Chapter 23 #2
“Axel?” I gasp. “You think I give a shit about what Axel thinks of you and me?” My shoulders rise and fall as I shake my head.
“Will I ever be more than his little sister to you? Or are you going to live your whole life trying to prove something to everyone else while constantly disappointing yourself?”
He nods, slowly, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. When his eyes meet mine, it’s like they’re made of ice, and I know that he’s already retreated behind whatever wall he built up a long time ago.
“Yeah, I’ve grown used to disappointment at this point, Bailey. But the only thing that would disappoint me now would be letting something awful happen to you,” he answers, firmly.
“You’d never—” I start, but the realization I had at the motel after seeing Rhett’s scars hits me square in the chest once more, stopping me from finishing.
His eyes meet mine when I pause, then melt halfway as his voice lowers until it sounds almost lethal.
“I’m the only thing standing between you and some dipshit asshole whose shown himself to be capable of outsmarting even the cops.
Meanwhile, I’m fucking blind out here. I can’t even get the internet to hold so these cameras can give us a head start if he comes running out of some bush tomorrow.
The thought of it fucking terrifies me because—” He stops to suck in a breath.
“Because?” I prompt, willing him to continue. My heart is pounding so loud in my ears that I’m afraid he can hear it, too.
“Because it’s you, Bailey. Losing Cory was awful.
It was . . .” he trails off again, blinking as if he’s fighting against the memory for one split second.
Then his eyes snap back to mine, razor sharp.
“But losing you would destroy me. There’d be nothing left.
Especially if I had anything to do with it. ”
“You’re not going to lose me,” I whisper, wishing I could erase every awful thing that brought us here. “You and I can outsmart him. We’re already ahead of whatever game he’s trying to play. I just need you to be here with me. That’s it.”
“I am here with you,” he says. “But everything that’s happening with this creep is real, Bay, and real life doesn’t always turn out like one of your fairy tales. I hate to say it but—”
I step back and hold my hand up to stop him.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I ask, feeling everything inside me flare up again, red hot this time.
“You write stories that have happy endings, but actual life isn’t like that.”
It feels like the air’s been knocked out of me.
“I don’t write stupid fairy tales,” I shoot back at him.
“And even if I did, what’s wrong with that?
” I shift my weight, like I need to keep everything bottled up that’s threatening to spill out, but it doesn’t stop me.
“Besides, you’ve never finished one so how would you pretend to know what type of ending I write? ”
“I tried,” he snaps.
“What, that sex scene you grabbed at the bookstore in town? I’ve been published for seven years and you’ve never bothered to pick one up until now. Yet it sounds like you’re pretty damn quick to judge me.”
“No, I tried before that. I bought your first book at an airport the second I got back from a deployment.”
“And?” I swallow, not sure if I want to know. “You hated it?”
“I couldn’t get through the first three chapters before I had to stop.”
My mouth gapes. I cross my arms, feeling breathless.
“Okay. So, it was too shitty to finish. And you apparently hate the sex scenes. What else? What do you want me to say, Rhett? That I’m sorry I’m not as good as you thought?”
“No. You’re an incredible writer, Bailey.
The way you use words to make people feel something it’s .
. . God, it’s amazing, actually.” His eyes soften.
“You’re incredibly talented.” My breath slows.
I’ve waited a decade to hear him say that.
“But why would I want to read about love and sex and perfect men and relationships that were all inspired by your real life?” He squares his back to the wall and takes another step into the room.
“I got two chapters in before it made me nauseous. Less than three before I had to put it down. I was seeing and doing some of the most horrific shit in the world, by choice, I know, and all for a good reason, but all while you were back here writing fantasies no doubt inspired by your own adult love life. Things you were experiencing. Perfect men you were out in the world meeting. Or sleeping with. I put your book down because it was making me mad.”
“If you had read more than two-and-a-half chapters, you would know how wrong you were,” I tell him.
“Why? Because you’d thrown in some plot twists after that? Hate to say it, but real-life plot twists aren’t always happy in the end either.”
My insides feel gutted.
“You’re making it sound like I don’t know anything about real life,” I nearly shout back. “No, I haven’t seen or done what you have, but choosing optimism isn’t the same thing as being na?ve.”
“It isn’t?” he asks.
“No. It. Is. Not.” My voice is firm as I enunciate each word. “Most things turn out okay. It didn’t for your friend, and I’m so sorry about that, but it did for you. And you’re pretty quick to forget that.”
He presses his lips together, and I can see the depth of his pain at the mere mention of it. And rightly so. No one should go through what he did. No one. I don’t even know why I said it, other than I wish . . .
“I wish you’d never gone,” I spit out, shaking my head even harder, like I could just shake this whole conversation right back to where we started.
To outside by the fire. Or back a decade ago, before anything ever changed the way we were.
“It’s like I’m spending time with the old you and then this version of you comes out and I hate it because I don’t recognize it.
