Chapter Two
RHETT
“Ican’t believe your ass isn’t out there on that dance floor,” Slone’s raspy voice cuts through the hum of chatter as she smacks my shoulder.
“Hilarious.” I offer a half-smile, letting the corner of my mouth twitch. “Why aren’t you out there?”
“Touche.” She slides next to me, her almost-empty drink swinging lightly in her hand. “Are you all moved in yet?”
“God, no. Who knew moving was such a pain in the ass? I’m actually forcing your brother to help me finish it up.”
“Thank you for not asking me,” she quips.
“Honestly, I figured you’d be back in Charleston by then.”
Before she can reply, a blonde man walks up, sliding a beer onto the bar behind us. “Just the woman I’ve been looking for all night.”
“How cute,” Slone shoots back. “You’re spending all your time thinking about me. I’m flattered.”
“Put me out of my misery, Slone. One dance. Please?” His grin is practiced, but she humors him anyway.
“Only because you asked nicely.” She turns back to me and says, “I guess at least one of us has to dance tonight.”
“Better you than me,” I reply, leaning back, watching her saunter toward the dance floor.
They vanish into the crowd, and just like that, my gaze finds Rachel again. I shouldn’t be surprised. I can’t remember a time when I didn’t scan a room and search for her.
Her dark brown hair falls loose around her shoulders, refusing to be tamed.
She stands near the edge of the dance floor, laughing at something Margo says.
Her head is tipped back just enough to expose the long line of her throat.
Her brown eyes catch the light when she laughs, making them look like they’re sparkling.
I can’t even remember the last time I saw her in person.
If you had told me that five years ago, I would have called you a liar.
Back then, the longest I ever went without seeing her was eleven days.
It was the stretch of time when she and Josh went to Rome on a family vacation.
I remember counting them. I remember thinking eleven days felt excessive. Unreasonable.
Now it feels like a lifetime fits between blinks.
The butter-yellow bridesmaid dress she is wearing shouldn’t be allowed.
It fits her like the fabric surrendered, molding itself to every line of her.
The universe can be cruel, and that dress is my prime example.
It’s like the color was chosen just to remind me she has always been sunlight, and I have always been standing too far away to touch it.
I tell myself to look away, to give myself a second to recover, but my body ignores me. It always does when it comes to her.
It doesn’t matter that we haven’t spoken.
That there have been two hundred and fifty-three miles and time and silence between us.
The second I saw her slip outside alone, my body moved before I could think better of it.
I physically couldn’t stay away. Some part of me, the stubborn and reckless part, didn’t care how wrong it was.
Since Josh died, I’ve found ways to stay informed without overstepping. I’m the one who left, so it never felt like I had the right to ask her how she was doing directly. Reaching out to her would’ve been unfair. Selfish, even. So I didn’t ask. Well, not her, at least.
Instead, our mutual friends filled in the blanks. Mostly Margo. A photo here. A mention of her job there. Nothing invasive, but enough to make sure she was okay. Every small update was proof she was moving forward while I was stuck exactly where I’d always been.
So, I continued to watch from a distance, tracing the edges of her life. I knew when she started therapy and when she went back to work. I watched her slowly start coming out of that shell just enough to let other people in.
I knew when she started dating Ben.
The night I heard that, I told myself it was good for her. Healthy, even. She deserved someone who could actually give her something real. And then I found myself at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey she’d given me, ten years ago, when Josh and I graduated from college.
I take another swig of my drink. Adam and his wife, Kelly, sit across from me. Next to them is another couple I half-recognize from Margo’s college circle. Lucas, one of the few guys from our college days, is here too. His tie is already loosened while he nurses a beer.
“Rhett, are you still at Station Nine in Nashville?” Lucas leans forward, elbows on the table.
I nod. “I am actually transferring soon.”
Kelly perks up. “That’s the one off Broadway, right? I think you were on the news after that warehouse fire last month.”
Adam grins and points at me. “I knew I recognized you. You were the guy climbing the ladder. Pulled someone out when the place was lit up like a damn bonfire. Dude, that is seriously impressive.”
I glance at my drink, then back at him. “Just did my job. The whole crew was there.”
“Still. That takes guts. I don’t know how you do it.” Adam lets out a low whistle.
