Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
RHETT
Now
Work was brutal today. It left my head buzzing and my body heavy. So, I don’t know why I decided a run was a good idea. There is something about the pain of a runner’s high. Maybe I crave pain, maybe it is the only thing that makes me feel something after a day like this.
I cut left sharply, shoes slapping against damp pavement as I cross Maple and Fifth.
My lungs burn in that sweet way that’s almost addictive.
I drag in a sharp inhale and slow to a stop at the light, bent slightly, heaving.
Sweat slides down my temples. My heart is pounding, but it’s a steady rhythm, something I can control.
I pushed Rachel too far the other night. I told myself it was tough love, that if I shook her hard enough, she’d finally see what I see. But I was wrong. You can’t force someone into clarity. You can’t drag them back to a truth they’re not ready to face.
So I’m done pushing.
I’m switching to plan B.
I’m going to be the guy I used to be—the one she laughed with, the one who knew how to make the world feel lighter just by standing next to her. I’m going to remind her of us. Of the girl she was when she was truly carefree and happy. Maybe something will spark.
I drag in a deep breath as I round the corner, the run burning through my lungs.
Instead of pushing myself past the edge, I slow to a walk and take the rest of the way home on foot.
It is only about a mile and a half. The next fifteen minutes pass peacefully.
I stop at the crosswalk and wait for the light.
Before I step off the curb, a scent drifts through the air and stops me cold.
Soft. Powdery. A whisper of cherry blossom.
It is so faint I almost miss it, but something inside me stutters when I catch it.
I feel like I know that smell.
I don’t know how, only that I do. It tugs at something buried deep, a memory sunk too far down to surface. I freeze while my pulse roars in my ears, and scan the crowded sidewalk. I see nothing out of the ordinary. I am surrounded by only strangers.
I shake it off, shoving my hands into my jacket pockets, and keep walking forward. My head has been a mess lately with Rachel. Maybe I’m imagining things. Maybe I’m dehydrated. I know I’m definitely tired.
But then, at the corner where the light is red, I get another whiff. It curls into my chest and tightens there, a slow, aching knot.
“Rhett?”
I turn toward the voice.
A woman stands a few feet away, clutching her purse. She’s maybe in her fifties—no, sixties. I don’t recognize her at all. My eyes scan behind me to see if she is looking at someone else. But no, she is looking straight at me.
“Uh, yeah?” My voice comes out cautious.
Her eyes flicker as she takes a hesitant step closer. “You’re Rhett, right? Rhett Hayes?”
“That’s what I go by,” I say flatly. “And who are you?”
She swallows, and her lips tremble just a little. “Victoria Wright,” she says, then corrects herself. “Well…I guess formally Hayes.”
I swear the air goes thin.
No. No, it can’t be.
She takes another half step forward, her voice small. “I’m your mother.”
My chest constricts so fast it feels like someone is pulling a string straight through my ribs. For a second, I can’t move. The noise of the street dulls to a hum.
Before I can think better of it, everything inside me hardens.
“I don’t have a mother,” I mutter to her. “You must be confusing me with someone else.”
I turn to head in the direction of my house.
“Rhett, wait,” she begs, reaching out to touch my shoulder.
I whirl around. “What the fuck are you doing here? What do you want from me? Now? After all this time.” My voice is cold enough to freeze the air between us. People on the sidewalk slow down to glance at us, and they start to whisper. I don’t care about any of them.
She looks like she is about to cry, but I can’t—God, I won’t—feel bad for her. I can’t even look at her without feeling like the ground is tilting under me.
“I just wanted to see you,” she whispers. “Just once.”
“Congratulations.” I toss my hands up. “You’ve seen me.”
I turn away from her before she can say another word. My legs move fast, on autopilot, and I don’t even know where I’m going. I just know I have to get away. Away from her, from that smell, from the ache tearing through my chest.
I spent four years searching for her. Four years of nothing but the slow humiliation of hope.
I learned how to live with the absence. I finally learned how to stop looking.
And now, when I’m not searching, when I don’t want to see her, when I finally believe I’m in control, she finds me.
I try to take a deep breath, but the air moves in and out, and none of it reaches where it’s supposed to.
The timing only reassures me of one thing. She could have found me at any point. Any year. Any version of me that was still waiting. She didn’t, though. She only found me when she wanted to find me.
