Page 40 of The Long Way Home
The words gut me. She doesn’t think people notice her? Was she not just in the same room I was? I saw them tonight, all eyes and intentions they didn’t deserve to have. And she just didn’t see it. Or didn’t believe it. Which is worse.
She lets out a shaky laugh. I think she means it to sound casual, but it lands flat. “I don’t know. I think I’m just jealous, maybe.” Her eyes drop to the sidewalk. “Of what Margo has. I’m happy she’s happy, and I’m happy Josh is happy. Really. But I can’t help but want someone to look at me the way he looks at her.”
The words come out so small they nearly disappear.
“Everywhere we go, Margo draws attention—and she doesn’t even try. She doesn’t even want it half the time.” She lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I just want to be noticed. Once.”
She swallows, blinking quickly, like she’s trying to beat back tears before they can form.
“My parents are obsessed with everything Josh touches. Every idea, every project, every accomplishment. I can’t compete with him. I don’t even think they realize they’re doing it.” Another shaky exhale. “But sometimes it feels like I’m just there. The kid they forgot to pack in the car seat on the way home from the store.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and she presses her lips together, stuffing the emotion back down.
“Hey.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “That’s not true.”
She doesn’t believe me. I can see it written all over that beautiful face of hers.
“And tonight?” She continues, words slurring just a little. “I thought maybe if I was more fun or louder, I would actually exist for a second.” Her voice trails for a moment, and she turns back around to start walking. “It was working until you ruined it,” she mumbles. “Sean was noticing.”
I exhale hard, catching up to her quick, uneven steps. Her skirt is twisted, her hair wild, cheeks flushed. Every inch of her is begging for trouble she doesn’t understand.
“You don’t want guys like Sean to notice you,” I say. “That guy only wanted one thing.”
She turns, eyes sharp despite the alcohol.
“Maybe I only wanted one thing.”
My stomach drops, heat surging up my spine before I can swallow it down.
“Rachel,” I warn.
She steps back a few paces, walking in reverse but still facing me. The streetlight catches the curve of that reckless, drunken half-smile. “Oh, relax, Rhett. You’re acting like I was about to marry him. I just wanted to forget for a while.” Her fingers wave vaguely, then drop. “I wanted someone to want me.”
“Sean didn’t want you,” I say. “He wanted an easy target.”
She tilts her head, smirking. “Maybe I saw him as the easy target. Maybe I’m the bad guy here, Rhett. Did you even consider that? I wanted to use him.”
The image hits me so hard, I have to grind my teeth to keep from reacting. I need to reroute my thoughts before I lose control.
“Sean couldn’t give you anything you actually crave,” I say, voice low.
She steps closer, and I register the heat of her body brushing mine. The smell of tequila clings to her breath, and the familiar scent of her shampoo digs its claws into me. Her pupils are blown, her balance a little unsteady, but her focus is razor-sharp on me.
“And what is it you think I want, Rhett?”
My throat goes dry. She shouldn’t be asking me this. She knows what she is doing, the line she’s toying with. She has to. Just as I’m questioning it, her eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second, and I’ve never felt closer to death.
“I think you want someone who can make you feel good. Someone who makes you feel something real.”
“Real,” she repeats softly, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I want to say it. I want to tell her I think about her at night. That I’ve imagined tracing her skin, knowing exactly where I’d touch her if she asked me to. How I would make her shiver, and help her forget everything else if she wanted me to. She deserves someone who won’t fumble, someone who would take his time with her until she has everything she wants. And I’d be first in line if she’d let me.
But she has been drinking. She is Josh’s little sister, and every step she takes closer makes this a game I shouldn’t be playing.
“Sunny,” I exhale, trying to remain in control. “You’re drunk enough to start a fire without a match. You should be careful.”
Her smirk is teasing, and a tremor stirs beneath my ribs.
