Chapter 7 #2
“On that note,” she said, gathering her things, “I have a very uncomfortable conversation with my father to prepare for. You two should probably make yourselves scarce for a bit, let the dust settle.”
With a quick hug for each of us, she departed, leaving Rhett and me alone on the now-empty platform.
“So,” Rhett said after a moment of charged silence, “what now?”
I considered the question, feeling oddly light despite the confrontation we’d just weathered and the potential backlash still to come. For the first time in twenty years, I wasn’t carrying the weight of my secret, wasn’t looking over my shoulder, wasn’t hiding who I was or what I felt.
“Now,” I said slowly, “I think I need a drink. And possibly a very long nap.”
Rhett chuckled, the sound warming something inside me that had been cold for too long. “I can help with both of those. My hotel room has a fully stocked minibar and an extremely comfortable king-sized bed.”
The invitation hung in the air between us, fraught with possibilities. Part of me, the cautious part that had been burned before, wanted to retreat, to take time to process everything that had happened. But a stronger part, the part that had been silent for too long, urged me forward.
“Lead the way,” I said simply.
The walk to Rhett’s hotel was silent, both of us lost in our own thoughts, processing the events of the day.
The Mill Creek Inn was Gomillion’s only luxury accommodation, a converted textile mill that maintained its industrial charm while offering modern comforts.
Rhett led me through the lobby, nodding to the receptionist who gave us a curious look but said nothing.
His room was on the top floor, a corner suite with large windows overlooking the town square where, ironically, the restored Paul Bunyan statue stood proud against the afternoon sky.
The symbolism wasn’t lost on either of us as Rhett closed the door behind us, the soft click of the lock echoing in the suddenly charged atmosphere.
“Drink?” he offered, moving to the minibar.
“Please,” I replied, shrugging off my jacket and draping it over a chair before sinking onto the edge of the king-sized bed he’d mentioned. “Whiskey, if they have it.”
He nodded, preparing two glasses with practiced ease. I watched his movements, confident, precise, the same way he’d always done everything. Some things never changed, it seemed.
“Here,” he said, handing me a glass and sitting beside me, close enough that our thighs almost touched. “To the truth, finally told.”
I clinked my glass against his. “To the truth.”
We sipped in silence for a moment, the warm burn of the whiskey a welcome distraction from the nervous energy thrumming through my veins.
“I’m proud of you,” Rhett said suddenly. “What you did today took incredible courage.”
I gave a short laugh. “Courage? After twenty years of hiding, of letting everyone believe the worst of me, of not standing up for what was right when it actually mattered?”
“Yes, courage,” he insisted, turning to face me fully. “It’s easy to be brave when you have nothing to lose. It’s much harder when you’ve built a life, a reputation, a business that could all be damaged. You did the right thing when it still cost you something to do it. That’s real courage, Moses.”
The earnestness in his voice, the conviction in his eyes, broke something loose inside me, a dam of emotion I’d been holding back for hours, for years.
“I should have told you,” I said, the words rushing out. “Back then, when it happened. I should have trusted you with the truth instead of pushing you away. Maybe everything would have been different.”
Rhett was quiet for a moment, considering. “Maybe,” he agreed. “Or maybe we weren’t ready then. Maybe we needed to become the men we are now before we could handle what’s between us.”
“And what is between us?” I asked, setting my glass aside and facing him directly. “After twenty years, after everything, what is this, exactly?”
He mirrored my action, abandoning his drink in favor of taking my hands in his. “I think you know,” he said softly. “I think you’ve always known, just as I have. Whatever labels we put on it, whatever complications come with it, this thing between us has never gone away, has it?”
The honesty of the question demanded honesty in return. “No,” I admitted. “It never did. I tried to forget you, tried to move on. There were others, men, women, but none of them were ever...” I trailed off, unable to find words adequate to express what I meant.
“Me,” Rhett completed simply. “And no one else was ever you.”
The truth of it hung in the air between us, twenty years of separation and longing distilled into those simple words. I didn’t know who moved first, maybe we both did, but suddenly his lips were on mine, and everything else fell away.
The kiss was both familiar and new, like returning to a place you’ve only visited in dreams. His lips were softer than I remembered, his technique more refined with age and experience, but the essential chemistry remained unchanged, explosive, all-consuming.
My hands found their way to his hair, threading through the now-shorter strands, as his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, I rested my forehead against his, unwilling to move any further away. “We should talk,” I murmured, though my body was screaming for anything but conversation. “About what this means, about where we go from here.”
“We will,” Rhett promised, his voice rough with desire. “But right now, if you’re willing, I’d like to make up for twenty years of lost time.”
His meaning was unmistakable, his eyes dark with want as they searched mine for permission, for reciprocation. And God help me, despite all the reasons to wait, to be cautious, to protect my heart that had been broken once before, I couldn’t deny him, or myself, any longer.
“Yes,” I breathed, and it was all the encouragement he needed.
His mouth found mine again, more demanding this time, a hint of teeth grazing my lower lip in a way that sent shivers down my spine. I responded in kind, years of restraint crumbling as I allowed myself to want, to take, to give without reservation.
Our hands grew bolder, seeking skin beneath layers of clothing.
