Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-seven
RACHEL
Now
“I’m so excited to be off the grid,” Slone shouts, turning the music down just enough for those of us in the back to hear her.
“Speak for yourself. I’m not sure how I’m going to get any work done,” Lexi mutters, her thumbs flying across her phone screen, the sharp taps of her typing filling the quiet.
Anderson chuckles from the driver’s seat, glancing back at her. “I think that’s the whole point, Lex. We’re supposed to be taking a break from work.”
Lexi exhales hard, still glued to whatever fire she’s trying to put out on her phone. “You should try telling that to my boss. He seems to think PTO is just a myth I made up.”
“It’s all about boundaries, Lexi. You have to set them.” Margo pops a piece of gum into her mouth and offers me one. I shake my head no.
“Before Ms. Therapy starts conducting a deep dive on all of us, not just Lex, I’d like to announce we’re here,” Slone says, whipping her seatbelt off. I am already reaching down to grab my bag. I need out of this car before Margo starts reading my thoughts.
“God forbid I use what I paid a good penny for,” Margo mutters under her breath, but I catch the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth.
The car rolls to a stop at the end of the long gravel driveway just as sunlight spills through the trees.
The heat shimmers on the windshield, thick and golden.
Tires crunch over the stone. It’s the sound of every summer I can remember.
Of a thousand moments folded into the corners of this old place.
Doors swing open in a flurry of limbs and noise. Lexi stretches her arms above her head with a theatrical groan. “It’s kinda hot out, ugh, I spent way too much money on my makeup just to sweat it off.”
Slone immediately hands her the bag of paper towels and Gatorade bottles. “You better hydrate, beauty queen.”
Lexi scowls but takes them. Slone grabs the two heavy coolers like they’re nothing, hoisting them with a grunt. Margo and I each grab an armful of grocery bags. Anderson takes whatever is left.
The porch creaks under our weight as we climb the steps.
Inside, cedar and dust linger, heavy alongside the memories of every summer I ever spent here with Josh.
Wood-paneled walls close in, familiar and unchanging.
The couches slump in their usual spots; the mugs in the cabinet remain stubbornly mismatched.
Everything is here—everything except him.
I drop the bags on the kitchen counter and flex my fingers, blood rushing back into them. “We brought enough to feed a small army.”
“We are a small army. Rhett alone could outeat three of us,” Margo says, already lining up loaves of bread and bags of chips.
I laugh under my breath and keep my hands moving.
I have to distract myself before anxiety combusts me entirely.
My skin’s already buzzing, and the weekend hasn’t even begun.
We unpack in waves. Luggage into rooms. Groceries into the fridge.
Towels tossed over chair backs. Every sound is achingly familiar.
I’m halfway through slicing tomatoes when the low rumble of an engine rolls into the drive. Tires crunch over gravel. My hand freezes mid-air. I don’t look. I don’t need to. My body already knows.
He is here.
Car doors slam outside, the sound carrying up the drive. Voices follow, spilling through the open windows. Wes says something loud to Anderson; Connor’s laugh chases it. Then, lower, the voice that cuts straight through the noise, the one I feel before I even register it.
Rhett.
My pulse snags at the base of my throat. I still for a breath, then lower the blade carefully into the tomato. The skin gives. Juice spills across the cutting board.
One slice at a time. Focus, Rachel.
Lexi bursts in, fanning herself with one hand and dropping her sunglasses onto the counter with the other. “The men are here.”
Slone groans. “God help us all.”
“Come on, Slone, it could be fun.” Lexi wiggles her eyebrows as she says it.
I don’t say a word. I don’t even look up. And still, I feel the exact moment Rhett steps back into this space. Into my space. My body has some traitorous radar built just for him. No matter how steady I try to keep my hands, the knife slips slightly, cutting the tomato off-center.
I press my lips together and keep going, praying no one notices I’m a little off.
“Anyone need a hand?” Rhett asks, standing in the doorway.
I look up and catch his eyes for one second. Just one second is all it takes for twelve years rush through me: every trip we took to this house, every stupid joke, every private look we thought no one saw. I drop my gaze and start tearing lettuce, giving my hands a purpose other than betraying me.
If I look again, I’ll fall into that pull. It would be too easy to let yesterday loop in my head—his eyes, his voice, his hands, the way we—
I cut the thought off and step back. “I’ve gotta find a corkscrew,” I mutter, then disappear down the hall.
The rest of the afternoon becomes an exercise in avoidance.
