Page 4 of Unravel Me

I cast my eyes away, not asking for an explanation he certainly doesn’t owe me. A guy like this probably has a family, or a girlfriend waiting for him at home. He doesn’t need to spend any more of his Saturday night on a rooftop with a crying rich girl.

“I should go, too.” I snuff out what was left of the cigarette. He nods, an unreadable look on his face as we both turn towards the door. Avoiding eye contact, I pick up my empty bottle and focus my gaze on the stairwell door as I attempt not to stumble while I walk. Nausea bites at my stomach.

He follows me down the steps, keeping a respectful distance as we enter the hallway of the sixth floor together.

“The elevators are right down there.” I point past my door, down the hallway. “But of course, you already know that since you work here,” I add, and he flashes me a charming smile.

“Thank you, take care.”

“You too. This is me,” I add, buying time for reasons I can’t articulate. I stop outside my door, my hand hesitating at the keypad.

My gaze rests on his back a heartbeat too long before I quickly type the code into my door. His footsteps sound down the hallway, getting further away, and without hesitation, I pause and holler after him.

“Thank you for letting me vent.”

He stops, peering back at me over his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh, I didn’t catch your name.” I wait, my breath hitched in my chest.

“It’s Rhett.” His lips pull up to one side as he nods his head at me.

Rhett.

“Well thank you, Rhett. Have a good evening. Or night.”

“Goodnight, Audrey,” he says, and as soon as he disappears into the elevator, my shoulders sink and I drag my feet through the threshold of my apartment, alone again.

Chapter three

Rhett

Icrank down the window of my truck and turn up the radio, letting music drown out the noises of the city as I pull off the brick lined street. The Brecken Building fills my rearview mirror. I’ll be happy to never come back to this pretentious neighborhood, at least not for a while. The people around here pay well, but not all of them treat me with dignity. I’ve got thick skin, but it gets old quickly.

My phone lights up on the worn bench seat next to me, and I thumb open the notification as I idle at the red light. Just another alert from my security system telling me motion was detected on the front porch. My dog again—probably slipped out the back door. For the second time this week.

She won’t go anywhere; she just doesn’t love being alone. I thought she’d get used to it by now. It’s just us for the foreseeable future, I keep reminding her. Girl doesn’t listen.

The streetlights pass by in a blur as I merge onto the freeway, the smell of gasoline coming through the car vent. This drive is routine, I could do it in my sleep. I know each curve of the roadway, shifting the old gears without a single thought.

Except for the thoughts about Audrey. The way her hazel eyes shined with tears; unnecessary embarrassment etched on her face. The way the cigarette sat between her full, pink lips.

I’ll never see that girl again. I don’t need to be thinking about this shit.

But seriously, what the hell kind of loser cheats on a girl like that? On their fiancé?

Not that I've always been a star boyfriend or date. Hell, I’ve never even come close to being engaged. My longest stint lasted just shy of a year and we were eighteen.

The timing in my life also hasn’t been impeccable, but I'm glad I decided to take a load off on that rooftop before driving home tonight. I hope Audrey is passed out in her bed by now. She definitely drank enough champagne to sleep for two days.

Reaching for the old, yellowed dial, I tune the radio to a new station. Classic rock, just like my old man used to blast decades ago from this same seat. My friends harp on me for not upgrading the stereo system in this old truck, but I like the simplicity of old things.

As I’m pulling off the road onto the gravel lane that leads home, I think of her again, a pang in my tired chest, wondering if she is okay.

My boots hit the grass outside my truck door, and I snatched my lunch cooler and canteen off the passenger side floor.

If I was a betting man, I’d say her asshole ex is already on his way back to her with a dozen roses in tow, an expensive gift, maybe a surprise trip to somewhere she always wanted to go, ready to beg her to get back together—that’s what rich guys do, right? And maybe she’ll say yes and brush this all under the rug, and live happily ever after.

And I’ll just be a stranger she’ll forget by tomorrow afternoon.