Page 92 of My Grape Crush
“Thanks,” he says. “I didn’t realize how parched I was.”
He sets the glass on the coffee table, and we stare silently at it. There is so much hanging in the air, unsaid.
“Did Evelyn reach out with any updates?” he finally asks, eyes half-closed in a giant cringe.
I curl up on the opposite side of the sofa. “Gail is having a field day,” I admit. “And Tomas is talking to anyone who will listen, but Evelyn is all over the damage control.”
“My ass isn’t fired?” He shakes his head, incredulous. “That lady is a mensch, considering I fucked up her brand for the near future.”
“I mean, it’s not great,” I hedge, because it’s not. No point in having our heads in the sand. “The crazy thing is, I had a ton of media requests. Long-term, this could play out in our favor,” I add, spinning a hopeful angle.
Rhys nods, less than visibly cheered. “The long-term residue is what worries me.”
He meets my eyes, and a spark of worry erupts inside me. It’s like peering into a deep well and seeing nothing but darkness.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?—”
He stands abruptly. Solid but trembling. Hands coiled into fists. “I just … I need some air.”
“The balcony,” I say, my outstretched hand indicating where it is.
Rhys takes two tentative, stumbling steps and stops, weaving slightly like a marionette doll pulled by invisible strings. The air is strange, heavier somehow. Thick as velvet. His eyes squeeze shut, and a low, strangled noise hums in his throat.
Then it's as if his bones, his very core, dissolve.
He collapses, landing on his knees with a thud that my bitchy neighbor below will surely complain about tomorrow. Rolling onto his back, he becomes one with the floor, limbs spreadeagled, every muscle and tendon visible wound to the breaking point. His chin starts to quiver, and he shoves the heels of his hands into both eyes.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice rising in pitch.
Something twists in my chest. I move slowly, kneeling beside his shattered state. “Rhys,” I say as gently as I can. “Talk to me.”
I watch his throat move up and down, the corners of his mouth tightening. Rhys’s shoulders rise and fall with his labored breathing before the words tumble out with a shuddering sigh. “I sat with Dad all day. The nurse told me even patients in a coma can hear. Their subconscious retains words. So, I blabbed about how sorry I was. That I disappointed him. That we never bonded.”
He inhales a stuttered breath, eyes glittering as he swipes away fallen tears. “And when the nurse came around and said it was time to leave,I was about to get up, and Dad reached for my hand. His grip freaked the hell out of me. He wouldn’t let go.” In the shadowed light of my living room, I can see the vein in his neck pulse dangerously. “And I’m like, now? When it’s too fucking late?”
His mouth screws tight, holding it all in. I blink fast, trying to absorb one crisis after another.
“Maybe—” I start.
“And Sawyer,” he interrupts, anger leaking in, “he’s picking me up so we can have dinner with Mom and JC, and he starts reading me the riot act the moment I’m in the car. Bettina already texted me that a bunch of bookings got canceled, so I told him to fuck off. But he wouldn't stop.” His shoulders sag as if lying motionless on my Pottery Barn rug is too much effort. “I had a full meltdown. We were hurling horrible, toxic shit at each other. He said I didn’t deserve you, and…”After a few seconds of flat-lipped silence, he adds hoarsely, “And he’sright. You’re the first real connection I’ve had in forever, and I messed that up.”
Emotions crash inside me, hot and fast. But I can’t lose it here. I have to be the strong one.
“There’s so much going on right now,” I remind him. “You need to focus. Make your family the priority.” I swallow past the squeeze of my throat. “And I don’t blame you. This wasn’t your fault.”
His red-rimmed eyes burn into mine. “Everything’s my fault.”
I try to tune out the sound of his voice cracking, but then all I can hear are his aching waves of grief. My own tears rise up in sympathy and shock. Broken doesn't begin to classify it. This is a complete breakdown.
“I feel like I’m drowning, Dani,” he says, his voice knifed with desperation.
Tears stream down my cheeks, dripping off my chin in a slow, wet tempo onto his arm. He looks at me, gutted, and reaches for my hand, our fingers trembling before they settle. The room feels like it has its own center of gravity, pulling us into its depths.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Tell me we can figure this out.”
I breathe into the dark. Thoughts of him alone and unhappy break off another piece of my heart. I touch his lips and trace the path of the hard lines etched on either side. His kind smile, the blazing warmth of it. Will this crumpled soul find the will to smile again?
With my touch, his fingers tighten around mine. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you. No way I can recover now that I’ve fallen for you.”
