Chapter 12 #2
“Does it not bother you,” I ask, voice steady despite the way my pulse kicks, “that he only looks at you when he wants to show you off? Like you’re some trophy he dusts off when it suits him?”
I step closer, the heat of her body brushing mine. My attention snags on the faint freckle at her collarbone.
Her eyes flash hot with rage. That is the thing about Rachel. Her emotions have never scared me. I’ve seen her angry, broken, restless, happy, laughing—every version of her there is. I’ve stood in front of all of them.
This fire she is throwing at me now is familiar. It is her armor. It is what she does when she wants distance, when she wants to make someone flinch hard enough to leave her alone. She thinks if she sharpens her words, if she lets the anger bite, I’ll finally back off.
She is wrong.
“You’ve been with him for what, a year and a half?” I ask. “I’m not even confident he could tell me your middle name.”
Her breath catches. I see the way her lips part like she means to say something and can’t quite get there.
“Does he know you like the crusts cut off your sandwiches?” I continue, quieter now. “Or that you always double-knot your shoelaces because they came untied during a race when you were sixteen?”
Her shoulders lift as her chest rises and falls. I take another step toward her.
“Does he know you can’t fall asleep unless all the doors are shut?” My gaze drifts, unbidden, to the hollow of her throat. “Or that when you’re anxious, you hum Christmas songs because it calms you?”
I’m too close to her now. I know it. She knows it.
“You hate lilies,” I say softly. “Because they remind you of hospital rooms. And your laugh changes depending on who you’re with. But the real one takes over your whole face, making your eyes crinkle, and your nose scrunch up.”
I feel it in my chest when I look at her.
“And he doesn’t know how damn lucky he is just to be near it.”
I draw in a breath, my hands curling at my sides because touching her right now would undo me.
“Leave. Him. Sunny.”
She goes completely still. For one suspended second, I think she might close the distance herself. Her mouth parts just a fraction more. Her chest rises too fast.
“You deserve better,” I say, the words steady even as my body betrays me. “You always have. And I’m sick of watching you settle, and so would your brother.”
Her head tilts back, the words physically hitting her. She blinks, and a tear wells in her eye, but she doesn’t let it fall.
“You don’t get to tell me what I deserve,” she snaps. “How dare you pick apart my relationship like you know what love is.”
She inches closer. Her hand presses into my chest. I feel it through bone and muscle and years of restraint.
“Have you ever even been in love?” she demands, and I don’t think I’ve taken a single full breath since she put her hand there.
“I’ve never seen you with a woman for more than two dates,” she scoffs. “And you think you get to tell me what love is?”
She shakes her head, a bitter laugh leaves her, but she doesn’t move away.
“You know what, God forbid I’ve changed over the course of four years, Rhett.
You have no idea who I am. You don’t get to stand here and act like you know what I need.
Not anymore. You lost that right, Rhett, when you walked out of my life. ”
There is no space left between us now. None that matters, anyway.
“Rach—”
“No. You—you show up after all this time and throw all this in my face like I’m supposed to what—just fall into your arms, Rhett? Is that what you want?” She pokes my chest. “Do you want me to thank you for noticing things about me that anyone could if they tried hard enough?”
“I’m not asking you to fall anywhere.” I swallow, but I don’t look away. “I’m telling you that you deserve a man who doesn’t make you question your worth. You deserve someone who notices you.”
She stares at me, eyes wide, something sharp and unguarded flickering there. I wonder if I’ve gone too far; if I’ve crossed the line I’ve spent years tiptoeing around. But someone had to say it. Someone had to break the silence that has been choking us both.
She is so close I can see the flutter of her pulse at her throat. It’s wild and uneven. My eyes fall, helplessly, to the delicate curve of her collarbone, to the rise and fall of her chest. I trace her outline without touching.
If I move an inch closer, I could feel her breath against my skin. If I reach out, I could close the distance that has been haunting me for years.
But I don’t. I stand here, frozen in the ache of wanting, every nerve pulled tight, afraid that if I touch her now, I’ll never be able to stop.
“You think this is love? Can you really look me in the eyes and tell me you think what you and Ben have is love?” I ask. “You’re a lot of things, Sunny, but stupid isn’t one of them.”
“Don’t tell me who I am,” she whispers back to me.
The silence crashes down between us. And I’m certain this is a moment I can’t undo.
“If you can tell me you love him, Sunny, that he’s it for you, I’ll walk away. I won’t bring him up again.”
“He’s—”
From the porch, Margo’s voice cuts through.
“Dessert’s out!”
Neither of us move at first. Rachel’s breathing is still uneven, her attention locked on me like she forgot how to look away. I step back, letting her hand fall from my chest, before I do something I won’t survive.
“Go on,” I say reluctantly.
Her gaze breaks. One tear slips free before she can stop it, but she swipes it away quickly, denying it any power.
And then, only then, she turns her head toward the light spilling from the porch, and the spell between us breaks.
Her shoulders pull back, and I watch as she zips herself shut from the inside out.
All I can think about is how much I hate myself for making her cry. That I pushed hard enough to hurt her. I never wanted that. I never wanted to be another reason she looked like she was breaking.
I stay behind, watching her go. Maybe she really was never mine to keep.