Four
FOUR
DANA
The entrance to the hospital is empty except for the muscular hunk in a wheelchair. Well, the muscular hunk and his flirty nurse.
The sky is an inky black. The streetlights cast a glow around Rhett, reminding me that he’s a living miracle. The scene is ruined by the look of pure disdain on his nurse’s face. Nurse McFlirty hasn’t tried anything since Rhett called me “sweetheart,” but she still looks at me as if I invented sunburn. She helps him stand, and I open the passenger door as he carefully makes his way over and slides in. I give the nurse a curt nod, and Rhett mumbles a “thank you” as he gets situated.
With a fake smile, she pushes the empty wheelchair back into the hospital with her nose tipped in the air.
I don’t have a moment to get into my car before I hear “Dana!” from a familiar voice.
My heart sinks. The voice belongs to Mitch, also known as the straw who broke my camel’s back—my most recent ex who just got engaged.
“Hey, Mitch,” I say with a smile despite the uncomfortable churning in my gut.
“Long time, no see.”
I try hard to bite back a snippy remark, but, “Well I figured reaching out to my now-engaged ex wouldn’t be the wisest idea” slips through.
Mitch at least has the decency to look uncomfortable as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he grunts.
I look around at everything but him, unsure where to take this awkward conversation. When I look up at the sky, waiting for Mitch to explain why he’s outside the hospital so late he says, “Two late shifts this week."
“I see,” I reply, taking a step backward.
He was the stereotypical bachelor doctor, living in a huge, sterile home. He wore expensive suits and cologne and he took me to the fanciest restaurants. We had fun together, and there was a spark, but no chemistry. His words, not mine.
There’s a rustling behind me, and Mitch’s gaze shifts to my car. His blond eyebrows practically touch his hairline. “You found yourself another bachelor?”
It’s clearly a dig at my disaster of a dating life.
Rhett steps out of the car with obvious difficulty and limps over to me, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Everything okay, sweetheart?”
My heart warms to a volcanic measure as I stare up at him. “Y-yeah.”
Rhett looks Mitch up and down, then looks back to me. The possessiveness I find in Rhett’s eyes sends a shiver of delight down my spine.
Rhett leans down and whispers in my ear, loud enough for Mitch to hear, “I think it’s time I get you all to myself.” Then he slides his hand down my side and rests it on my hip. My pulse skyrockets and I forget about my disdain for both men. Actually, I forget Mitch even exists for a moment when Rhett presses a tender kiss to my temple.
Mitch coughs and I’m reminded he’s still there. He looks shocked and maybe irritated as he glances between Rhett and me. Rhett didn’t introduce himself and barely acknowledged Mitch’s presence. Which is not something Mitch has ever taken lightly. He was always the center of attention when we were together. He wanted to be the most well-respected man in the room, and he usually was. This has to be a solid hit to his ego. I probably shouldn’t feel as good about it as I do.
“See you around,” I say, giving Mitch a small wave. Rhett removes his hand from my hip and takes my waving hand in his, lacing his fingers between mine. Then he raises my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to it, locking his eyes on mine. The warmth I see there has my heart skipping beats until I remind myself that this isn’t real. It’s an act to escape an uncomfortable encounter with an ex. I’m not surprised that Rhett stepped in or that our chemistry is still strong, but I have to remember that this is temporary. I have to remember what he did and how he hurt me, not how great it feels to be with him again.
Rhett slides back into his seat more smoothly than before. Once I’m in and settled, I can see the pained expression on his face.
“Thanks for stepping in back there.” I reach across the console and pat his fist that’s resting on his thigh. He flexes his hand and pulls each of my fingers between his. They’re the perfect fit.
“It’s the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.” He lifts my hand again and presses a kiss to the back. There’s not a hint of hesitation with his touch, and it leaves me reeling. I suspect he’s doing it to keep up our ruse, but when I look toward where Mitch was standing, he’s no longer there.
My throat tightens, and I cough to clear my airway. “How are you?” I remove my hand from Rhett’s to place it on the steering wheel. His skin against mine causes too much brain fog.
He answers without missing a beat. “It may be a bit before I can move without wincing, but my ribs are only bruised and not broken, so I’m thankful for that.”
“Me too.”
After buckling my belt, I turn up the heat. Amber Island is always warm during the days, but the nights during this time of year can be chilly. Standing in the cold air talking to Mitch has me shivering. I glance over and catch a glimpse of Rhett staring out the window. I use the opportunity to take him in, chiseled feature by chiseled feature.
Despite spending only God knows how long being tossed in the waves, his bruises and injuries are minimal, and he manages to still look more delicious than a freshly baked cinnamon roll. When he turns to face me and catches me in the act, he lifts an eyebrow. I expect one of his smirks, but he looks at me as if I hung the sun…or whatever the saying is, and it has my weak walls cracking again. My walls may as well be made of tissue paper with how easily he’s tearing them down.
I need to rebuild these walls with stone. I need to protect my already bruised and completely vulnerable heart. Seeing Mitch again and comparing him with Rhett—even in his current state—confirmed that the brief but intense relationship I had with Rhett ruined me for any other man. Sure, seeing that Mitch got engaged shortly after our breakup hurt, but it’s almost as if finding Rhett and being in his presence revealed how superficial things were with Mitch and my other two recent exes.
