Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
RHETT
Rachel follows behind me in her car. I check my mirrors more than I need to, in order to make sure she is still there. I am wholly convinced she is going to change her mind and decide this is a bad idea.
Because Rachel is a smart woman and this is a bad idea.
My house is a small, single-story tucked into a quiet neighborhood just outside the city. Nothing fancy, but it feels like mine. For the first time in years, it feels like I’m building something permanent.
I unlock the door and push it open, flipping the entry light on with a quick flick of my wrist. The bulb overhead casts a soft, yellow glow over the half-unpacked chaos.
“Home sweet half-unpacked home,” I say, holding the door open for her.
She steps inside, pausing in the entry. Her eyes sweep over the room, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“Thanks,” she says finally. Then she toes off her shoes and adds, “It’s nice, Rhett. Smells like new paint and takeout in here.”
I smile, shutting the door behind her. “Seeing as takeout is basically my entire diet right now and I just finished painting the kitchen last night, that tracks. You’ve got a good nose.”
Boxes line the living room wall, stacked two or three high. She walks over and taps one with the side of her foot.
“Which ones are we tackling?”
I glance at the box she is eyeing and groan. “The ones labeled ‘miscellaneous,’ which probably means stuff I didn’t want to deal with when packing.”
She cracks a smile, already pulling at the tape. “You’re lucky I’m good at this.”
I try to hide the way that smile hits me. God, I missed seeing that look on her.
We spend the next hour sorting through a mess of random junk: extension cords, picture frames with no glass, mugs from places I don’t remember visiting.
Rachel moves through my space as if it’s familiar to her.
She hands me a tangle of cables, flips through a stack of old CDs.
She makes fun of my hoarding tendencies in that dry, effortless way only she can.
And for a while between us, it’s easy. It feels good.
It feels like it always has with her.
She moves toward a shelf and lifts one of the few framed photos I unpacked the first night I moved in. Her fingers hover over the glass before she picks it up.
“Is this at the lake house?”
“Yeah. Josh, Margo, you, and me. That summer before everything changed.” It’s hard to miss the sadness that creeps into my voice.
She stares at the photos, and I watch her thumb trace along the edge of the frame.
“I forgot how happy we were back then,” she says softly.
“Me too,” I admit. That photo has been with me through four apartments and two cities. I never leave it behind. “Feels like a different lifetime.”
She sighs, then finally looks up at me. “Do you ever think about that summer?”
“Every day.” And I do. The memory comes back sharp and vivid.
That summer was the last one untouched by tragedy.
We were all together, steady in our own rhythm.
Josh and Margo were still lost in their honeymoon glow, radiating the kind of love that made everything else feel easier.
Rachel and I just followed that current.
We spent our days on the dock and nights around bonfires. For me, it was the summer of clarity.
Rachel had changed that summer. She became lighter somehow. I’m not even sure how that was possible, but she did. She was more certain of herself out on that lake. I was mesmerized by everything she did.
She would steal sips from my drink when everyone else had gone to bed.
Her feet ended up in my lap during movies.
We laughed over stupid things, like the time we fought for the last popsicle, and she nearly fell off the deck into the water.
Every moment with her from that summer is stuck in my head.
Well, I guess every moment with her is stuck in my head.
I have always felt the pull towards Rachel, even from the beginning. Looking back now, I know the group dynamic was a factor in my decision not to pursue her since the day I met her. I wasn’t willing to risk the balance we had. I didn’t want to be the one to break it. I was a coward.
And Josh was my brother in all the ways that counted. I never had siblings growing up, and my dynamic with my parents is complicated. So Josh was the only family I had. The idea of messing that up by crossing some invisible line with his sister didn’t feel like something I could do.
But that summer, it grew into something I could no longer ignore.
What had once been manageable—something I could bury beneath jokes and late-night talks and the safety of friends—turned sharp and insistent.
After spending a week with her in that place, it felt impossible to pretend I hadn’t crossed some invisible line. I thought she might have felt it too.
