Chapter One #2
“Anyway, speaking of public speaking,” he says, spinning the conversation back to himself like a practiced trick, “did I tell you my client called me personally to thank me for the pitch I did last week? I swear, moments like that remind me why people hire me. Not everyone could pull that off, you know? I mean, look, you’re a prime example.
You hate public speaking, no way you could have pulled it off. ”
I nod politely, gripping my glass. “Yeah… impressive.”
“And it’s crazy,” he continues, completely oblivious to my eyes darting to the other side of the room, “because I was running on three hours of sleep, but somehow, I still made it look effortless. Honestly, I don’t know how I do it sometimes.
People tell me all the time, ‘Ben, how do you even…?’ and I just shrug.
I guess some of us are just built for it. ”
I bite the inside of my cheek. That’s the thing with Ben. There is always a performance to be had. A curated version of him that feels like it exists just for others’ perception. I swear it used to not always be like this.
When I met him just over a year and a half ago, we were electric.
He had that kind of effortless charm that made you forget yourself for a while.
That night, he made me feel seen. I wasn’t just someone’s sister or someone’s responsibility.
I was picked from a crowd specifically for him.
I let myself believe that kind of attention was something I’d earned.
“You know,” he says, leaning closer now, lowering his voice in that way he thinks is intimate, but my mind is elsewhere, “sometimes I wonder if you even realize how lucky you are to have someone like me around. I mean it. People notice me when I walk in, and then they notice you alongside me. That’s gotta be validating, right? ”
I stiffen but force a laugh. “Yeah, totally validating.”
I guess sparks like that aren’t made to last. Not with someone like me.
Those late-night conversations gave way to silence.
His gaze turned impatient. The warmth faded under the slow creep of cold words and subtle dismissals.
He was never outright cruel to me, just quietly corrosive.
Sharp edges I didn’t see coming, making me feel like I’m too much and still not enough.
And yet, I stayed. I still stay. I guess that probably says more about me than him.
Familiarity feels like a trap, but it is one I know how to navigate.
Unraveling all of this and stepping into the unknown again is terrifying.
So, I’ve made a life inside the walls of something that no longer feels like love.
Most days, I can convince myself it’s fine.
That I’m fine. I’ve learned how to find fulfillment elsewhere.
The room around me begins to shift. The murmur of voices rise as the catering staff begins to serve dinner. People take their seats. The night is moving forward, whether I’m ready or not. All I have to do is avoid Rhett. That’s totally doable, right?
“I’m just going to grab another drink,” I say, rising from my chair. “It’s been a long day, and I could use a refill.”
I weave through the crowd, finally making my way to the outside patio bar. I finally relax once the noise of laughter and music feels distant, like it’s happening somewhere else. I set my glass down on the counter, needing a moment to breathe.
“Rachel?”
I startle slightly and glance to my left. Emily, another bridesmaid, is standing there with a cocktail menu in hand. Her brow is furrowed, concern in her eyes.
“Hey… are you okay? You look a little off.”
I force a small smile, shaking my head. “I’m fine. Really. I just saw someone I didn’t expect to see. Where is John?”
Emily raises an eyebrow, but she doesn’t press. “John’s inside talking with Julie’s boyfriend. I’m on drink duty.”
I must look distracted because she tries again. “Like an ex?”
I bite the inside of my cheek and grip my glass tighter. “Oh, uh, no. Nothing like that. Just someone I’m surprised is here. That’s all,” I murmur, keeping my voice light. “It’s nothing. I just needed a minute and a new drink.”
It has been years. Too many. Three or four, maybe?
I think the last time I saw Rhett was at Josh’s funeral.
Actually, I think I saw him a couple of times after that day, but that part of my life was a blur. He had a life to return to. A job. Responsibilities. Higher priorities. He left town while the rest of us stayed behind in the wreckage.
He thought there was nothing left for him here after his best friend died. Even though I was here. Even though I needed him. I didn’t just lose my brother that day. I lost all of them in some shape or another.
And now, suddenly, he is back. For years, I’ve told myself not to be angry.
People grieve differently, I know that. Some leave.
I’ve tried to let it go, to make peace with the silence he left behind.
But seeing him now brings it all rushing back.
The aching questions, the empty space he carved out when he left.
I can’t help but let the anger seep into my bones.
To top it all off, he is still painfully attractive. I’m not sure why I was delusional enough to think one day he would stop being annoyingly handsome. But the suit he is wearing definitely doesn’t swing anything in my favor.
“Do you know what you want to order?” Emily asks.
“Uh, no. Can I look at that?” I ask, pointing to the cocktail menu in her hands.
“Sure.” She hands it over and turns to speak with the bartender.
I glance down at the menu, but the letters blur. My thoughts scatter while my fingers drum lightly against the counter.
Emily thanks the bartender and turns to me with a smile. “I’ll be back inside. Come find me later so we can dance the night away?”
“Absolutely.” I give her a polite smile in return and turn back to the bar. I am determined to survive this night.
“Can I get a vodka soda?” I ask the bartender, trying to focus on something tangible.
“Sure thing.” The bartender turns and grabs the vodka.
“Do you have a lemon?” I ask. I know it’s a stretch, but it’s my favorite part of a vodka soda—a tiny pinch of brightness to cut through the bite.
He looks around the bar but comes up short. “Doesn’t look like it, sorry.”
I smile politely anyway. “No problem, thanks anyway.”
