Chapter 5
Chapter Five
RHETT
Now
“Careful with that one,” Anderson says, shifting a box in his hands. “I don’t want your lamp getting turned into kindling before you even unpack it.”
I grunt, adjusting my grip. “Relax. It’s just a lamp. It’s sturdy.”
“Sure,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Sturdy until you drop it.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy.”
He chuckles and shakes his head, taking a few steps backward to nudge the door open with his foot. “Man, how come moving is always worse than you remember? I should’ve told you I was busy or something.”
“Pretty sure you tried,” I say, lowering the lamp onto the entryway floor. “Didn’t you just move, like, five minutes ago?”
“Yeah,” he admits. “Guess I walked right into karma on that one.”
I grab another box from the stack, the cardboard biting into my palms. “How is the new place?” I ask as I hoist it up. “Margo mentioned you guys have a decent backyard.”
“It’s great,” he says, then pauses, adjusting his grip on his box. “I mean, it is now. The first week or so was rough.”
“Yeah?” I set the box marked miscellaneous down near the others. “Why’s that?”
Anderson exhales through his nose. “Oh, uh.” He shifts his weight, eyes drifting to the window.
“I guess you’d probably understand more than most. Moving into a house together was a big deal for Margo.
And then on top of that, right after we moved, we had the wedding coming up…
” He trails off, then shakes his head. “It stirred up a lot of stuff from her past.”
I nod slowly. There is no need for him to say Josh’s name. It’s already there, sitting between us like a third person in the room.
Margo only got two years in her house with Josh before the universe plucked him out of it like he was nothing. One day, one wrong intersection, and everything after got rewritten.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry, man. That’s gotta be hard to navigate.”
“It is.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Sometimes I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’ll say the wrong thing, or I won’t say anything at all, and then she shuts down. And I’m just standing there thinking, fix it, do something, but there’s nothing to fix.”
He sets his box down.
“I feel helpless when she’s like that,” he continues. “Like no matter how much I love her, it’s never gonna be enough to keep her fully here. And then I feel like shit because I just made it about me.”
The room is quiet except for the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.
I lean against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re not replacing him,” I say.
“And you’re not supposed to.” He looks at me.
“She doesn’t need you to erase that part of her life,” I go on.
“Josh was her husband. That’s always gonna matter.
But that doesn’t mean there isn’t room for you. It just means the room is complicated.”
Anderson lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Yeah. Complicated is one way to put it.”
“Look, you’re doing what you can,” I add. “You show up. You don’t run when it gets uncomfortable. She is in love with you.”
“Yeah, I just gotta focus on that.” He looks down at the floor. “Alright. Therapy hour’s over.”
“If you ever need someone to talk to about it all, you can always tell me.” I pivot as it’s clear we both need lighter waters. “Let’s just hurry and finish this before the heat makes me regret every life choice I’ve ever made.”
“It is hot today,” he says, smirking. “Oh, shit. I almost forgot to ask, does Rachel know you’re back for good? Because when I was talking about it with Margo, she didn’t think Rachel knew.”
I freeze mid-step. “Uh, not exactly.”
Anderson squints at me. “Not exactly as in?”
“Not exactly,” I repeat, trying to keep my tone casual. “I figured it’s better to, you know, show up first. Words can come later.”
He lets out a low whistle. “You’re really fucking this one up, huh. I mean, she’s not exactly going to ignore you, you know that, right?”
“Yeah, I know,” I mutter, shifting the box again. “That’s the problem.”
Anderson chuckles. “Man, she’s going to flip out. But also good for you, I guess. You two clearly have shit you need to work through, so maybe this is your chance to fix some stuff.”
I drop the box onto the floor with a thud and run a hand through my hair. “Fixing stuff isn’t as simple as just showing up. You know that.”
“Yeah, but it’s a start,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. “At least you’re back in the same city, and eventually in the same room as her. That’s half the battle.”
I shake my head. “Half the battle? She’s pissed at me. And she should be. I left. I disappeared. I’m pretty sure she never wants to see me again.”
“Have you asked her?”
“No. After the wedding, I’m not really sure she’ll agree to see me.”
