Chapter 3
Rhett
I sit in the pew, still smelling her perfume in the air long after she’s gone.
Something sweet, like honey and summer rain.
It’s soft, but not fragile. Just like her.
She thinks she’s broken. Thinks this town ground her down to dust. But the girl I just sat beside?
She’s still fire underneath, even if she doesn’t know it anymore.
Hilbert’s voice cuts through my thoughts, that oily tone of his dripping false kindness as he stands near the doors to say goodbye to his flock. Probably whispering poison into the ears of anyone who’ll listen, painting me as the devil who dared sit next to the town whore.
I don’t give a damn what this town thinks of me. I haven’t cared in years. But Juniper? She cares. Even when she tells herself she doesn’t. I saw the way her hands trembled, the way her knee bounced like a drumbeat of nerves. This place is killing her by inches.
And I can’t stand it.
The pew creaks under me as I stand, every eye in the church pretending not to follow me. I don’t like this room. Never have. Too many lies dressed as faith for my liking. I move toward the doors, every step daring Hilbert to look me in the eye. He doesn’t. Coward.
When I step outside, the light is blinding for half a second, but then I see her.
She’s standing a few paces away, barefoot, clutching her heels like they might turn into weapons.
Her mom’s beside her, sharp and cold as ever, her words like barbed wire.
I can’t hear every word, but I hear enough—“embarrassed us,” “Rhett Slade,” “dragging us down.”
Juniper’s shoulders stiffen with every syllable, and I swear something in me snarls. I should stay out of it and walk away. But that’s never been my style. I walk toward them like I’ve got all the time in the world, but my fists are clenched, and my jaw’s locked tight enough to crack bone.
Juniper’s mother is standing too close, her voice low but venom laced. Juniper stares straight ahead like she’s bracing for impact. She doesn’t see me at first. But her mother does. The second her eyes land on me, her spine stiffens like someone just slapped ice down her back. Good. Let her squirm.
“You’ve said enough,” I say, my voice low and calm, but carrying weight.
Her mother blinks, then lifts her chin. “This is a private conversation, sir.”
“No, it’s not.” I step up beside Juniper, so close our arms almost touch. “Not when you’re spitting poison in the open. Not when the whole damn town is still inside listening to Hilbert gaslight salvation.”
Juniper’s breath hitches, but she doesn’t look at me. Her mother opens her mouth to retort, but I don’t give her the chance.
“Maybe you forgot, but she’s not eighteen anymore. You don’t get to cut her down just to keep up appearances.”
“I don’t need parenting advice from you,” her mother snaps.
“Good. I’m not offering any,” I say, then finally turn my head to Juniper. “You alright?”
Her eyes lift to mine slowly. Blue, glassy, rimmed in quiet rage and barely contained heartbreak. “I’m fine.”
It’s a lie I ought to punish her for, but it’s the only kind of armor she’s got left around these people.
I look back to her mother, who’s already calculating what part of this she can control, what narrative she’ll twist. And I let my silence speak for itself.
She says, “Juniper, we’ll be waiting in the car.”
She walks away leaving us alone.
Juniper exhales, shoulders tight. “I have to go home with them,” she says, voice quieter now.
I look at her. Really look. She’s not asking for permission. She’s not even trying to explain. She’s enduring. Because she thinks she has no choice. I nod once. Not because I agree. But because I know better than to push her here, now, with an audience.
“Alright,” I murmur. “Go on, then.”
She looks surprised I don’t fight it. Maybe a little disappointed.
She shouldn’t be. Because I’m not letting this end here.
I watch her walk back toward her parents' car, shoulders high, spine straight. Pretending like their words didn’t gut her.
Pretending like she didn’t just die a little more in front of that church.
I stand there long after they’re gone.
Then I light a cigarette I don’t need and take a slow drag, staring out at the gravel lot and the vultures who think they’ve won.
She thinks she has to stay but I’ve already decided she won’t stay under their roof much longer. And when I take her, it won’t be temporary.
She came back to Ruin Ridge broken.
But she’s mine.
And I’ll burn every goddamn thing in this town before I let them break her again.