The thought splinters. Air stalls in my throat, unfinished. It wasn’t distance that kept her away. It wasn’t by circumstance. It was by choice. She always knew where I was. She always had the power to reach out.
She just didn’t want to.
I jog for another ten minutes in the opposite direction from my house. My lungs burn in a different way now, not sweet, but sharp. My vision blurs at the edges, and the noise of the street turns into static. What is happening to me?
I duck into an alley and slam my back against the brick. My legs give out, and I slide down until I’m crouched on the pavement. I lift my hands to see that they are shaking. Air shreds on the way in, stutters on the way out. I suck it in, trying again, but nothing lands.
Breathe, Rhett. Just breathe.
The command hits empty space. My ribs jam, each inhale a jagged shard.
My head tilts, and the world shifts with it.
The edges of the alley smear. I try to slow my heartbeat, but it doesn’t work.
The harder I try, the tighter it gets. My head spins, and I’m somewhere between wanting to punch something and wanting to disappear.
I need help.
My phone is in my hand before I know it. There is only one name that makes sense. I press it.
“Hello?”
“Sunny,” I choke out when she answers.
“Rhett? What’s wrong?”
I can’t form the words. I suck in air that won’t fill my lungs.
“Hey—hey, slow down,” she says, sharp with worry. “What’s going on? You’re freaking me out, Rhett.” I still can’t get anything to come out of my mouth. “Rhett, where are you?”
I glance up and see the street sign blurry above me. “Alley on Higheth and Main,” I manage to whisper.
“Stay there. I’m coming.”
The line goes dead, but her voice lingers in my skull, echoing where it shouldn’t. I try to hold onto that, to the sound of her, while the rest of me malfunctions.
I press my palms to my eyes. The brick behind me is rough, reminding me I exist, but not enough to stop the tremor in my bones. My ribs feel hollow, like my heart is trying to claw its way out.
I can still smell her perfume. How did she…? After twenty years, after nothing, she shows up, and it’s like the air itself is betraying me. It makes no sense. Why now? Why me? Why this? Was I ever free, or just waiting for her to decide I could breathe again?
Part of me wants to scream at her, to shake her and demand an explanation, and another part wants to collapse into nothing, to curl up and let her presence crush me like it always has.
She could have reached me years ago. She didn’t.
And now she chooses to find me, just when I’m starting to feel like I might matter to myself.
Minutes stretch, slow and cruel. My breaths slice the air in shallow pulls. My hands are slick with sweat; my fingers dig into my palms like I can claw something solid out of the chaos.
Then I see a shadow at the alley’s mouth, and I hear footsteps running.
“Rhett?”
I look up. Sunny’s hair is flying loose, and her shoes are untied. Her shoes are never untied. She is scanning the alley until her eyes land on me, crouched against the wall. I watch as relief and panic collide on her face as she rushes over to me.
Her palms are trembling a little, but her voice isn’t. “You’re okay. I’m here. Look at me.”
I drag my eyes up to her. The edges of the world blur and tilt, but she comes into focus. Hair falling forward while her breaths remain uneven, eyes wide and sharp with worry.
“You came,” I let out, voice ragged.
“Of course I did. You called.”
Her thumbs brush against my jaw, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. My lungs start to catch again, shaky but there. Still, my heart is racing like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest.
“What’s happening, Rhett?” she asks softly, scanning my face. “Are you hurt? Did something—”
“I—I don’t know.” I shake my head, but it only makes me dizzier. “I can’t— I can’t breathe. My chest—” I press my hand to it, as if that’ll loosen something. “I think it’s a panic attack. Maybe. I’ve never—” My voice cracks. “I’ve never felt like this before, Rach.”
Rachel exhales slowly, forcing herself to stay calm for the both of us. She nods, almost to herself. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. You’re okay, Rhett. I’ve seen this before—Margo used to have panic attacks. I know what to do.”
She shifts closer, one hand steady on my shoulder, the other guiding mine away from my chest. “Listen to me,” she says gently, “You’re safe, alright? You’re not dying, even though I know it feels like it. You just need to breathe with me. Match me, okay? Do you think you can do that?”
She takes a slow breath in and waits for me to follow. I try, but the first one comes out jagged. She squeezes my hand.
“Again,” she murmurs. “In through your nose… out through your mouth. You can do it.”
I force another inhale. This one comes a little easier.
“Focus on three things. Something you can feel, something you can see, and something you can hear. Okay, Rhett?”