Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
RACHEL
Idon’t say a word as we leave Margo and Anderson’s. I guess it’s not much different than how I spent the first half of this evening.
The night air has cooled, but my skin feels flushed. Every step I take toward the car feels like walking with static under my skin. I hate feeling this way. Thankfully, Rhett doesn’t follow us out, but I still feel his stare, heavy between my shoulder blades.
Ben doesn’t open my door. He stalks ahead, stiff and shoulders squared. I know he is spoiling for a fight. I unlock the car, slide into the driver’s seat.
Ben caves and breaks the silence first, letting out a theatrical sigh. “Did you think the wine tasted like it was shelved next to a gas station burrito, or was that just me?”
I’m not taking the bait. I keep my hands steady on the wheel.
“And Anderson’s playlist? Jesus. He is so try-hard it hurts.”
“You didn’t have to come, Ben.”
He scoffs. “Relax. I’m just saying, if he is trying to impress people, he should maybe start with music that doesn’t sound like it was curated by a guy who owns three leather jackets and a superiority complex.”
I don’t respond to his belittling comment. There is no point when it comes to this. Ben wants a fight, and he is willing to say whatever he thinks will bait me into an argument. Instead of giving him that, I keep driving, trying to organize all of the chaotic thoughts running through my head.
It has been years since I have been called Sunny so regularly, but that word still hits somewhere deep in my gut. It’s almost like he has kept it safe all this time and is pulling it out now to remind me I’m still that version of myself, whether I like it or not.
When he said it tonight, in front of Ben, in front of everyone, it wasn’t just a nickname anymore.
It was a truth I’ve spent years trying to bury, a body I swore I had laid to rest. Rhett Hayes doesn’t feel that way about me, the way I have always felt about him.
If he had, he would have never left me. Hell, he would have acted on it at least once over the last twelve years.
But tonight, the way he looked at me when he said my name, I felt it all again. Four years of distance should have been enough to kill this feeling. But it wasn’t. Turns out I’m still that same foolish girl.
We pull into the driveway, and Ben is out of the car before I even put it in park. The door slams behind him, and I can feel it rattle through my bones.
I exhale through my nose, keeping my jaw tight as I gather my bag and follow him inside. I barely set my keys down before I hear cabinets slamming.
“Ben—”
“You didn’t tell me he was gonna be there,” he snaps at me.
He yanks a glass from the cabinet and slams it down on the counter. The thud of it hitting the counter is loud enough to make me flinch.
“I didn’t know, Ben,” I say, my voice flat.
I mean, I could have guessed he’d be there.
Margo has always had a soft spot for Rhett.
I’ve been reminded of that repeatedly over the years with her constant questioning.
Do you miss him, Rachel? Have you spoken to Rhett recently?
Do you know what he’s up to nowadays? But I didn’t know he’d be there for sure, and I didn’t want to give Ben another excuse to spiral before we even arrived.
Ben scoffs. “Right.”
“How the hell was I supposed to tell you when I didn’t know he would be there?
” I snap, tossing my purse onto the bench by the front door.
“Margo invited him. They are—” I stop and correct myself.
“We all were good friends a few years back. And I guess Rhett moved back here, so Margo included him. It seems like he is going to be part of the group now. You’re going to have to get over whatever the hell you have against him. ”
Ben lets out a condescending laugh and grips the edge of the counter so hard I half-expect it to splinter under his hands.
“Right,” he spits. “Because he just conveniently keeps showing up. Funny how that works, Rach.”
“Can we not do this tonight?”
“No. Actually, I think we should. I think we need to.”
His voice is level but sharp enough to cut. His eyes shine, not with tears but with something worse. Something hungry. I’ve seen this before, the way he looks at me like I’m slipping through his hands, and the only thing keeping me here is his grip.
He takes a step closer. I shift back, instinctively.
“I saw the way you looked at him tonight,” he says, each word clipped. “I saw the way he looked at you,” he continues, louder now. “He acts like he knows things about you that I don’t.”
“Ben, come on—”
“No. Be honest. What was that? That nickname—‘Sunny’? What the hell is that?”
“It’s nothing,” I blurt, heat crawling up my neck. Guilt finds its way in, even though I didn’t do anything wrong. Even though I shouldn’t have to defend myself. But I always do.
A quiet, bitter laugh escapes him. “Didn’t sound like nothing.”
“He has called me that since college, okay? It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” His voice spikes, ragged. “You smiled. You blushed. You looked like you wanted to melt into the fucking floor. I’m not an idiot, Rachel.”
He smacks the counter with his hand, causing my shoulders to curl in. I need to make myself smaller. Shame hits before I can talk it away.
“Did you date Rhett? Is that what this is?” Ben demands. “Has he seen you naked?”
“You’re twisting this into something it wasn’t.”
“Am I, Rach? Because every time he is around, you change. You go distant. You retreat into some version of yourself I don’t recognize.”
“Because you interrogate me afterward!” My voice cracks. “Every time. You pick apart my face like you’re trying to catch me. If I smile, I’m too happy. If I talk, I’m performing. If I shut down, I’m hiding something. You make me feel like I’m always doing it wrong.”
