Page 73 of The Long Way Home
I open my eyes and finally look at her. Her gaze meets mine, steady, filled with something I don’t deserve but desperately need.
“But you, Rhett Hayes, are my favorite person on this Earth,” she says, her voice shaking slightly, “and you are kind, and strong, and a person worth sticking around for. Worth loving. And I’m so sorry she ever made you doubt that.”
The words don’t land the way I expect. They don’t bruise. They don’t demand anything. They settle, soft and careful, right into the cracks she didn’t cause but somehow sees anyway. After everything I hurled at her the other night. After all the force I tried to use to make her understand. She still meets me with gentleness.
A tear slips free and tracks down her cheek. I lift my thumb and brush it away before I can think better of it, careful not to linger, afraid she’ll feel the tremor I haven’t managed to bury yet.
“I’m sorry, Sunny. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry,” I murmur, my fingers tightening around hers.
She laughs softly, a fragile sound that somehow pulls a little light into the alley. “You sure do like to tell me what to do,” she jokes, nudging my hand with hers.
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. I swallow, the question rising before I can stop it.
“You still feel that way,” I ask, “even after I yelled at you at Margo’s?”
“Yes,” she says simply. Then she tilts her head, studying me. “Don’t get me wrong, Hayes, you drive me absolutely insane sometimes. Like, truly. Olympic-level infuriating.”
A breath almost laughs its way out of me before I can stop it.
“But,” she continues, squeezing my hand, “you’re still one of my favorite people. Don’t let that go to your head, Margo might have you beat. But it’s close.”
I shake my head, disbelief creeping in. “You’re not mad?”
“Iwasmad,” she admits. “I am mad. But I can be mad and still care about you. Trust me, those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
I huff out a breath and shake my head. “Thanks, Sunny, for helping me today.” My thumb brushes once against her knuckles, then stills. “And I’ll work on pissing you off less.”
Something in me loosens then. The last bit of tension I’ve been holding onto since that perfume hit my nose. I lean back against the wall again and close my eyes. I let the air move in and out, slow and steady, matching hers.I can see Sunny, I can feel her skin touching my skin, and I can hear her sweet voice.
I was right. After all these years, I knew who I’d want sitting beside me on my worst day. It is her. It hasalwaysbeen her.
Chapter Seventeen
RACHEL
Idon’t dress up for girls’ night often, but tonight I want to feel something.
I pull out the black bodysuit I’ve been saving for a night I actually feel like showing up in. The one that hugs all the right places. The low back, the thin spaghetti straps—it makes me feel a little dangerous, a little bold. I tug it on slowly, adjusting the straps over my shoulders, feeling the fabric settle against my skin. Then I shimmy into my high-waisted jeans. They do their best to remind me I have a body worth dressing up for.
I curl my hair loosely, letting the soft waves fall just below my shoulders. The scent of my shampoo mixes with the faint hint of perfume I dab on my neck. I take my time with makeup: bronzy lids, fluffy lashes, a sweep of highlighter across the tops of my cheeks. A touch of gloss on my lips, shiny but soft, playful without saying too much.
I step back and study myself. I almost don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. I force a small smile and whisper, “You look good.”
I turn out of my bedroom and grab my phone. I still haven’t heard from Ben since he disappeared to guys’ night earlier this evening. Ben knows I have plans tonight, I’d mentioned it this morning, twice. But still, I text him a reminder.
Me:
Heading out to meet Margo for drinks.
We still haven’t really talked about what happened after dinner last week. I’ve honestly seen him only once, other than sleeping next to him in bed. I don’t know why I keep avoiding the conversation. Maybe it is easier to live in the space before decisions, before truths get spoken out loud. Or maybe I’m afraid of what I’ll admit once I start.
Part of me still waits for him to change. I hate that part of me. I don’t trust it, and I don’t know why it’s still here after everything I know. But what scares me more is the realization that I’m not sure I want him to change.
Because if he did, if he became the version I’ve been hoping for, I’m not convinced I’d choose him anyway. And that’s the thought I can’t stop circling.
I’m not sure I want him.
I grab my purse and throw on my oversized jacket. I turn and lock the door behind me before I can talk myself into staying home. Before Ben’s silence convinces me I’m not wanted anywhere at all.
