Chapter 24 Rhett
RHETT
My hands shake—not from fear, not from uncertainty, but pure fucking restraint that’s coiled so tight it burns through my veins.
I curl my fingers around the handle of Noah’s suitcase, anything to try to ease the shaking.
Fuck me. If I don’t get control of the anger coursing through my body, I don’t deserve to touch hers.
Noah needs me to be the calm in her storm. Nothing more, nothing less. Compose yourself, Rhett. Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on my breathing. In for three, out for three. Finally, once I’m stable enough, I allow myself to return to her.
I already know this moment is going to live with me forever—walking back into this room and understanding, with bone-deep certainty, that there is no version of my life after tonight that doesn’t revolve around keeping my girl safe from what I failed to stop.
The door clicks shut behind me, but I can’t look at the bed where I left Noah. Not yet. Because I don’t trust myself not to fracture if I do. She deserves my strength.
Scrubbing my free hand down my face, I decide it’s time to man the fuck up and take a step closer.
The sight of her hits me like a Mack truck, knocking the wind from my lungs.
I knew something wasn’t right, and I didn’t do enough to stop her from going through with that wedding. This is all my fault.
Noah’s curled on the bed, robe pulled tight to her throat, white silk gathered in her fists like armor she doesn’t trust but refuses to let go of.
Her body is folded inward, protective, small in a way that has nothing to do with size and everything to do with damage.
Sage sits close, one hand steady at the base of Noah’s neck, thumb moving slowly in grounding circles like she’s lending her a heartbeat.
I won’t pretend to know what she’s going through right now. But if it’s anything like the bone-crunching pain hammering my body, how is she hanging on?
Just like always, she senses me before I can announce myself. Her eyes lock onto mine, and they hold me in place. Something tells me she’s scared I might disappear if she looks away for even a second.
“How’re ya doing, Starlet?” The suitcase slips from my hand and hits the floor near the dresser with a dull thud. I barely register the sound because I’m too focused on the way her fingers tighten in the robe, silk whispering softly under her grip.
“Better now, cowboy.”
“Good to hear.” A soft, sympathetic smile tugs the corners of my mouth. I step closer, but don’t overcrowd her. “I got your belongings. Well, anything I could find.”
“Thanks.” Her breath stutters, then steadies again, shallow like she’s rationing air.
Sage rises without a word. Our eyes meet for a brief beat, and a thought overcomes me. How did I not notice the similarities between us before? We share the same facial features, more noticeable now that they’re clenched with a similar emotion—unfiltered rage.
Looking over her shoulder, she sneaks around to look at my heart lying beaten and bruised on the bed, then returns her gaze to mine.
“Kade just texted.” Her voice lowers. “The rental car place opens in an hour. I’m going to go with him once I get back to our room.
” Her arms are folded tight across her chest, jaw set.
“I’ll leave you to it. Text if anything changes. ”
I dip my chin in acknowledgment, and she heads for the door.
It closes behind her with a click, and the space shifts immediately, the absence pressing in where she stood, leaving the room wider and heavier all at once.
Noah’s shoulders tense, her breath hitching just enough that I feel it from where I’m standing, and that’s when I move to her.
“I’m right here,” I assure her quietly, because she needs to hear it again now that there’s no one else in the room to reinforce it. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her hand loosens on the robe and seeks mine out. Without hesitation, I intertwine my fingers with hers and gently squeeze. “I was thinking maybe I can run you a bath.” Keeping my voice low and steady, I reassure her, “Might help.”
She hesitates for a second, and I fear she might pull further in on herself, but then she exhales. “Yeah. Okay.”
I help her up slowly, my body angled just enough to give her space while still being there to catch her if her balance wavers—which it does, briefly. Her weight tips into me as if her body knows before her mind that she doesn’t have to do this alone.
I steady her without comment, one hand at her back, and we move together toward the bathroom.
The robe slips slightly at her shoulder, and she pulls it closed again on instinct.
I don’t look. I don’t comment. I guide her to the edge of the tub and help her sit, my hands staying on fabric, not skin, grounding rather than claiming.
She gingerly perches there, shoulders drawn in, watching me like she’s afraid to look away.
“I’ll run the bath,” I tell her, keeping my voice even.
“You just sit.” The sound of water hitting the tub fills the small space, and I test the temperature with my hand, adjusting it until it’s warm enough.
I want the water to feel like something she can sink into, not something she has to brace against.
I stay half turned, never fully putting my back to her. She tracks my every movement, like she needs to know exactly where I am at all times.
The room fills slowly with steam, softening the harsh edges of tile and mirror, muting the world down to water and breath and the space between us.
After a moment, her voice comes quietly. “Are you … Are you getting in, too?” A simple sentence that carries more weight than anything else she’s said tonight, as if she’s bracing for the answer.
Turning the tap off, I face her where she’s seated on the edge of the tub.
At first, she keeps her eyes on the tiled floor, then her gaze bounces to the water.
“Eyes on me, Noah,” I encourage, my tone pitched exactly where it needs to be so it doesn’t startle her.
Following my gentle command, she traces my face with a doe-like expression.
Good girl. “It’s your call, Starlet. Say jump, and I’ll ask how high. ”
Whiskey eyes search my face with the same careful intensity she’s been using all night, weighing every word, every breath, deciding whether she can afford to trust what she sees there.
I don’t fill the silence. I let it stretch, let her take the time she needs.
“Yes.” Her reply settles into my skin, and I release a breath as she whispers, “Need your arms around me.”
My dick is more affected by that statement than he should be, and I have to remind him to calm the fuck down because it’s the furthest thing from what she needs.
