Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Finn
I hear Rhodes’s quiet footsteps on the stairs and expect him to come into the family room.
It’s popcorn and movie (I even planned on letting him pick for once) and cocktail time.
But when long minutes go by without him appearing, I go in search of him.
He’s not in the kitchen or the laundry room. And he didn’t go back upstairs to check on Chloe (she’s sprawled out on her bed, snoring away). He’s not in his bedroom either.
I frown but take the opportunity to change into my pajamas and wash off my leftover sunscreen.
Then I snag my planner.
I want to show Rhodes something I’ve been working on.
Because I have a surprise.
A good one.
Hopefully.
The drinks and popcorn are untouched in the family room and the TV is still off, but when I start for the kitchen I realize a light is on down the hall.
His office.
Right.
Rhodes doesn’t spend much time in it. He prefers to hang with Chloe.
And me, I think with a smile.
He even casually mentioned turning it into a craft room.
That’s the dream.
Shelves and shelves for my fabric, maybe space for a big calendar where I can schedule all my fairs and markets. An area I can use for pictures so I can start my online store. A big desk for my sewing machine instead of me unpacking and setting it up then tucking it away constantly.
Roots.
I want to lay down roots.
With Rhodes. With Chloe.
That’s why my excitement for the trip has felt so off the last weeks. I don’t need to travel for months, don’t need to run away from my life. I don’t need to experience all the places I’ve dreamed of seeing all at once.
I can take my time.
I can linger, can soak it in with the people I love.
I can allow my dreams to change—not to fade, but to grow, to morph, to…
Become something more.
Grinning, more excited for my future than I’ve been in ages, I hug my planner to my chest and move down the hall.
The door is open, but I pause on the threshold. “Hey,” I say.
He looks up and…
The smile slips from my face.
His eyes—the look of them—makes my stomach twist.
But I hold my planner a little tighter, walk across the soft carpet, round that big, wooden desk. He’s sitting in a rolling chair, papers in front of him. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says too quickly. “Fine. I just forgot I had a couple of contracts to review.”
I stop within arm’s reach.
But he doesn’t tug me closer, doesn’t tuck me into his side like he always does…
And something cold slices through my middle.
“Okay. Right. I—” I shift a little closer, hoping he’ll reach out, hoping he’ll hold me. “I won’t bother you,” I say when he doesn’t move. “I…just had something I wanted to show you.”
He nods once. “Can it wait?”
The words are clipped, cold.
And he still doesn’t touch me, doesn’t hold me.
Doesn’t kiss me.
Doesn’t even really look at me.
It’s like he doesn’t see me. Like he’s realized I’m not—
I take a step back. “I’ll leave you alone. Sorry I bothered you.”
“You’re not bothering me.” He scrubs a hand over his face, shoves it through his hair. “It’s just…” He drops his arm back down, sighs heavily. “It’s been a long day.”
“Right.” I clear my throat. “Of course.”
It has been a long day. Chasing Chloe around, swimming, hanging in the warm—sometimes hot—sunshine, socializing with his teammates and their friends and families.
And…this is dumb.
We don’t have to talk about my trip right now.
It can wait.
Still, I stand there for a moment, waiting for him to look up.
Wanting it so badly.
But he doesn’t.
So…I just turn and leave.
I watch a documentary, eat a bowl of popcorn, drink my cocktail—and his.
But he doesn’t emerge from his office, and when I go back down the hall to check on him, the door is shut.
I knock softly.
“Rhodes?”
Nothing.
I knock again, this time a little louder.
Still…nothing.
And when I try the handle, it doesn’t turn. Locked.
My stomach twists.
Because I know he’s in there.
I can feel it.
The silence greeting me isn’t empty.
It’s deliberate.
And something inside of me shrivels up and dies.
I stand there for another second, pain and humiliation prickling hot beneath my skin.
Then I turn around and go back to my room.
Not his room.
Mine.
And even though the space is full of memories—Chloe beside me, Rhodes bringing me soup, forcing me to rest. The first time he snuck in to kiss me, Chloe lying on the bed, kicking up her feet as I did my makeup.
Rhodes stealing my pajamas so I’d sleep in his shirts.
But, for the first time in months, those memories don’t feel good to think about.
They hurt.
And when I crawl into my bed—alone—I don’t feel hopeful.
I feel cold.
Alone.
And maybe…
A little broken.