Chapter 11 #3
“Ainsley,” he repeated, quieter this time, his tone dropping into something flat and demanding. “What’s wrong?”
My throat was bone-dry. I tried to swallow, but my mouth felt full of dust. My father was picking up the black leather check folder. He was reaching into his pocket for his wallet. They were getting ready to leave—which meant they were about to walk down the central aisle, right past our booth.
“My... my dad,” I whispered, the words barely carrying over the sound of Landon arguing with the waiter about extra ranch. “He’s here.”
Rhys didn’t immediately turn his head to gawk. He kept his green eyes locked on my face, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Your dad?”
“At the front booth,” I breathed, my voice trembling so badly I could barely keep it quiet. “With his girlfriend.”
I knew Rhys didn’t have the context. I hadn’t told him about the messy divorce or the affair or the baby shower invitation currently sitting at the bottom of the trash can behind my house.
To Rhys, I was just Sebastian’s annoying younger sister, a tool he was using to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.
He had no reason to care, no reason to understand why a middle-aged man was causing me to hyperventilate.
I expected him to ask questions. I expected him to tell me to pull it together so we didn’t break character in front of Kelcey.
Instead, Rhys’s eyes flicked toward the front doors for a microsecond, tracking the couple standing up near the register, before snapping straight back to my pale, frozen face.
Without saying a word, he unceremoniously slid his hand off my waist, planted both palms on the laminate table, and stood up out of the booth.
“Alright,” Rhys said, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise of the table. “We’re out.”
The table blinked up at him in collective confusion. Landon stopped mid-bite, a fry halfway to his mouth.
“What?” Landon asked. “Dude, we just got here. You haven’t even touched your food.”
“Got somewhere to be,” Rhys said curtly. He reached down, his fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist—not painful, but an unyielding anchor—and gently pulled me out of the vinyl booth.
Justin leaned back, a mocking sneer curling his lip. “Somewhere to be? It’s barely nine o’clock, Montgomery. What, are you two turning into pumpkins?”
“Maybe they just want some privacy,” Kelcey said in a mocking voice, her sharp eyes tracking the way my knees were visibly shaking. “Are you okay, Ainsley? You look like you’re about to faint.”
I couldn’t answer. My dad was zipping up his coat. He was turning toward the aisle.
Rhys stepped directly into my line of sight, his broad, athletic frame acting as a wall that completely blocked me from the front entrance. He didn’t look at Kelcey. He didn’t even acknowledge Justin.
“We’re leaving,” Rhys repeated, his voice flat and leaving no room for debate. He pulled a fifty-dollar bill out of his pocket and slammed it onto the table. “That covers the bill. Don’t wait up.”
Landon let out a low wolf-whistle. “Oho! Okay, okay! Say no more, Captain! Go have your little date!”
This prompted a wave of low chuckles and kissy noises from the rest of the team.
Rhys ignored them completely. Keeping his body wedged firmly between me and the rest of the restaurant, he kept his hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me toward the side exit—the service door that opened directly into the dark, gravel parking lot behind the building.
The cold night air hit my face like a physical blow, shocking the oxygen back into my lungs. I gasped, my sneakers crunching on the loose gravel as Rhys led me double-time across the lot toward his black SUV. The quiet of the night felt deafening after the claustrophobic noise of the diner.
He unlocked the vehicle, pulled open the heavy passenger door, and practically lifted me into the seat. A second later, the driver’s side door slammed shut, and Rhys was beside me in the dark cabin.
He didn’t start the engine right away. He just sat there, his hands gripping the top of the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white under the amber glow of the parking lot lights.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, stripped of every ounce of the arrogant, teasing edge he usually wore like armor.
“Yeah,” I lied automatically, staring straight through the windshield at the dark line of pine trees bordering the lot. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Rhys didn’t call me out on the lie. He just turned the key, shifted into reverse, and tore out of the parking lot, throwing gravel against the underside of the SUV as he steered us far away from the main strip and up into the winding back roads.
We drove in total silence for a long time.
The heat was humming softly against my ankles, blowing warm air into the floorboards, but I couldn’t stop the small, pathetic shivers running through my shoulders.
I sat with my knees pulled up against my chest, swallowing the lump of hot, bitter acid sitting at the back of my throat, my hands completely hidden inside the oversized sleeves of his varsity jacket.
When Rhys finally pulled over, it wasn’t at my house. He cut the engine at the gravel turn-off near the old water tower overlooking the valley—a quiet, deserted overlook where the lights of the town twinkled like scattered embers in the dark below.