Page 57 of The Long Way Home
“To be fair,” I say, “I don’t think she knew where the conversation would end up.”
Rachel finally turns to face me. Up close, I see the exhaustion lining her eyes.
“I know that.” She looks away again, as if that would be enough for me to give up and let her be sad and alone.
But I don’t have any plans to let this go.
“You know, Rach,” I say, the words scraping their way out of my chest, “I don’t get it. Why are you with him if he makes you feel like this all the time?”
Her head snaps toward me. Anger flashes dark and sharp in her eyes.
“Rhett—”
“No.” I shake my head once, cutting her off. The frustration I’ve been swallowing for weeks finally spills over. “I thought we made progress. I thought that night at my place meant something. That we were done with the awkward small talk and pleasantries.”
She stiffens.
“But then you disappear,” I continue. “It’s been over a month. You won’t look at me, won’t talk to me—until you need something fixed. And now I’m supposed to stand here and smile while Ben walks around like he owns you?” A humorless laugh escapes me. “Funny thing is, for someone who acts like that, he barely looks at you at all.”
My jaw ticks. I hate how bitter it all sounds, but I can’t take it back now.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her lips press together. “You don’t even know him.”
“But I knowyou,” I shoot back before I can stop myself. “And I know what it looks like when someone is being treated like an afterthought.”
She steps closer, disbelief twisting her face. “Youknewme,” she spits. Her arms drop, fists clenching tight at her sides. “Past tense, Rhett. In case you forgot, you haven’t been around in four years. If anyone changed, it was you.”
“Oh, okay, so we’re lying now, got it.” I let out a laugh, but it’s sharp and humorless. I need to keep my emotions in check, but it is so fucking hard when I’m around her. I drag a hand through my hair, trying and failing to rein myself in.
“Does it not bother you,” I ask, voice steady despite the way my pulse kicks, “that he only looks at you when he wants to show you off? Like you’re some trophy he dusts off when it suits him?”
I step closer, the heat of her body brushing mine. My attention snags on the faint freckle at her collarbone.
Her eyes flash hot with rage. That is the thing about Rachel. Her emotions have never scared me. I’ve seen her angry, broken, restless, happy, laughing—every version of her there is. I’ve stood in front of all of them.
This fire she is throwing at me now is familiar. It is her armor. It is what she does when she wants distance, when she wants to make someone flinch hard enough to leave her alone. She thinks if she sharpens her words, if she lets the anger bite, I’ll finally back off.
She is wrong.
“You’ve been with him for what, a year and a half?” I ask. “I’m not even confident he could tell me your middle name.”
Her breath catches. I see the way her lips part like she means to say something and can’t quite get there.
“Does he know you like the crusts cut off your sandwiches?” I continue, quieter now. “Or that you always double-knot yourshoelaces because they came untied during a race when you were sixteen?”
Her shoulders lift as her chest rises and falls. I take another step toward her.
“Does he know you can’t fall asleep unless all the doors are shut?” My gaze drifts, unbidden, to the hollow of her throat. “Or that when you’re anxious, you hum Christmas songs because it calms you?”
I’m too close to her now. I know it. She knows it.
“You hate lilies,” I say softly. “Because they remind you of hospital rooms. And your laugh changes depending on who you’re with. But the real one takes over your whole face, making your eyes crinkle, and your nose scrunch up.”
I feel it in my chest when I look at her.
“And he doesn’t know how damn lucky he is just to be near it.”
I draw in a breath, my hands curling at my sides because touching her right now would undo me.
