Chapter Nineteen
RHETT
I’m going to kill that motherfucker.
Her body is flush against mine, clinging to me like she thinks I’ll vanish if she lets go. I have one arm wrapped around her back, my hand spread wide between her shoulder blades, feeling every shallow breath and rapid beat of her heart.
“Sunny, let’s go,” I murmur into her hair. “It’s time to get you out of this cold.”
She shakes her head, and her cheek brushes against my collarbone.
“I don’t want to go home, Rhett,” she whispers. “I don’t want to see him.”
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, needing something to anchor me. I have to keep my thoughts here.
“I wasn’t planning on taking you back to your house.” I shift her slightly in my arms, lifting her higher, her legs dangling over my arms.
I stand, feeling her weight settle perfectly against me, heavier than air yet exactly where it belongs.
“Then where are you taking me?” Her words wobble at the end, just enough to betray the alcohol.
“My place.”
She exhales and buries her face in my neck, nose nudging just beneath my jaw. I almost stop walking, just to feel her there a moment longer.
“I can walk, you know,” she mumbles. “You really don’t need to carry me.”
“Sunny,” I say, jaw tight. I don’t have patience for her stubbornness tonight. “I put out fires for a living. I carry people out of burning buildings. People twice your size.”
She doesn’t argue. She just clings harder, fingers gripping my jacket as if the world might shift beneath her.
“Just let me carry you to the damn car.”
She mumbles something I can’t catch, the words getting lost against my collarbone.
When I reach the car, I shift her slightly to one arm, steadying her with my knee as I open the door. She doesn’t release her arms from around my neck at first. Her grip tightens like she’s afraid this is the part where I disappear.
“I’ve got you, Sunny. I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, softer now.
Her hands slide from my shoulders as I ease her into the seat. Her eyes flutter closed, head tilting back like she finally can’t fight the weight pressing down. I see it take her—the crash, the moment everything catches up.
I lean across her to buckle the belt, brushing strands of hair away where they’ve caught under the strap. A tear slips down her cheek.
Shit.
I fucking hate watching her cry. My thumb catches the tear before it trails down her cheek. I don’t move my hand right away. My palm rests against her skin, and I let myself feel how soft she leans into it, how much she trusts me without even thinking.
Then I draw back before I get carried away.
I close her door gently and walk around to the driver’s side, rage humming beneath my skin.
By the time I slide into the seat and grip the wheel, my knuckles have gone white.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens until the leather creaks.
I can’t look at her yet—not when my chest feels ready to split open.
The cemetery disappears in the rear view mirror, the road stretching ahead in strips of shadow and moonlight.
Ben doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve her name in his mouth, let alone her heart. Hell, he doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same oxygen she breathes. And he knows it. That’s why he keeps breaking her down, piece by piece. Because he’s too weak to ever be worthy of her.
I want to slam on the gas, drive to his place, and knock on his door until he answers—just so I can rearrange his face. Over and over, until the only thing he can see is his blood on my hands. And I’m not a violent person.
He’s lucky, really, that I can’t. Rachel is more important to me than revenge. She needs me to be with her right now, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. I’m going to give her that.
She leans against the window, head tilted as the world slides past in a blur of dark and light. Her hands fidget in her lap, fingers tugging softly at the edge of her sleeve. I can’t tell if she’s cold or if it’s just the only thing keeping her from coming undone.
She looks so small like this, folded inward, and it guts me. Someone like her, someone who shines even when she doesn’t mean to, should never have learned to shrink.
I loosen my grip on the wheel, flexing my fingers just to keep from reaching across the space between us. God knows I want to. But I settle for the wheel, for what I can control, because my chest is heavy with all the things I want to tell her and all the things I can’t.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice frayed from tears and alcohol. “I should’ve called you. You shouldn’t have had to come find me.”
My jaw locks. She is still blaming herself. Still carrying the weight that was never hers. I keep my eyes pinned to the road, forcing down the urge to pull over and make her listen.
“I’m sorry I ruined your night, Rhett.”
“You could never ruin my night, Sunny,” I respond instead. “You’re here. You’re safe. That’s all I care about.”
She exhales softly, turning back toward the glass. I let myself look again. God, she’s beautiful, even now.
