Chapter 27 #2
Lexi hugs herself. “Same. That weird in-between tired—either I fall asleep in ten seconds, or I’m online until three.”
They slip down the hall, footsteps soft.
And then it’s just me and Rhett.
He is sprawled on the couch, legs stretched out, one ankle hooked over the other, hands loosely clasped in his lap, like he has nowhere else to be.
I don’t stay near him. I turn and drift into the kitchen instead, stacking empty glasses on the counter.
And once that’s complete I start wiping at a spill that isn’t there. Anything but facing him.
I feel his attention before I hear him move, a quiet weight crawling up my spine, prickling across my skin.
Focus, Rachel.
I rearrange a stack of napkins that doesn’t need rearranging. I open a cabinet, stare into it for too long, then shut it again. My hands itch for something to do. Something that isn’t acknowledging how thick the air between us has become.
“Sunny.” His voice is soft, almost pleading. “Talk to me, please.”
I grip the edge of the counter, eyes fixed on the sink. “Now’s not really the time.”
He exhales, the sound threaded through his words. “It kind of is. It’s just us down here.”
Why didn’t I just go to bed too? That would have been too smart.
Behind me, the couch creaks. Floorboards shift beneath his weight. With every step, I feel him getting closer, the space between us narrowing until it feels impossible to breathe. His hands settle on my shoulders, and instead of pulling away, my body gives in, melting into his touch.
“Rachel,” he says. “Look at me, please.” I hear it then, beneath his voice. Fear.
I can’t turn around. I can’t look. Because if I do, I might fall apart. If I turn toward him, I will forget that I’m just a trauma response for him. I’ll believe him when he says I’m not.
His hands stay planted on my shoulders. His grip is steady. He doesn’t shove, doesn’t demand that I meet his gaze. Instead, his fingers drift over the top of my collarbone.
“You’ve never been a good liar, Sunny.”
I stare at the counter, at the tiny crack near the edge of the laminate, hoping it might offer me a way out. If I focus hard enough, maybe I won’t unravel.
His hands fall away from my shoulders. The absence is immediate.
“Do you regret it?” His voice is fragile.
“What?” I turn, finally, and the look on his face steals the air from my lungs. I’ve only seen him this broken a handful of times. Once, when Josh died. A few others when he talked about his mom.
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “Do you regret me, Sunny?” The sadness in his eyes is almost unbearable. “Is that what this is? You want to take back what we did?”
Fear swells in my chest. I swallow it down. Because whatever this is, whatever I’m running from, Rhett doesn’t deserve to believe that. Not even for a second.
So I tell him the truth.
“Not a single bone in my body,” I say softly, “could ever regret you.” My voice catches. I draw in a shaky breath. “I’ve wanted you for what feels like my entire life.”
My chest heaves, and I press my palms against it, as if I can physically hold the words in. “I’ve spent almost a decade telling myself that all I ever was to you was your best friend’s sister. And I got really good at it, Rhett. I kept myself in check. I stayed on my side of the line.”
I swallow hard. “But the other night, I didn’t just want you. I needed you.”
The words tremble out of me. “I fell. I fell into you, Rhett. Completely. And I can’t take it back.
I can’t undo it. I burned the bridge we were standing on, and now I’m on the other side of it, terrified.
” My eyes burn, but I don’t look away. He deserves the truth, even if it ruins me.
“But even if you realize I’m too much for you…
whenever you decide I’m not enough.” My voice fractures, splintering under the weight of it.
“Even if you have to leave me again, I couldn’t regret a single second of that night. Not even if I tried.”
Something shifts across his face, hurt and disbelief tangled together. When he speaks, his voice is deeper, rough with emotion.
“Sunny.”
He takes my hand, his thumb moving in slow, steady circles over my skin, grounding me the way he always has, the way I wish he didn’t know how to do so instinctively.
“Have you not listened to anything I’ve said to you in the past forty-eight hours?”
“I’m trying,” I whisper. “I just don’t know what’s real anymore.
I don’t trust myself to make the right choices.
” The words spill out, and it is humiliating.
“Ben said beautiful things, too, in the beginning. And look how that ended.” I shake my head.
“I’m too much, Rhett. Too loud. Too stubborn. Too emotional. I’m too hard to love.”
When I finally look up, his expression softens in a way that nearly undoes me. That familiar ache blooms low in my chest.
“Sunny,” he murmurs, “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”
The words should feel like salvation. Instead, they split something open inside me. I know I should ask for clarification on what that means, but I’m afraid of the answer.
“Then why did you leave?” My voice thins to a whisper. “Why did you leave me after Josh died?” I swallow. “Because I wanted you then. I needed you then, Rhett.”
His inhale shudders. And suddenly I see it. The tightness in his jaw. The grief etched into the lines of his body, still living there.
“It was painful, Rach,” he says quietly. “Watching you break. Standing beside you at the funeral. Sitting with you on the porch. Hearing you cry and knowing I couldn’t fix any of it.”
He drags a hand through his hair, the motion rough, unsteady.
“I wanted you then, after Josh died. But I didn’t trust myself.