There were moments that stayed with me long after they passed.
The way her eyes held mine a second too long, like she was searching for something she wasn’t ready to name.
I swear her hand would linger on my arm or at my waist, casual enough to dismiss, deliberate enough to haunt me.
And God, the night we almost kissed, standing there, close enough to feel her breath graze my jaw.
I knew I was close enough to ruin everything.
And I’d never wanted to do something so badly or been so terrified of it at the same time.
I couldn’t push the feelings away like I had before.
I’d tried. I told myself it was just proximity and the nostalgia of our friendship.
I even tried to convince myself that summer had a habit of making everything feel bigger than it was.
But the feelings only grew louder. Clearer.
They followed me into quiet moments. They burrowed their way into the spaces where I used to feel safe.
I started to imagine things I had never let myself imagine before.
What it would be like to reach for her hand without hesitation, to be more than the person she laughed with and leaned on.
What it would mean to choose her, knowing I might lose her.
By the end of that summer, I decided I had to risk everything.
I knew what I was gambling. I knew I could ruin the one friendship that had always mattered most to me.
But I also knew I couldn’t keep living in the in-between.
I wouldn’t survive loving her in silence any longer.
So I made up my mind. I was going to tell Sunny the truth.
I was going to come clean after the lake trip, once things settled down.
I was ready to take the risk. Ready to burn the safety of what we were for the chance of something more.
I just didn’t know that everything was about to fall apart before I ever got the chance.
Now, here, watching her in my living room, framed by the glow of the hallway light, that same pull tightens in my chest. I’ve lived in many places across the country, in many different apartments. But being in this house, here with her, I think this could be my home.
No.
Stop.
I force the thought down hard, slamming a door shut before it can swing open any wider.
This isn’t what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure she’s okay.
Nothing more. Josh trusted me to protect her, not to want her.
He never wanted me to imagine a future that isn’t mine to claim.
I don’t get to be selfish where Sunny is concerned.
I don’t get to blur the lines just because it feels right.
This is about keeping her safe. That’s it.
She sets the photo back on the shelf gently, putting something fragile back in place. I study her face, trying to read her like I used to.
“Are you okay?”
She nods slowly, her eyes fix on the photo for a moment longer before she meets my eyes.
“I just miss him and that lake,” she says quietly. “I haven’t been back since that trip. Losing him still hits me more than I thought it would at this point. I just feel a little lost without him lighting my way.” She lets out a sigh. “These last four years have been hard.”
I swallow hard; that feeling is so familiar it causes a knot to form in my chest. “Yeah. It’s like I know we’re supposed to keep going, keep moving forward, I know he would want that for us, but part of me will always be stuck back there.”
I shift a little closer, and our arms brush.
I don’t notice how little space there is between us until I feel her body tense beside mine.
Her eyes flick up, catching mine, and I’m certain those warm browns could swallow me whole if I let them.
Every bone in my body wants me to close the distance between us.
I want to offer some kind of shield to the pain she carries, but I don’t.
“I miss him.”
“I miss him too,” I admit.
She shakes her head, not pulling away, but not answering either. Instead, her fingers twist at the ends of her hair.
I stay close for a moment longer, then attempt to break the tension between us with a grin. “So, what are you in the mood to eat? And I’m starving, so I know you are too.”
Her smile grows a little wider. “Honestly, anything but salad.”
“Alright,” I say, pulling out my phone. “What are we thinking—burgers, Chinese, pizza?”
“Not burgers. Too messy,” she says, as her eyes widen. “I could do Chinese, but pizza sounds kind of perfect.”
“Pizza it is.” I nudge her arm. “You’re still a mushroom person, right?”
“Yes, please, mushrooms and pepperoni.” I watch as a smile takes over her face.
“Of course,” I say, typing in the order. “Large cheese, mushrooms, pepperoni. Got it.”
She glances over. “You’re good with mushrooms, right? I can’t remember if you like them or not.”
“Sure.”