I step back just far enough for her to see me move, to track me, and strip down to my underwear without ceremony, every motion deliberate and unhurried, making sure nothing about this feels sudden or uncontrolled.
Climbing into the tub before her, the water laps gently against porcelain as I lower myself in.
“I’m a patient man, Noah. Take all the time you need. ”
Hesitation stretches across her shoulders, but she draws in a breath.
After a beat, she dips her chin to her chest, then drops her robe to the floor.
My breath hitches in my throat, stunned to silence at the sight of her standing bare before me.
Noah Lane is breathtaking. And although it is so inappropriate to be eye fucking her at a time like this, I can’t help the way my heart thunders against my rib cage.
There will never be a day this woman doesn’t affect me.
Hell, she’s owned every part of my attention since she was fifteen years old. Thank fuck I left my boxers in place.
Distracted by seeing her naked for the first time in years, it takes me a second to fully register how bad the marks really are.
Scattered shades of red litter her torso, hips, and thighs.
The newer ones are not bruises, not yet, but in the morning, they’ll show their true colors.
My stomach drops, somersaulting into a wave of nausea I have to fight to keep down.
Once again, the anger bubbles to the surface, and it takes every ounce of my control to keep it at bay. For her.
I swallow the growing lump in my throat, extend my hand toward Noah, and she places hers in mine.
Once she’s stepped into the tub, she stiffly lowers herself.
A hiss draws from her chest as the water soothes her injuries.
Finally, she leans back into me, not all at once, just enough for her shoulders to rest against my chest, a choice she makes slowly, consciously, like she’s testing whether I’ll hold steady once she lets go.
Thankfully, I do.
The water settles around us, warmth pressing in from every side.
I don’t tighten my hold or pull her closer.
I let my breathing set the rhythm, something she can borrow if she needs it.
Her breath is shallow at first, controlled like she’s afraid of what might happen if she lets it loose, and I feel every small hitch of it against my ribs, every careful adjustment of her body as she decides whether this—me—is safe enough to sink into.
The restraint it takes not to gather her up burns like a live wire under my skin.
Then she leans back, and I finally feel like I can breathe again.
Noah shifts slightly, a careful movement, and my body reacts before my mind does, muscles tightening instinctively.
I’m ready to catch her, but she doesn’t falter—just settles in as her head tips a fraction, hair brushing my collarbone.
“This okay?” My mouth is close to her ear but not touching, voice kept low so it doesn’t fracture the quiet we’re building.
She nods but doesn’t say anything.
My chin tilts forward until it rests lightly against her shoulder, a point of contact she can feel without being overwhelmed by it.
She doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans back a little more, trusting my stability in a way that fractures something quiet and permanent in my chest. Wrapping my arms around her, I exhale.
We don’t exchange words, letting time stretch until it feels less like an enemy and more like something we can survive if we take it one slow minute at a time.
I make sure she sees my next movements before doing anything drastic.
With the handheld showerhead, I rinse off her hair and reach for the shampoo.
She doesn’t flinch, and I take that as a green light to continue.
Without saying a word, she sits forward, granting me access and permission.
I squeeze a small amount into my palms, and my fingers sink gently into her hair.
I’ve done this with her dozens of times before, but somehow, this moment feels fragile.
Careful not to pull or rush, I massage the liquid through in unhurried circles.
She hums as I tease her scalp, a soft sound that settles deep in my chest. “Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Anytime.” I gulp back my emotions and wordlessly guide the water through her tresses until it runs clear.
“I need you to wash them off me. All of them.”
How I don’t physically react to those words is beyond comprehension. Especially when my heart shatters into a billion fragmented pieces. Them? What the fuck does that mean? Was Bradley not alone?
Visions of the hell I found her in come rushing back to the forefront of my mind.
The destruction was exponential. Several bottles of liquor.
Glasses on the coffee table. Condoms strewn all over the floor and bed.
I blocked it out, refusing to think of the atrocity I witnessed.
But now that she’s confirmed my suspicions, I fight the urge to burn this fucking city to the ground.
Murder coats my vision in a red haze. I will come for Bradley, and whoever the hell else was involved.
When I do, they’ll wish they never laid a hand on my Starlet.
I’ll gut every one of them until they’re soaked in their own blood.
My jaw clenches as I fight for the control she needs. Pack it away, Rhett. Their time will come, and when it does, you’ll be ready.
I want to question her, draw every detail from her mind so I can lead the lambs to slaughter.
I want to beg her to tell me everything so I know exactly how to put her back together.
But I don’t. Not now. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and when their time comes, I’m prepared to make them choke on it.
Setting my fury aside, I focus on her because she needs me present right now. So, I do exactly as she’s requested—cleanse them from her flesh. My hand reaches for the bottle of hotel-provided bodywash, and I squirt some into my palm and massage into her tense muscles. “Tell me if this is too much.”
“You’re the only thing keeping me from spiraling,” she whispers. “Please.”
“I’m yours, Noah. Anything and everything you need.” Brushing her hair away from the nape of her neck, she leans into my touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Being cared for and held without being asked for anything in return is something her body remembers, and that eases the ache in my chest. At this moment, I vow to do whatever it takes to make sure she never feels broken again.
Tonight is about her. When the time is right, I’ll figure out the rest—starting with how to dispose of Bradley.
I’m not my brother. Kade is a gambler. Too erratic and spontaneous, acting before thinking things through.
I’m more strategic. A puppeteer. I’ll lay the trap, set the stage, and pull the strings.
By the time the final curtain falls, they won’t be alive to witness my applause.