Her eyes are swollen from crying, her hair is tangled from the wind. Her lips tremble with every uneven breath she takes. And somehow, all I can think about is how badly I want to touch her. To trace the curve of her cheek with my hand.
Her jeans cling like a second skin, outlining every line, every curve I’ve tried too hard not to notice.
The fabric pulls tight at her thighs, softens at her hips, tapers into the delicate line of her waist beneath that fitted top.
It’s maddening. Each breath shifts the neckline just enough to reveal more of her collarbone, the skin there pale and smooth where her hair keeps sliding down to brush against it.
I want to rest my hand on her hip, to feel the warmth of her body beneath my palm. I want to let my fingers graze her neck and watch her shiver like she did that night we almost—
No. I cut the thought off fast, gritting my teeth. What the hell is wrong with me? This isn’t the time. Not when she is hurting.
But even as I force the thoughts down, the ache doesn’t leave.
A quiet, relentless part that has never stopped aching for her.
And right now, all that part of me wants is to pull the car over, gather her against me, and remind her what it feels like to be chosen.
I see her. I want to protect her and spend all of my days noticing her.
My grip on the wheel tightens again, muscles straining with the effort it takes to hold myself back.
I keep my voice low. “We’re almost to my house. Then we can get you out of those wet clothes and something to eat, okay?”
I want to take it all from her: every weight, every ache, every doubt he’s piled on her and hand her back her light.
When we pull up at my place, I kill the engine. Before she can move, I’m already out and around to her side. I open her door and hold out my hand. She hesitates, eyes flicking from my face to my palm.
“You sure this is okay?” she asks, voice thin.
“Rach,” I say, softly. I tuck a loose hair behind her ear, my fingers grazing her jaw. I stay there a beat longer than I probably should, then let my hand fall. “You’re always okay with me.”
Inside, I grab a hoodie from my closet and toss it to her. She pulls it on without thinking; the sleeves swallow her hands, and the hem drops past her hips. It’s mine, and somehow it fits her better than anything she owns. The sight twists something tight inside me.
I step back and pull out a clean pair of boxers and a pair of sweatpants, holding them out wordlessly so she can choose. She takes the boxers out of my hand and disappears into the bathroom.
When she comes back, she’s barefoot. The waistband of the boxers hangs low on her hips.
The hoodie’s slipping off one shoulder, exposing just enough skin to make my mouth dry.
She is gorgeous and wearing my clothes, and it does something to me I’m not proud of.
The kind of thoughts I shouldn’t be having float into my head anyway.
“Sit,” I say, gesturing to the bed.
She walks over without a word and sinks onto the edge of the mattress. I pull a clean pair of socks from the drawer and crouch in front of her.
“Foot,” I murmur.
She lifts one foot and sets it on my knee, her skin brushing mine in a warm glide that short-circuits something deep in my chest. I slide the sock over her toes, slow and careful, pretending this is nothing, pretending I’m not memorizing the delicate curve of her ankle, the way her calf tightens just slightly when she shifts.
I shouldn’t be thinking about how far my hand could travel if I let it. I shouldn’t be imagining the sound she’d make if I touched her like I want to.
But my mind betrays me anyway.
When I reach for the other, she doesn’t wait. Her bare foot slides into my hand, warm, pliant and suddenly I can’t breathe as easily. My thumb brushes her arch as I pull the sock on, and her breath catches—so quiet I almost convince myself I imagined it.
I rise, my body humming with a tension I can’t release. She doesn’t look away. She meets my gaze, calm, patient, dangerous in her stillness, as if she knows every thought I have tried to hide. Heat climbs up the back of my neck.
She holds out her hand, and I take it, because saying no would require strength I don’t have. If I stepped forward half a foot, her knees would brush my legs.
If I leaned down just slightly, my mouth would find hers.
If I stopped fighting myself for even a second, everything between us could ignite. But I don’t. I can’t. I just hold her hand. And somehow, that is torture enough.
“You hungry?” I ask, trying to break the tension and distract myself from the sight of her. It comes out scratchy, so I clear my throat and try again. “I don’t have many options. I—uh, haven’t been home much with work, but I’ve got frozen waffles and peanut butter.”
She offers the smallest, tired smile, just a flicker of it, and I catch it. “That sounds disgusting.”