuring extraordinarily talented painters local to Pensacola.

Mom had always been a fan of underappreciated artists. Even when it was
just the two of us, and although she could barely afford to do so, she proudly
displayed a few works from her friends in the dining room. After the marriage,
Mom loved to support their work as well as that of local artists, often paying
above what they would ask for even their larger prints. Chet had always seemed
not only encouraging of this, but also delighted by it – it seemed to be
one of the ways in which she enriched his life, the way that he treated it. I
never remembered much art in his house before Mom and I moved in. It just
seemed to be the kind of thing he never paid much attention to, at least not
until they met one another.