Buttons were undone with fumbling eagerness, fabric pushed aside to reveal what lay beneath.
When my palm finally made contact with the warm expanse of his chest, I gasped into his mouth, overwhelmed by the simple pleasure of touching him after so long.
“Too many clothes,” Rhett muttered against my lips, tugging at my shirt with impatient hands. I couldn’t agree more, helping him remove the offending garment before attacking the buttons of his own.
Soon we were skin to skin, the heat between us building as we explored with hands and mouths, relearning each other’s bodies with the appreciation of men who understood the value of what they’d once lost. Every touch was electric, every kiss a revelation.
He pressed me back onto the bed, his weight a welcome anchor as he moved his attention from my mouth to my jaw, my neck, my collarbone. Each brush of his lips drew sounds from me I might have been embarrassed by under different circumstances, desperate, needy sounds that seemed to drive him wild.
“Do you have any idea,” he murmured against my skin, “how many times I’ve dreamed of this? Of you, like this, beneath me?”
“Show me,” I challenged, arching into his touch. “Show me what you dreamed.”
And he did, with devastating thoroughness.
His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, finding sensitive spots I’d forgotten I had, drawing out pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
When his lips finally wrapped around me, the wet heat of his mouth nearly sent me over the edge immediately.
Only his firm grip at the base kept me grounded, prevented me from ending things far too soon.
“Rhett,” I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair. “I can’t... It’s too much...”
He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, his own dark with desire. “It’s been twenty years, Moses. We have time to slow down later. Right now, I just want to watch you come apart.”
The rough hunger in his voice, the naked want in his expression, was my undoing. When his mouth returned to its task, I surrendered completely, letting the pleasure build and crest until I was calling his name, back arching off the bed as release crashed through me like a tidal wave.
As I lay there, trembling in the aftermath, Rhett moved up to capture my mouth once more, letting me taste myself on his tongue in a kiss that was possessive and tender all at once.
“Your turn,” I murmured when I could form coherent thoughts again, pushing against his shoulder to roll him onto his back.
His smile was wolfish as he allowed me to reverse our positions. “I’m all yours.”
“Yes,” I agreed, trailing kisses down his chest, his stomach, following the dark trail of hair that led to where he was hard and aching for me. “You are.”
I took my time, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the salt-sweet taste of him, the way his breath hitched when I found just the right rhythm. His hands in my hair, gentle but insistent, guided me without forcing, a partnership even in this most intimate of acts.
When he came, my name on his lips like a prayer, I felt a fierce triumph that had nothing to do with pride and everything to do with connection, with the knowledge that after twenty years apart, we could still give each other this kind of pleasure, this kind of release.
Afterward, we lay tangled together among rumpled sheets, his arm around my shoulders, my head resting on his chest where I could hear the steady beat of his heart.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting the room in golden light, a stark contrast to the shadowed, rushed encounters of our youth.
“So,” Rhett said eventually, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my bare shoulder, “about that talk...”
I chuckled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Now you want to talk?” I asked in surprise. “After thoroughly scrambling my brains?”
I felt rather than saw his smile. “Best way to ensure complete honesty, don’t you think? Post-orgasmic clarity and all that.”
He had a point. In this moment, sated and content in his arms, I felt more honest, more open, more myself than I had in years. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” he said simply. “What your life is like in Atlanta. If you’re happy there. What you want going forward.”
Big questions, with no simple answers. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, appreciating that he gave me the space to do so without rushing.
“My life in Atlanta is... good,” I began slowly. “The gin bar is successful, I have friends, and a comfortable routine. But happy? I don’t know if that’s the right word. Content, maybe. Settled.”
“And now? After today?” he prompted when I fell silent.
“Now everything’s up in the air,” I admitted. “Coming back here, seeing you again, finally telling the truth about what happened, it’s like I’ve been sleepwalking through my life for twenty years and suddenly I’m wide awake. Terrified, but awake.”
Rhett’s arm tightened around me. “Terrified of what?”
“Of wanting things I’m not sure I can have,” I said softly. “Of hoping for something that might not be possible, given our lives, our careers, the distance.”
“Boston to Atlanta isn’t so far,” he mused. “Flights every day, video calls in between. And I’ve been thinking about scaling back my practice, anyway, maybe focusing on residential projects instead of commercial. More freedom to work remotely, travel.”
I pushed up onto my elbow to look at him directly. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
His expression was open, vulnerable in a way I’d rarely seen from him. “I’m saying that I lost you once because of fear and circumstance. I’m not willing to lose you again because of logistics. If you want this, us, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make it work.”
The certainty in his voice, the unwavering commitment in his eyes, stole my breath.
Twenty years ago, we had been boys playing at love, uncertain of ourselves and our place in the world.
Now, as men who had built lives and careers, who had faced our fears and told our truths, perhaps we were finally ready for what had always existed between us.
“I want this,” I said, the words both terrifying and liberating. “I want us. I don’t know exactly how we make it work with the distance and our careers, but I know I don’t want to walk away from you again.”
The smile that broke across his face was like sunrise after the longest night. He pulled me down into a kiss that felt like a promise, like a future, like coming home.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” he murmured against my lips. “Together.”
And for the first time in twenty years, I truly believed that anything was possible.