“Yeah, I’m not sure if telling her that her boyfriend sucks was the smartest move you could have made. You could have at least warmed her up to you being back before you pissed her off.” He sets another box down beside the pile.
“I know, but I don’t like not being honest with her,” I shoot over my shoulder.
“Ironic, since you’re hiding the fact that you’re living in the same town as her from her.
” He continues, “Just text her and see if she wants to get coffee or something. You know, Rachel, she can’t turn down that.
And if she says no, then you suck it up and deal with it.
But the longer you wait, the harder it gets. ”
I pace a little, glancing at the boxes scattered around the living room. “And with Ben around? She’s different with him. I don’t know if she’ll even talk to me.”
A low chuckle escapes Anderson. “Rhett, come on. Everyone sees what’s happening.
Ben’s a placeholder, a joke. She’s too smart to stay with him.
He’s—he’s a disaster. Trust me. She doesn’t need him, and deep down, she knows it.
She has just spent a long time taking care of everyone else; you can’t blame her for losing herself along the way. ”
“Have you always been this deep?” I question.
“Slone says I’ve been thirty since I was about ten, so I’d say probably?”
“Maybe I’ll text her,” I reply as we head to the truck for another box.
Rachel deserves better than Ben. She always has.
He doesn’t look at her the way a man should look at the woman he’s lucky enough to have beside him.
He gets to be near her. He gets to come home to her.
And for what? He acts like she is a piece of furniture he has gotten used to.
She is something he doesn’t have to earn.
I’d give a lot to be that close to her again. To have her look at me the way she used to. But I burned that chance a long time ago, and Ben gets to coast through what I ruined.
If I hadn’t made that promise to Josh, maybe I could’ve stayed gone. Maybe I could have finally let her go.
I close my eyes for a second, letting the memory come in softly.
Josh’s voice floats in. His face, bright and full of life, is clear in my head.
He was drunk when he asked me to look out for her. And I don’t mean the sloppy or loud kind. He was drunk enough to say things he’d normally keep to himself.
I can still see the curb we were sitting on outside some house party junior year. Rachel and Margo were freshmen. Rachel had left earlier, annoyed at Josh for teasing her about the new guy she’d been texting.
“I don’t like that guy.” Josh scoffed, pacing back and forth on the patio. “I don’t care if he’s on the football team.”
I stayed planted on the curb, sipping my beer. I kept eyes on the horizon, letting him get whatever he needed off his chest. “It’s not like you can really do anything about it.” I shrugged. “She’s a big girl, Josh. She’s gonna make her own decisions.”
Josh stopped mid-step, running a hand through his hair. “She’s too smart for that guy. Hell, she’s too smart for most guys.”
He kicked at a loose stone, letting it skitter across the concrete. Then he frowned. “Why can’t she like someone else, someone I trust? Like, why couldn’t she be into you? I mean, that would be fucking weird, but at least I’d know how she was being treated.”
I nearly choked on my drink, sputtering slightly. “I don’t think Rachel would ever let any guy close unless he passed the big-brother test.” I took a slow breath, hoping to control my thoughts. “I don’t think you have to worry.”
“She can be so infuriating sometimes.” Josh dropped down beside me on the curb, his shoulders hunched. He stared at his hands, quiet for a moment. “Hey,” he finally muttered, glancing at me. “If something ever happens to me, promise me you’ll look out for her.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “Dude, what the hell are you talking about?”
He leaned closer. “I’m serious, Rhett. You get it.
You know how she is. She acts like she’s fine even when she’s not.
She’s so stubborn. And I’m not stupid, I know she cares about what other people think about her.
She’s my only sibling, and I just need to know if I’m not around one day… someone I trust is watching her back.”
I sat my beer down next to us and met his gaze. “Nothing’s gonna happen to you, man.”
He nodded once, eyes holding firm. “I know that. But still just promise me.”
I let the silence hang for a beat, then finally nodded. “Yeah. Of course, but can we stop talking about something so morbid?”
“Don’t worry, Rhett. If you die before me, I promise I’ll find your mom and tell her to fuck off,” he joked.
He always had my back, so what was the harm in promising him this? “Okay, seems like a fair trade.”