I drift from room to room like a ghost, hands busy, head down.
I speak only when necessary, moving so I don’t have to stand still and risk looking at him again.
But Rhett knows. I can feel it. He knows I’m spiraling.
I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t tried to say anything yet.
Eventually, we make sandwiches and carry them down to the dock. The sun is high; the lake glitters. People spread out in a long row of faded Adirondacks. I wedge myself between Lexi and Slone. Rhett drops two seats away.
My skin pricks every second he’s within five feet.
Part of me wants to lean in. Part of me wants to run.
It isn’t that I don’t want him. I’ve wanted him for what feels like my entire adult life.
But I can’t risk losing him once he realizes his feelings are born of grief.
I survived four years without him once. I won’t gamble on that silence twice.
So I make the choice that feels safest: distance.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Lexi teases, nudging me with her elbow.
I force a laugh. “Just tired, Lex.”
The night unspools in fragments. We grill burgers out back, smoke curling into the trees.
Margo hums in the kitchen, mixing cocktails and lining up the mismatched glasses.
Slone throws on a playlist, and the low, lazy music drifts through the cabin.
One by one, everyone wanders toward the living room.
The windows glow orange with the sunset’s reflection.
I laugh when I’m supposed to. I sip just enough to soften my edges, to remain part of the group instead of the ghost I’ve been all day.
Connor plants himself at the coffee table, deck of cards in hand. He shuffles with the cocky ease of someone who’s done this a hundred times, a smirk already in place.
“Alright,” he says, spreading the cards. “Who’s ready to get schooled?”
Wes laughs, “Please, last time you played, you folded before the first hand was even dealt.”
Connor shoots back, “I was letting you guys have your moment. It was a strategy move, Callahan.”
“Oooh, the last name, very clever. Two can play at that, Westbrook.”
I get dealt my cards, trying to focus on the game, but the hum of their voices blends with the thump of my racing heart every time Rhett glances my way.
Wes leans in, nudging me playfully. “You’re quiet, Rach. Cat got your tongue?”
I force a smile. “Just trying not to lose all my money tonight.”
Rhett raises an eyebrow, eyes never leaving mine. “You have one hell of a poker face, Sunny.”
I blink, then quickly glance down at my hand. Connor grins and throws down a card. “Come on, Rachel, you’re up.”
I place my card and glance at Lexi, whose turn is next, but she’s completely checked out, phone in hand, scrolling like the game doesn’t exist.
Slone rolls her eyes. “Put the phone down, Lexi. We’re playing cards, not scrolling Instagram.”
Lexi groans, waving her phone. “For the record, I’m reviewing a Motion for Continuance for the trial I have when I get back. But honestly? The Wi-Fi here sucks anyway. I’m doomed either way.”
Anderson pipes up from across the table, eyes on Wes. “Speaking of doomed, are you ever moving to Atlanta, or is this back-and-forth thing your full-time hobby?”
“You guys, we’re losing the plot,” Connor announces. “Rhett, it’s your turn.”
The game continues, full of jokes and the kind of easy back-and-forth that almost makes me forget the tight coil of nerves in my chest. But every so often, Rhett’s gaze finds mine, and the bundle of tension snaps right back into place.
By eleven, the group starts to wind down.
Connor rubs a hand over his temple. “Alright, I’m out. Head’s killing me, and I don’t want it affecting me tomorrow,” he mutters, already halfway to the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, Wes stretches with a loud, theatrical yawn. “That’s it. I’m done playing bartender and therapist for you degenerates.”
“Thank God. I’m not sure the advice you were giving was solid,” Lexi mutters, grinning.
“Solitude is calling my name,” Wes announces, scooping up a half-empty bag of trail mix and a blanket. He throws a lazy salute over his shoulder. “Sleep tight—and don’t text your ex, Lex.”
“Goodnight, Wes,” Slone laughs.
Margo nudges Anderson’s arm. “Come on. If we stay, you’re gonna start offering unsolicited stock advice.”
“I only do that when people really need to hear it.” Anderson stands with a quiet laugh.
Margo rolls her eyes, giggles, hooks a finger in his belt loop, and pulls him down the hallway.
“Okay, Trouble,” he whispers.
“Night, everyone,” she calls over her shoulder, barely glancing back. They’re disgustingly cute.
The room settles. Slone and Lexi curl into opposite corners of the couch, voices low, laughter slowing until it fades completely.
Slone stretches, reluctant. “Alright. I should probably crash before I end up stuck here all night.”