I didn’t think you’d be willing to give us a chance, and the thought of messing it up, of hurting you more, destroyed me.
I wasn’t sleeping. I wasn’t thinking straight.
I needed distance to grieve him.” His voice softens. “And you.”
The floor drops out from under me.
“And my mom leaving,” he continues, voice thickening, “it messed me up more than I ever admitted. I spent years believing I wasn’t worth staying for.
That people always leave.” He exhales hard.
“I had to pull back. Find her. Get closure. I thought if I didn’t fix that part of myself, I’d never be able to show up for you the way you deserve. ”
The honesty hangs between us. My hands start to shake.
“I looked for her for years,” he says quietly. “She didn’t want to be found. Then I move home, back to you, and suddenly she’s calling me. Stopping me mid-run.”
He shakes his head, disbelief darkening his expression. “I’m not healed, Sunny. I don’t know if I ever will be. But when she called the other night, I answered. I listened. I let her apologize.”
He lifts his hand and cups my cheek. His thumb brushes just beneath my eye, tender enough to make my heart stutter painfully.
“I want to be with you, Rach.”
“Your mom found me yesterday. At the grocery store. After you left for work.” The words feel small compared to the way they detonated inside me.
His brows pinch together. “What?”
“She just appeared.” I swallow. “She said a lot of things. She wanted me to help her talk to you.” I watch him carefully, searching for anger, for hurt—something I can prepare for. He gives me nothing but confusion. “Don’t worry. I told her she doesn’t get to talk to you unless you want her to.”
That part I’m steady on. That part I’m sure of.
“Sunny,” he says quietly, and my nickname in his mouth makes my chest ache. “What did she say to you?”
He knows. He hears it in my voice. He knows she dug out these thoughts I’m having from a deep place.
“She—I— it was.” The words tangle and collapse. I press my eyes shut because if I look at him, I might break completely. “I just can’t lose you, Rhett.”
“Hey. Hey.” His hands frame my face. “You’re not going to.”
“You don’t know that, Rhett,” I whisper. “You can’t promise that.”
Because I’ve heard promises before. And I know how easily the world breaks them.
“Yes, I can,” he says immediately, like the idea of hesitating never even crosses his mind.
His eyes lock onto mine. “Sunny,” he says softly, “there isn’t a world where you lose me. Not unless—” He stops. He realizes what I meant, and the silence finishes the sentence for him. Unless the universe takes him the same way it took Josh.
I shake my head once, tight. “We lost Josh. I can’t risk it, Rhett. I won’t survive losing you.”
“I’m right here, Sunny. If it is up to me, I’ll always be right here.
” He swallows, his voice low. “I know this feels dangerous. I know you don’t trust yourself right now.
But you are still that girl, Sunny. We’ll take our time.
We’ll figure it out together. This is you and me we’re talking about. It’s always been you and me.”
I hate how much I want to believe him. How easy it would be to reach for that comfort, to loosen my grip on the fear for just one second.
I study his face, every familiar line of it.
His jaw. The small scar near his temple from the night we snuck out, and fell off Josh’s bike. I have a matching scar on my knee.
“I’ll wait for you,” he says again. “As long as you need. I know you don’t think you’re that girl anymore, and I want you to find her. I want you to feel like she’s still there, Sunny. I’m okay waiting until you do. I’ve waited years. What’s a couple more?”
I don’t let go of his hand, even as the conversation dissolves into silence. His other hand settles at my back, one finger hooked gently into the belt loop of my jean shorts, like he needs me to know he’s still here. Still anchored. Even if I’m barely holding on.
I’m too afraid to ask him outright whether his feelings for me are born from everything we’ve lost. A selfish part of me isn’t ready to let him go yet.
His eyes stay on mine. His jaw works slightly, like he’s holding something back.
“You should take the room,” he says at last.
I frown. “What?”
He jerks his chin toward the hallway. “The bed. It’s yours. I’ll take the pullout.”
“But—”
“No.” He shakes his head, firm. “I think you should take the time to think. To make sure this is what you want. That it feels right for you.” His gaze softens. “This place is special, Sunny. We both know that. Let it pull out that beautiful, wild, brown-eyed girl I know is still in there.”
He steps a little closer. The nearness of him makes my head spin. His voice drops. “Do not mistake my space for lack of want. Because if it were up to me, Sunny, I’d have you in that room with the door locked and no one else within a hundred miles.”
My breath stutters at the implication.
“But I know you,” he continues, his gaze flicking to my mouth for half a second before returning to my eyes. “You need space. You need time to decide that this is what you want. I’m not going to take that from you.”
He releases my hand slowly, his fingers trailing against my skin until there is nothing left between us but air.
“I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you away,” I say, my voice catching.
His jaw flexes as he grins. “Sunny,” he says gently, “you couldn’t push me away if you tried. I’m already yours.”
The back of my throat burns. His words sink, finding something in me I buried a long time ago. He lifts his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch reverent, while the heat in his eyes says everything else he isn’t voicing.
“I’ll be right out here,” he murmurs.
I step into the room and close the door behind me. But I leave it cracked. Just a sliver. Just enough for the light to spill through. Enough for him to know I’m still here.