I take my drink and walk toward the rail, letting the cool night air brush against my face. The view of Atlanta’s downtown sprawls before me, glittering lights reflected in the glassy surface of the river. It is breathtaking, and for a second, the world seems vast enough to swallow my panic.
Rhett had to know I’d be here. This is Margo’s wedding after all. I’m her Maid of Honor and best friend. There is no version of this night that didn’t include me. He would have to be stupid to think anything different.
Did he really think he could get through it without seeing me?
The thought makes my teeth clench. How dare he show up like this, after everything.
Suddenly and without my permission, the madness mixes with frustration and worse, something I refuse to admit aloud: the pull.
The draw. The ridiculous, infuriating attraction that refuses to obey logic.
Even after all this time. After I’ve told myself a thousand times that all I ever was to him was a friend.
That is all I’ll ever be, and yet my body still reacts. My pulse still betrays me.
I take a slow breath, trying to steady my hands. I try to remind myself: this is Margo’s night. He is here. Fine. But he doesn’t get to own my thoughts.
I cradle the glass in both hands, the chill seeps into my fingers. I breathe in the crisp night air, letting it fill my lungs while trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head.
“You always did like vodka sodas, but you’re missing your favorite part.”
I don’t have to look to know who it is. That voice has lived in the back of my mind for far too long. What stings more is that he remembers my drink order.
I turn my head just slightly. Rhett stands a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, posture easy, like this is ordinary. As if we haven’t gone years without standing in the same room.
When I stay silent, he fills in, “The lemon. Here, take mine.”
I watch as he grabs the lemon from his drink and squeezes it over mine.
A few drops land on the floor below us before he pops the slice into mine.
It makes no sense for him to have a lemon.
He is drinking whiskey neat. He always drinks it neat.
I’ve seen him with that same drink a hundred times before, and it never had a lemon in it. Not once.
I stare at it floating there, bright yellow in the clear of my drink, like some kind of quiet apology I refuse to accept.
“Huh. You remember that?” I let my tone stay cool.
He steps in closer beside me, ignoring my poor attempt at disdain. The proximity alone makes something tighten in my stomach.
“I remember a lot about you,” he murmurs.
I stare back out at the skyline, pressing the rim of the glass to my lip. I try to focus on the cold. He left you. You were practically alone. You are mad.
Rhett leans forward on the railing, allowing his shoulder to brush mine.
His cologne drifts into my senses, subtle but enough to make my knees weak.
I let my eyes take one moment to roam over him.
His brown hair falls effortlessly in a messy sweep.
It is longer than the last time I saw him.
His brown eyes, dark like espresso, rimmed with thick lashes, pierce through me.
He has grown into his body in a way that is almost obscene.
Every inch of him seems deliberately carved to make you stare.
And I’m starting to think the world has been quietly conspiring in his favor.
His jaw is sharper now, dusted with stubble that makes my fingers twitch.
Against my will, I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like against my skin.
I hate that time has only refined him into something sturdy. Meanwhile, I feel worn thin, like paper that has been folded too many times, the creases showing every place I have tried to forget him.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here,” I mutter, tearing my gaze away from him and shifting it back to the skyline. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again, not after you left this town.”
“Wasn’t sure I should come,” he replies evenly.
“Clearly, you figured it out,” I murmur, letting the words drip with sarcasm. I press my lips together, staring down at my glass.
He leans towards me, and I can feel the weight of his eye on me. And that same bolt of electricity zips down my spine.
“Figured what out?”
“How to come back here,” I reply, careful not to give him more than necessary. “I wasn’t sure you knew how.”
“Rach… It’s Margo’s wedding. Did you really think I’d stay away?”
I roll my eyes subtly, sipping my vodka soda. It seems like using my drink is the only shield I have. “You stayed away for everything else. Somehow I thought I might get lucky,” I mutter.
His smirk softens just a fraction, a flicker of something unreadable flashes in his gaze. “And here I thought seeing you again might be worth the risk.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
He finally gets the clear warning I’m giving him and pushes off the rail, starting toward the door.
“You could never disappoint me, Rach.” His stare rests firmly on my back, and I can feel it between my shoulders, but I refuse to look up. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I stay silent long enough that I think he is finally going to give up.
“I’ll, uh, see ya around,” he says, looking towards the door. Only then do I turn to sneak another glance at him. I watch him start back toward the reception, and for a heartbeat, I think I’ve made it. I survived a conversation with Rhett Hayes. But then I watch as his steps slow.
He pauses, turns and looks at me. Suddenly, the air I was about to release from my lungs is trapped in my throat.
“And Sunny,” he adds.
The sound of that name, my name, on his lips is a hit to the chest. My grip tightens around the glass.
One stupid, silly, meaningless nickname and I’m twenty-two again, flushed and breathless in his passenger seat, wanting something I never had the courage to ask for.
That name used to make me feel like I belonged to him, like he noticed something special in me that no one else did.
Now it feels like a ghost slipping its fingers around my ribs and giving them a tug.
I try to form words, something light or cutting. I’ll settle for anything coherent at this point. But all that escapes is a thin, useless sound.
“Hmm.”
He doesn’t flinch. If anything, his mouth quirks in a faint, knowing smile.
“Save me a dance.”
Then he walks away, completely unaware he just set every nerve in my body alight. I turn back to my drink and knock it back in one shot. The cold burns, forcing me to remember I’m still me.
I smooth my hand down the front of my dress, fingertips skimming over the fabric. I’m still here, still in control.
If Rhett Hayes wants a dance, he can damn well work for it.