“Are you seriously trying to make this my fault? I don’t trust him!”
“No,” I say, quieter now. “You don’t trust me.”
Silence crashes over the kitchen, and Ben freezes. Something flickers in his face, shock, maybe. His wounded pride twists into something uglier.
“That’s not fair,” he says, straining.
“Isn’t it? Because that’s what this is, Ben. It’s not about Rhett. You think I’d cheat on you. That’s what this is.”
“No, you act like he owns you.” He yells back at me.
“No one owns me. I’m not a fucking object.”
He starts pacing, ignoring my response. Three steps one way, turns, three steps back. His hand digs into his hair. His breathing’s shallow now. He stops and looks straight at me.
“The worst part is—” He cuts off.
“What?” My voice is thin.
“The worst part is that maybe he’s right.”
My chest drops.
“Excuse me?” I blink.
“I’m not blind,” he says. “You lit up when he said that stupid fucking nickname. It means something to you. He means something to you. You didn’t even try to hide it.”
I press my back harder into the counter. The cold bites under my palms while my legs begin to wobble.
“I’m—not his, Ben. I’ve never been his.” Even I hear the crack in my voice. He closes the distance, his cologne thick in the air, crowding my lungs.
“Then prove it,” he demands. “Prove to me you’re not his.”
Something locks tight behind my ribs. My fingers twitch, and I can’t decide what to do.
He leans in, voice rough at the edges. “You say you want this?” He taps his chest, then mine, then back to his. “That I’m what you want? Then prove it. Kiss me. Make me believe you.”
I blink, stunned. My heels stay planted to the floor.
He can’t be serious. We’ve just spent the last twenty minutes screaming at each other, let alone the past five months completely disconnected.
And now what? He thinks I need to get on my knees to prove him wrong?
As if my mouth on his is some kind of absolution?
I take a breath, but it gets stuck halfway down.
“Have you lost your mind?” I shake my head. “Ben, how could I even want to kiss you right now?”
He scoffs, mouth twisting cruelly. “Because that’s what people who are in it do. They fight, then they remind each other what they’re fighting for.”
I can’t imagine turning this anger into intimacy. He stands there smug. He thinks he is being noble. Like this is some grand, passionate declaration instead of what it is: a power play. A demand dressed up as affection.
I wrap my arms around myself, squeezing until my fingertips dig into my ribs.
“No.” I feel the edge of the counter press against the backs of my hips. “You don’t get to act like this is some romantic moment, Ben. You don’t get to demand a kiss as if it’s proof I still care. I don’t owe you that.”
His eyes narrow like I’m speaking a foreign language. And maybe I am, because it’s suddenly so clear we’re not having the same conversation.
He takes a step back. “Do you hear yourself, Rachel? You’re not even denying it.” He starts to laugh. “You belong to him, don’t you?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Maybe not on paper. Maybe not in bed. But somewhere in your head, in your heart—he’s still got a piece of you, doesn’t he?” His voice rises again, but there is desperation tangled in it. “And I’m the one stuck with what’s left. These shitty, broken scraps.”
I look at him, and he seems to actually believe it. He thinks I’m half a person he was handed. He thinks every problem between us starts and ends with something wrong inside me.
And the worst part is, I don’t even know how to argue against him.
I used to. I remember that girl. I was the one who spoke up, who didn’t shrink herself just to keep the peace.
I had opinions. I had courage. I chased what I wanted without apologizing for it.
I felt solid, like I actually took up space in my own life.
And now I keep wondering when I started doubting myself, when fear got louder than my own voice.
Where did that version of me go and how do I get her back?
Ben laughs again. “Jesus, Rachel,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “You’re being ridiculous. You really think Rhett—Rhett—would go for a girl like you?” He shakes his head. “Didn’t you say you’ve known him for like what? A decade? If he never did anything then, why do you think he would now?”
I stare at his mouth while he talks, wondering when I started believing this voice more than my own.
“You talk like you’ve got options. But deep down, you know your place. And it’s here. With me. I’m the best you’re ever gonna get, and you know it.”
“I don’t want to do this,” I whisper.
Ben shakes his head. “Of course you don’t. You never want to talk when it’s about you.”
I flinch. “That’s not fair.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m tired of fair.”
He watches me for another second, breathing too hard through his nose. Then he grabs the glass of water, still half full on the counter, and gulps it down. He slams it back onto the granite.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “I’m going to bed.”
I watch him walk back to the bedroom, his footsteps fading down the hall. I feel defeated. I wait for the spiral to hit—for the familiar certainty that there is nothing I can do, nothing I can fix, no version of myself that will ever be enough.
But it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s this dull, unsettling realization creeping into my chest: if he’s so sure I have no options, why does he sound so threatened by the idea that I might?
He wants this to be about Rhett, but I know Rhett better than he does.
Rhett doesn’t feel that way about me. And that is fine.
That’s not the point. I think about Rhett not the way Ben framed him, not as proof of my worth or lack of it, but as someone who never once made me feel small just for existing.
Ben says I know my place.
Maybe that is the real problem for Ben.
Because right now, my place is starting to look a lot like walking out that door and never coming back.