Page 48 of The Long Way Home
The memory warms my chest in a way I’m not totally prepared for.
“He was strategic about it, too,” Rhett continues. “Would wait until I was mid-story so I couldn’t defend myself.”
A laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “That’s because you talk with your hands. It leaves everything unguarded.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but his smile only grows wider. “Traitor.”
We linger there, grinning at each other like idiots. Like Josh might walk up any second and insert himself into the argument.
“He was always so damn confident,” I hear myself say.
“And overly caffeinated and positive.”
I shake my head. “It was unnatural.”
“It was aggressive,” Rhett corrects.
A small laugh escapes me again, but it fades quicker this time.
“He was fun,” I say, softer.
Rhett nods, and his eyes drop to his hands. “Yeah. He was.”
The urge to patch up my feelings scratches at the base of my throat, but I don’t give in to it. I don’t rush to fill the space. I don’t tell Rhett that Josh’s death made me stronger, or that everything happens for a reason, or that I’m okay. I don’t try to tidy it up.
With Rhett, I don’t have to.
I can miss him without performing it.
“He would’ve liked Connor,” Rhett says after a moment, voice lighter but not forced. “They would’ve teamed up and made Anderson miserable.”
“That’s a terrifying thought.”
“It really is. Anderson wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
I let myself picture it anyway—the alternate version of the world where Josh is still here, loud and alive and inserting himself into every room. In that version, maybe Anderson never quite fits the way he does now. But maybe none of us do.
It’s a strange thing, holding gratitude and grief in the same hand. Loving the people who showed up in the aftermath. Knowing they are here because he isn’t.
I wipe my hands on a napkin. “He’d be happy you’re not just sitting around.”
Rhett glances at me. “You think?”
“I know,” I say. “He hated when you got in your head.”
“That was one time.”
“It was many times.”
He huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’d be on your side right now, wouldn’t he?”
“Obviously.”
“And he’d be insufferable about it.”
“The worst,” I agree.
Rhett’s mouth tilts at the corner, that quiet almost-smile he gets when he’s thinking about something he won’t say out loud. He taps his foot lightly against mine under the table instead. And for a second, it almost feels like Josh is just running late.
