Page 101 of The Long Way Home
I manage a small nod, the tiniest movement, barely more than a twitch of my chin. It’s the only thing I can force.
His eyes drop immediately to my arm, to the red marks where Ben dug in. Rhett’s body stiffens. His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking hard before locking completely.
“Get in the car, Sunny,” Rhett orders. “I’m taking you home.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before he walks around to the passenger side door and opens it for me, and waits for me to follow his lead. Reluctantly, I walk around and slide into the seat.
I get why he stepped in. He would have done that for any other woman in my position.
But as the silence stretches during the car ride home, something shifts. The fear starts to recede, slipping off my skin in pieces, and in its place, something else begins to rise.
It’s not relief. I have realized there is no relief for me when it comes to Rhett. There is only the ache of wanting something I shouldn’t still want. Because, of course, he showed up. Of course, he stepped between me and the worst-case scenario without hesitation. That’s what he does. He saves me, over and over, in the exact moment I need him.
Just enough to remind me what it feels like to be protected. But never enough to be kept.
He called meBaby.I heard the word come out of his mouth. I thought I hallucinated it at first. But I watched his lips form theword. He said it as if it were normal. As if he hasn’t spent the last decade of my life making it clear I’m just a friend.
So what the hell was that?
I glance at him, sharp, hoping maybe he’ll look guilty. Or a hint of sheepishness. Anything. But he doesn’t even blink.
I cross my arms over my chest, gripping tight. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but I’m not in the mood. He doesn’t get to swoop in, save me, say things like that, and then act like he never meant any of it. He doesn’t get to look at me and make me think I’m his, then pretend he has never considered it.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard, trying to clamp down on the words that threaten to escape.
And the worst part? Somewhere beneath the anger, beneath the confusion and the pride, there is a small, stubborn part of me thathasto hear him say it again.
Chapter Twenty-three
RHETT
The silence in the car is thick enough to choke on, and I’m pretty sure Rachel wants me to.
She hasn’t said a single word since I got behind the wheel. Her arms are crossed so tightly over her chest, I’m half-worried they’ll leave bruises. Her eyes are fixed straight ahead, and her body is rigid as stone. She has only looked at me once, and even then, I’m not sure she saw me. I don’t even know if she’s breathing normally.
I don’t try to fill the silence. I know exactly what she is feeling. She is pissed. There’s nothing I can say right now that wouldn’t aggravate her more.
I keep my hands loose on the wheel, gripping when I need to, letting the car move us forward, letting the quiet stretch. I knew this would happen the second I stepped in back there. Her angry, me driving and the space between us is full of everything we’re not saying. But I’m sick of keeping it all inside.
I don’t ask if she’s okay. I already asked and already fucked that up. The worry hit me the second I saw Ben with his hands on her, the moment I realized how scared she must have been. I was so focused on her safety that ‘baby’ just slipped out.
God,I hated that it slipped out. I’ve been so good at keeping that tucked into the deepest corners. All she gave me was a nod. That’s it. One tiny nod. Even after I saw the marks on her arm. Even after I watched her blink away tears as if they didn’t matter.
Ben is lucky he’s still breathing.
If I hadn’t walked in when I did—
I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw me.
I pull up to her place and kill the engine. Still nothing from Rachel. Not a word. She spares me no glance. Not a breath that tells me she’s going to let me in.
When I’m convinced she is going to stay in the car, she finally moves. She unbuckles her seatbelt, shoves the door open and climbs out without so much as a look my way.
I follow her lead. Rachel can be pissed all she wants. Her emotions don’t scare me; they never have.
She unlocks the front door fast, swinging it open and walking straight into the living room. All the lights are off except for the one by the window. It’s almost too calm for the way she’s moving: quick, tight steps. It’s like she is holding herself together by sheer force of will.
I shut the door behind me, and the second it clicks, she spins.