Anderson claps his hands together, pulling me from the memory. “Looks like we only have a couple more boxes. Hey, once we get the rest of these in, you owe me a celebratory beer. Or five.”
I shake my head, smiling. “Deal. But I swear, Anderson, next time either of us moves, I’m hiring movers.”
He laughs again, placing another box onto the pile. “Yeah, yeah. We’ll see how you feel after this one. Now lift, Rhett. Let’s pretend we’re young and spry.”
I groan, but lift. And somehow, even with all the boxes, the heat, and the tension I’m carrying about Rachel, it feels good to be back.
Once the last box thuds onto the floor, my arms feel like rubber bands about to snap. Sweat clings to the back of my neck, and every muscle in my shoulders screams, but it’s done. My stuff is here. My life is here.
I head over to the fridge, which is mostly empty except for a six-pack and a carton of eggs, and grab two beers. The caps clatter against the counter as I twist them off.
“Here,” I say, handing one to Anderson before dropping onto the couch. The cushions groan beneath me as I stretch out. “Feels real now,” I murmur, taking a long drink. The beer is cold and goes down smoothly. “I’m actually back.”
Anderson lifts his bottle in a quiet toast, the corner of his mouth turning up. “When do you start work?”
“Tomorrow. But I went up there yesterday and met the crew.”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, brow furrowing as if remembering something. “My buddy Connor works at that station. He’s a good guy. You’d like him.”
I tilt my head. “Connor Westbrook?”
He nods. “That’s him.”
“Okay, yeah, I actually met him before I officially met him at the station. He was dancing with your sister at the wedding. Or more like begging your sister to dance with him.” I let out a laugh.
“I swear he has always been like that with Slone. At first, I thought he was doing it as a joke to get under my skin. But it’s been like five years, and he still acts like that. It’s really too bad Slone doesn’t do serious relationships.”
“You’d let Slone date Connor?”
He lets out a loud laugh. “You’ve met Slone, do you think I have any say in who she dates?”
“Fair.” I take another gulp. “So, when do you and Margo head out on your honeymoon?”
Anderson’s face shifts into something softer when I say her name. His mouth tips into a smile he doesn’t bother to rein in. “We leave on Friday for Lisbon for thirteen days. I can’t wait to have her all to myself.”
“Damn,” I say. “Why Lisbon?”
He smiles, twisting the cap between his fingers. “She’s always wanted to go.”
“And you?”
“Didn’t matter to me where we went,” he says. “As long as I’m with her.”
I watch the way his mouth curves into a smile when he talks about her. He seems content, and I can’t help but feel jealous that I can’t have that feeling for myself. I take a long pull from my bottle, letting the bubbles bite at my throat.
“That’s solid, man,” I say finally. “You two deserve it.”
The words linger in the air for a moment, and then a sharp buzz cuts through the quiet. Anderson pulls his phone from his pocket. While glancing at the screen, his smile softens even more.
“Speaking of my wife,” he says, waving his phone in the air while setting his bottle on the table. “Sometimes I can’t believe I get to say that. Anyways, I probably should head back to her.”
I nod, setting my own drink down beside his. “Go on. I’ll be fine here.”
He stands and stretches his body. “House looks good, Rhett. It suits you.”
“Thanks for the help. Really.”
He grins, that easy, unshakable Anderson grin, and I hear him say, “Hi, baby,” as he walks out the door.
After spending four years away from this place, I pictured it hurting to return.
I thought the walls would press in on me, heavy with memories of Josh, of versions of myself I buried because it was easier than facing them.
I expected ghosts. Regret. Sadness. Maybe anger.
But none of that shows up. Except for regret.
What hurts is simpler. Sharper. The only person in the world who matters to me can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t know where to begin with changing her mind, or if I even deserve the chance to try.
My phone rings, flashing a number I don’t recognize across the top. I swipe my finger and decline the call. If it’s important enough, they’ll leave a message.
I sink back into the couch, surrounded by cardboard towers and the faint smell of dust. I let it wash over me. My place.
I drain the last of the beer, feeling it settle warm in my chest. Tomorrow I’ll deal with Sunny. Tomorrow I’ll start fixing things.