You’ve changed, Rhett, I know that, but—”
“But this version of me is me now,” he says, firmly. “It’s as much a part of me as anything else. You just don’t know me anymore.”
“But I want to,” I tell him. My voice twists up at the end.
We’re both quiet for a beat.
“You sure about that?” he challenges. His eyes harden again, and he swallows, as if letting me into this side of him would ignite a fire that he can’t put out.
I take another step back, like more space between us might help this fizzle out, but it doesn’t, all while asking myself the same exact question.
Am I sure?
All this time we’ve been apart, Rhett has existed as a memory I retreat to when I need to think of something good.
No real-world experience to make him jaded or afraid.
Just eighteen years old, sitting on a rock beside me with our feet dragging through the water, just two jet streams cutting across the surface.
Never needing to go deeper than that because we were young, with the whole world ahead of us to run through.
We just didn’t know there’d be flames waiting for us on either side.
But he’s just as real and flawed as I am.
I’ve imagined this side of him.
I’ve even written about it.
But experiencing it in real life tells me everything I need to answer his question.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Even if you push me away, even if you’re afraid to show me everything that’s changed in you, I still want to know who you are now. Not just then.”
“I never came back for this exact reason,” he says, studying my eyes, as if this conversation is breaking his heart as much as it is mine. Neither one of us meant to let this happen, but life has a way of pushing two people who might be better together, even further apart.
“You didn’t come back to see me because you didn’t want me to see how much it changed you?” I ask, feeling heartbroken for how lonely that must be — not just for him, but for everyone who’s ever loved him along the way. Myself included.
“No. It’s because I didn’t want anyone to see how much it ruined me,” he answers, his voice gravelly and raw.
When his gaze drops, I step closer, wishing I could take all this weight from him and chuck it into a fire so we can both watch it burn.
“But that’s not at all how I see you,” I tell him, more gently. “You’re not ruined.”
“No. But you write perfect characters with perfect happy endings, and I’m not that,” he says. “Solid chance that I’ll never be that.”
My jaw tightens as my heart pounds inside my chest.
Fuck it. He needs to know.
Before I can think it all the way through, I walk to the bottom of the stairs.
My foot lands on the first step.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
I spin around.
“I need to go get something.”
Without waiting for a reaction, I race upstairs, two at a time, then down to my bedroom at the end of the hall. Pulling my dresser open, I shove a few clothes aside, then grab the one copy I brought with me of Heartbreak from the bottom of the drawer.
I study the couple on the front of the cover, the one I’ve thought about more than any of my other couples in my books combined.
Then, without allowing myself to rethink, I rush back downstairs and push the book into his chest.
Maybe this will explain everything I’ve never been able to say out loud. Or maybe it’ll set him off even more, and I’ll never break through to him again. It’s a risk, for sure. I stare at the book. But now, it’s in his hands. And just seeing it there sends my heart pounding all over again.
I point at it, drawing both of our attention to what I’ve just let go of.
“Here.” I swallow, pressing my finger to the book against his chest, knowing now more than ever that he needs to read it. I never wanted him to before tonight, but he has to understand. And there’s no better way to explain it than how I’ve already written it down.
He looks at the cover, pressed into his chest, then blinks back at me.
“I thought you didn’t have a copy.”
“Well, clearly I did,” I admit, swallowing my nerves. “And you’re right. I didn’t want you to read it.”
“Then why—”
“Because you have it all wrong. Rhett. If I wrote perfect characters without any flaws, then I would never sell a single fucking book. And do you want to know why?”
His brows draw tight, but he doesn’t answer.
“Because perfect isn’t real,” I tell him. “Do you have any idea what the whole damn world wants to know when they read one of my books?” I ask.
“What?” His voice is quiet as he settles his eyes on mine.
“Rhett, the whole damn world wants to know that imperfect people get happy endings, too,” I tell him, my eyes beginning to fill.
Threatening to spill over before I can get all this out.
“It’s what we all want to see. Because we’re all flawed on the inside.
And yes, I write about happy endings because that’s the goal, isn’t it?
It’s what we all want in the end. So much so that everyone wants to see stories about horribly flawed people who end up happy because we need to see how possible it is.
For all of us.” I pause to take another breath, making sure he hears me.
“But before the ending, everything is hard. And usually a big mess. You’re not the only one. ”
He looks down at the book as his hands grip it tighter.
“Bailey, I—” he starts.
“No,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear another word until he’s read it from start to finish.
“Don’t say anything else tonight,” I tell him.
“Read it first. Then tell me that I write fairy tales and happy endings. That I know nothing about real-world plot twists and what they do to people you love. Tell me whatever you want after you’re done.
But don’t judge who I am and how I think until you’ve reached the end. ”
Without waiting for an answer, I turn and go back upstairs.
Not sure if any of this is the right thing to do.