But that same feeling from earlier reminds me that this is my responsibility and not something I should try to pass off to someone else. It may go against propriety, but I know this is the right thing to do.
We’ve been shamelessly staring at each other for too long. I need to pass Rhett off to another member of my church, or good Samaritan, or anyone else before he can hurt me again. I blow out a puff of air and face forward, it’s time to get on the road.
“I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you’re doing all of this.” There’s something different about his voice—it’s deeper, hoarser. As if his voice is reflecting the same raw emotions I’ve been feeling.
I nod. “It’s what any decent human would do.”
“Well, I want you to know how much I appreciate it.” He clenches his jaw, almost as if he’s fighting the next words. “I know I hurt you, and yet you’re going out of your way to take care of me.” He’s quiet for a moment, but then asks, “Can you tell me what it is that I did?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
His expression turns more serious than I’ve ever seen it. “It does matter to you. I can see it in your eyes. And if it matters to you, it matters to me.”
His words hit their mark, and I find myself believing them despite my freshly built defenses. This isn’t the time or place for this, and there’s too much to process. I’m exhausted, and he needs rest to recover.
“I’m not ready to talk about it yet.” The words are true but still choke me up.
He nods. “I understand. But just know I will make it up to you. Whatever it is.”
“What’s done is done. It’s in the past.”
“Then I will focus on our future.” He takes my hand and presses a kiss to my palm.
The breath catches in my throat. These small kisses feel so natural as if this is how life is meant to be. It makes it impossible for me to push him away. My head tells me I have to, but my heart begs me to drink him in deeper and deeper until I am drowning. Never mind. Bad analogy.
This isn’t the real Rhett. This is the Rhett who doesn’t even know who he is.
“Let’s just focus on the now where we work on getting you healed up and your memories back.” I pull my hand away, face forward, and put my car in gear to head home.
We drive in uncomfortable silence. Probably because the man who ghosted me is my newest house guest and I have no idea for how long.
I slow down as we drive past The Golden Sands where Rhett used to work.
“Does this spark anything?” I ask, glancing over at him with an encouraging smile before I focus back on the road.
From the corner of my eye, I can see him shake his head. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s just my mind conjuring up memories to try and brush off this amnesia.” His jaw tightens and he closes his eyes as if he’s trying to force the memories to the surface. His tension tangibly increases.
I reach across the space between us and gently pat his leg. “It will come back to you.”
“I hope so,” he says in a dejected tone.
Thankfully, it’s not long before we arrive at my cottage, and the discomfort of the short trip dissipates as I park.
After turning off my car, I turn and face him. “Let’s get you to bed.”
His lips slowly lift up at the corners. “Get me in bed, huh?”
My mouth drops open. “Inappropriate, Rhett. You know what I meant.” Before he can say anymore or cause the heat in my cheeks to totally ignite, I get out of the car and make my way to his door.
He swings his legs out and I help him stand. I grab his arm and drape it over my shoulders.
“I can walk on my own, but I much prefer this.” He pulls me in, and I too easily melt into him. His breath is a soft whisper against my ear, and I can’t mask the shiver of delight that courses over me.
I clear my wandering thoughts and arm my heart’s walls–this time with something a little bit stronger than tissue paper. “This is just so you don’t overexert yourself. Don’t get any funny ideas, Stryker.”
His responding chuckle comes straight from his chest and flows through me. “I wouldn’t dream of it, little siren.” I bite back my smile at his unique term of endearment for me.
As we step onto the porch, my phone vibrates, notifying me of a text. I remove my arm from around Rhett and take a step away.
I pull out my phone and see a text from Crew.
“Who’s that?” Rhett asks, a hint of something I can’t quite decipher in his voice. Then he shakes his head. “None of my business. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. Just a friend.” I type out my response to Crew and then unlock my door.
I flip on the light and then cringe, remembering why I left him on the porch earlier today. Organized chaos fills my living room. Bibles, pens, notebooks, and highlighters are scattered around the space.
“What’s going on here?” Rhett asks as I lock the door behind us.
“I’m leading the youth group girl’s retreat.”
“And you bought all this stuff for the kids? There’s a whole bookstore’s worth of Bibles here.”
He’s slightly exaggerating—it’s not quite a bookstore’s worth—but the number of girls who have signed up for the retreat is astounding. Our small, private island church may not have a huge congregation, but the girls who attend youth group regularly have also invited friends—friends who follow me on social media and message me to tell me how excited they are to learn from me in person.
“No, everything was donated by different companies I work with.” The last thing I expected when creating my social media account teaching women about Bible study was getting noticed by big brands for promotion. This ministry has been more than I ever dreamed of, and I thank God every day for it. Even if my faith has grown stagnant over these last few months.
“Really? Those are some generous donations. What exactly do you do?” He eyes the piles of chaos warily.
“I create Bible study videos for women and in them promote faith-based brands and their products.” As the words fall out, the sensation of utter unworthiness grips my chest. I’ve become a fraud, unable to apply my own teachings to Bible study. It’s going to make leading this upcoming girl’s retreat even more daunting than it’d usually be.