I shrug and lift the glass to my lips. “It’s mostly routine. And just making sure you stay focused.”
Lucas adds, eyebrows raised, “Ever scared? I mean, up there, with the flames, the smoke, people depending on you?”
I smirk faintly, shaking my head. “Scared doesn’t get anyone out alive. You have to do your job, and hope you’re fast enough.”
Kelly leans forward. “Do you always stay so calm? That fire looked terrifying on TV.”
“You get used to it. Not the fire itself, but the adrenaline, the chaos. You find techniques to keep yourself calm. Otherwise, you panic, and someone gets hurt.”
Adam grins again. “Sounds like you thrive on the chaos. I’d lose my mind.”
I shrug, hiding the truth behind a casual tone. “Eh, I don’t know about that.”
Kelly glances at me. “So, transferring… where to next?”
“Here, actually,” I answer.
Lucas nods approvingly. “No, shit. You’re moving back?”
“Yeah… I am.”
Rachel’s going to really kill me when she finds out.
She is pissed at me; that much is evident.
And I can’t really blame her for it. I left her when I left this place, and that is on me.
But there is more to that story than anyone knows, especially her.
Even though my time away was useless, it was still something I had to do in order for me to be able to stay here.
I didn’t come here to explain it all to her. Frankly, I didn’t come here planning to talk to her. I planned on supporting Margo and Anderson, then figuring the rest of this mess out later. I guess I didn't account for what seeing her with him would do to me.
Admittedly, I don’t know much about Ben.
Margo kept the details scarce. What I do know, what I can see with my own two eyes, is how little attention he has given her tonight.
It grates on me more than it should. I didn’t brace myself for how hard this would be, watching the woman I once knew better than anyone sit beside a man who doesn’t even see her.
He doesn’t deserve to sit that close to her while she wears a dress like that.
I force myself to look away and find Margo and Anderson across the room. They’re making their way to the cake table, where a beautifully tiered confection sits adorned with fresh flowers. Laughter ripples through the crowd as they prepare for the cake-cutting.
Rachel and I haven’t had much of a relationship at all since I left.
But I’ve always stayed in touch with Margo.
After Josh died, keeping tabs on Margo’s well-being felt like a responsibility I didn’t get to walk away from fully.
Someone needed to make sure she was okay, and it was easier for me to be that person than to reach out to Rachel directly to find out how Margo was coping.
Reaching out to Rachel would have meant admitting things I wasn’t ready to face.
On a positive note, keeping up with Margo meant I also spent time with Anderson.
Not a lot, but enough to know he is solid.
Steady. He pays attention when Margo talks and pushes her just enough to step back into the world instead of hiding from it.
I can see that he wants what’s best for her, even when it is uncomfortable for him. I’m happy they get their happy ending.
And who knows. Maybe Rachel and I would have found our own version of a happy ending if I hadn’t ruined it first. That thought used to haunt me.
But I’ve never been the kind of man a woman like Rachel deserves.
I’ve always carried things with me that don’t leave, shadows I can’t shake.
There are things I can’t offer her. Stability. Safety. The kind of love she is worth.
I don’t know if I ever could.
I clear my throat. “I’m gonna get another drink. Anyone need one?” I ask, glancing around the table while forcing casualness into my voice.
“Nope, I’m good,” Kelly says, barely looking up from her plate.
“Same,” Lucas adds, tapping his bottle lightly.
The band starts into another slow one. A familiar chord that invites muscle memory more than real intention. Couples drift to the dance floor. Some go out there with practiced ease, others still figuring out where to place their hands.
I stand near the bar just off the edge of the floor. My glass is nearly empty, the last of the whiskey warming my chest.
I watch Rachel out there, in the middle of the dance floor.
Her arms are looped around Ben’s neck. His hands hang loosely at her waist, barely touching her, like even this level of closeness is more than he can manage. She’s staring past him, and I think she’s somewhere else entirely.
Ben leans down and says something in her ear. I watch her brows pull together. She blinks, then barely nods. And then he lets go. I watch his hands drop from her waist. He glances at his phone. In one sweep he lifts it to his ear and walks off the floor toward the patio without another word.
Un-fucking-believable.