Chapter Twenty-one #2
“I think we’ll take another round, if you don’t mind,” Anderson says, lifting his nearly empty glass.
“Sure thing.” She pats him on the shoulder and heads off to the kitchen.
Wes takes out his phone and shoves it toward Connor. “Check this out. Dude passed out on my flight. I swear to you, he didn’t move the whole time. Thought I was going to have to check his pulse.”
“Oh my God, he looks embalmed.” Connor cackles.
Anderson snorts. “I’ve been there. That’s what thirty-thousand feet and three bourbons’ll do to you.”
The food comes ten minutes later. Hot, heavy and exactly what we all needed.
I lean back in the booth, dragging a fry through ketchup. “Anderson, does Margo still have the old lake house?”
Connor’s brows lift. “Wait—you have a lake house?”
Anderson nods once. “It was Josh’s, and after he passed, it went to Margo. But she doesn’t like going up there alone, so I’ve kept it up. Why?”
This is perfect. Rachel always loved that house.
I can still see her on the porch, feet kicked up on the railing. She was always laughing like the world couldn’t touch her if it tried. The lake air used to make her lighter. Freer. It was the one place she didn’t fold in on herself.
Out there, she was just Rachel—the one who cannonballed off the dock without thinking, who stayed up too late playing cards, who sang off-key and loud enough to wake the neighbors.
I’ve never seen her more alive than at that house.
I rub the back of my neck. “I need a break from work. I was thinking, what if we went up to the lake house as a group?”
Anderson shoots me a small grin. “Yeah, I think that’s a great fucking idea, Rhett. No work, no stress. My three favorite things: my wife, food and beer. Maybe some time on the water if the weather’s decent.”
“I’m in. When?” Connor leans forward.
“I’ll check the calendar, but sometime this month. Friday to Sunday. You, me, Rhett, Margo, Rachel and Slone too, if she’s free.”
Wes lifts his drink. “What, I don’t get an invite?”
“Sorry, I can’t keep track of your schedule,” Anderson adds. “You’re invited if you can make it. The more the better.”
Connor chuckles. “Does Slone know she’s being volunteered to join?”
“She’ll deal, or maybe she’ll bring a friend.”
I eye my phone for a second, then pocket it. “We should do Labor Day Weekend, the extended weekend would probably be easier for everyone’s schedules.”
“Perfect,” Wes agrees.
Anderson raises his glass toward the center of the table. “To a weekend off the damn grid.”
The rest of us follow suit, glasses clinking together with a solid thud. This is going to be great, as long as Rachel doesn’t bring Ben.
The rest of the time at Gritty’s flies by, the hours slipping past in a haze of laughter, half-finished drinks and Connor’s terrible jokes. By the time nine thirty rolls around, my body is exhausted, and I feel the familiar tug of home calling me.
“I think I’m gonna head home, guys,” I say, shifting in the booth until I can manage to stand. My legs feel like lead.
“Yeah, me too. I’m desperate for some alone time with Margo,” Anderson chimes in.
Connor scoffs dramatically. “Ew, Anderson, you’ve gotten so soft.”
“Just wait until you find your girl, Westbrook,” Anderson shoots back, grinning. “I bet you’ll be just the same. There isn’t anything in this world that will stop me from going home to her.”
Connor brushes him off with a half-smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever find that, but wishful thinking.”
Before anyone has the chance to dive into that, Connor turns to Wes. “Wes, you wanna stay for one more beer?”
Wes shrugs. “Not like I have any better plans.”
I push myself up from the booth, stretching my legs. “See you guys later,” I say, heading for the door.
Anderson and I step out of the bar into the cool night air, the buzz of conversation and laughter fading behind us. The street is mostly empty, the occasional car rolling past with headlights cutting through the darkness.
“You heading straight home?” I ask, falling into step beside Anderson. His hands are shoved in his pockets, that easy grin on his face.
“Yeah, I’m hoping to get a little quality time with my girl, but I kinda forgot Rachel’s there, so I probably won’t get as much time as I want,” he jokes.
“Ah, girls’ night in?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
“Something like that,” he says, shrugging and smirking. He doesn’t give anything away, but the way he says it makes it clear he’s deliberately keeping it vague.
I glance over at him, noting the slight glint of mischief in his eyes, and I let it slide. Not my business, I tell myself. There is no need to dig.
We walk in silence for a few steps. I glance down at my phone when it vibrates in my pocket. My stomach sinks. The screen lights up with the unknown number.
“Uh…” I mutter, frowning at it.
Anderson glances at me. “What’s up?”
“Just an unknown number.” I shrug, trying to act casual, but my pulse picks up. My thumb hovers over the answer button. My gut tells me it’s her, my mom. But maybe it isn’t.
“I—uh should take this,” my voice wobbles. “See you later.”
He pats my shoulder and walks to his car. Once I get into my car, I answer my phone.
“Hello?”
“Rhett, before you hang up, I just want to say something.”
Her voice catches in a way that makes my stomach lurch. My lungs constrict, and I feel that familiar panic creeping up my spine. I have to slow my breathing. I close my eyes for a moment and tilt my head back against the headrest, picturing Sunny in my bed.
I can see her sleeping peacefully. I can hear her say she will always be in my corner, and I can feel her trust. I let that feeling spread through me. My list grounds me, slowing my heartbeat. I focus on that—on her. I don’t let my mom’s voice pull me into the chaos.
“Rhett, I’m sorry. I just wanted to tell you I am so sorry for leaving you,” she says, voice cracking slightly.
I stay silent, listening. My anger isn’t gone, but it doesn’t have the same control over me it once did. I can feel it simmering, but I also feel the clear boundary I’m building for myself—one I can maintain without shutting down completely.
“I wasn’t right back then. I was spiraling, and the pressure, it consumed me. I needed out and I…” Her voice trails.
I let her words hit the space between us without letting them dictate my emotions.
I imagine the weight of her absence, the years of confusion and hurt, and then I remind myself: I’m not that scared little kid anymore.
I’ve built my life, my friendships, my trust. I’ve let people in.
I’m going to let myself love. And I’m not going to let her absence dictate how I love others anymore.
Her voice trails, a whisper now. “I just, I wanted you to know. I’m sorry.”
I inhale slowly, letting my breath fill the space that panic tried to take.
I press the red button and set my phone down.
The tightness in my chest is still there, but it’s different now, something more manageable.
I exhale, leaning back in the seat, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I own my own reactions, my own boundaries.
I’ve let her speak, but I haven’t let her shake me.
And somehow, that feels like a victory.
I pick my phone back up and dial a different number—one I don’t have to brace myself for. It rings four times before going to voicemail.
“Hey, Dad. Just calling to see if we could catch up. I miss you.” A corner of my mouth lifts.
“I’m thinking about coming home in a couple of weekends.
Maybe we can catch a game, like we used to.
” I pause, letting the quiet feel familiar instead of heavy.
“I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you, Dad. ”