About four months ago Mrs. Woodhouse asked if I’d be the retreat’s main speaker. I’m supposed to walk the girls through various scriptures and teach them how to dissect, study, and apply the verses to their day-to-day lives. My lesson plans should be almost done by now, but I haven’t been able to get a single thought down. Finding Rhett on shore has thrown another wrench into my plans.
Pushing down that consistent unease, I give Rhett a tight-lipped smile and nod. To thwart his questions, I ask, “Are you up for the grand tour? Or are you too tired or in too much pain?”
He wraps his arm around my shoulder and whispers, “I’d like the grand tour if you can be my crutch.”
My heart speeds up at his words and I do my best to school my expression.
We shuffle through my small home. I point out the kitchen, combo living and dining room, bathroom, and the three bedrooms, turning on the lights as we go. I only let him get a short peek of my bedroom and bring us to a halt before we step through the door.
“This room is off limits.” I look up at him and hope he can see the seriousness in my expression.
He winks but doesn’t try to push me.
When we reach the bedroom at the end of the hall, my book-nerd heart turns giddy like it does every time I open the door and get a glance into my favorite room of the house. A very generous gift from my billionaire brother-in-law made it possible to turn my sister’s old bedroom into my dream office. The work just wrapped up a week ago.
In the center of the room, my white desk and wingback desk chair wait for me to film videos—if I can ever get past this block. The wall behind my desk is the perfect backdrop with an entire wall of bookshelves, only partly full with my current collection. Many of the empty spaces are reserved for my sister’s future books and any others I collect along the way.
“I see a lot of books by Olivia Swann. Is she your favorite author?” Rhett asks.
Pride fills me as I answer, “She is.”
Ever since Olivia and West have gotten together, her book writing has taken off at a record pace. She puts out a book every two months, at least. Her editor can barely keep up, and I know several of those shelves will be full of her Christian romances in no time. She decided even before they got married that she’d keep her maiden name as her pen name. It makes everything easier for her and her current readers since that was the name on her debut novel. She also wants to make sure any success she sees is from her talents and not because of her billionaire husband.
Rhett releases me, slowly makes his way into the room, and surveys my favorite space. “This is amazing. It fits you.”
Resting my back against the doorframe, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“It’s feminine and fresh with the perfect dash of sass.” He motions to the hints of purple and cheetah print decor sprinkled around the room.
For several long seconds, I stare at him open-mouthed, unable to form a coherent thought. Finally, I say, “I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.” How could he know that if he doesn’t remember me? Do I wear my personality that boldly that he’d have that impression of me in less than a day?
“Definitely a compliment.” Rhett bites the corner of his lower lip and raises both eyebrows.
I shake my head and lead him to the spare bedroom.
“This is where you’ll be staying.” I open the door and sweep my hand out as if I’m presenting him with a grand prize. The room is sparsely furnished with a single bed, nightstand, and short dresser with a mirror hanging over it. Several paintings the children’s church made for me hang on the walls. Their artwork surrounds my favorite Bible verses, all written in calligraphy.
I look from the bed to Rhett, then back to the bed and wince. “I’m sorry if it’s a little small for you.”
He eyes the bed, then turns to me. “It’s perfectly fine.” He walks over to it and eases himself down, laying his head on the pillow and stretching his legs to their full length making them hang over the end of the bed. “See, it fits like a glove.”
“If by glove you mean a normal glove that needs to be turned into a fingerless glove to fit your frame.”
The bed creaks in protest when Rhett sits up. He grimaces and holds his bruised side as he walks back to the door.
A rush of sympathy washes over me. “Are you okay?” I motion to his hand on his ribs. “Maybe this little tour was too much for you.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
I have to tilt my head back ever so slightly to meet him eye to eye. He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear with his free hand. “Thank you for caring.”
My eyes flutter closed. I force myself to picture the message I received that told me his phone was no longer in service. He left me without a goodbye or even a backward glance. I need to keep these memories at the forefront of my mind when it comes to Rhett. Otherwise, history will repeat itself, and I’ll be back to being the girl who was heartbroken over a ghost.
I grit my teeth and take a step away from him, gently shaking my head. “Don’t–”
“Dana…” His voice is rough as if he feels the same turmoil I do.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but before I can utter a word, I hear my front door knob jiggling like someone is trying to unlock it.
Rhett’s eyes narrow and he wraps a protective arm around me as he slides me behind him.
“Stay here. I’ll go check it out.”
“No, it’s fine.” I try to step around him, but he holds his arm out to block me from exiting. The door creaks open. “It’s just?—”
Rhett launches into action. A single blink and he’s in the living room with his forearm against Crew’s throat, pushing him against the wall, and mumbling something too low for me to hear.
“Rhett! It’s just Crew!” I exclaim, jogging up to them.
Rhett doesn’t step back, doesn’t lower his arm, but when he turns to me, his face takes on a new expression. “Who’s Crew?” he practically growls.
I break the tension with the first thing that comes to mind: “He’s the one who brought us dinner.”