Page 69 of The Long Way Home
He keeps going—neurotransmitters, brain regions, neural pathways. His voice settles into a steady rhythm. He goes from asking questions to listening to giving me genuine reactions. I sink into the questions, and with each correct answer, a little of my panic eases. I feel the weight of the day lift, inch by inch.
Eventually, my eyelids start to dip. I blink hard, stretch my legs and cross my ankles on the floor. The warm glow of the table lamp casts soft shadows across the walls. The steady hum of traffic outside turns into a lullaby. And I swear, Rhett’s voice softens with each card.
He pauses, catching the way my head dips again. “You’re not a machine, Sunny,” he says, nudging my shin with his socked foot.
I smile weakly while letting my head tip to the side, resting against the arm of the couch. “Could’ve fooled me.”
But it’s no use fighting anymore. The edges of my vision blur. The ache behind my eyes dulls into something slow and thick.
I hear Rhett shift on the couch. He’s quiet for a few seconds, then he murmurs, “Why don’t we take a quick break? I’m grabbing you some water.”
I hum, maybe a yes, maybe a thank you. I’m not sure. I’m beyond tired.
His footsteps creak across the wooden floor. The soft clink of a glass accompanies water filling it.
When he returns, I’m already gone. Or mostly. What happens next is all pretty hazy. So hazy, I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or if I’m actually living it out.
The couch dips as he kneels beside me. Gently, his arms slide beneath me—one behind my knees, the other at my back.
Warmth from his hands filters through my clothes. I stir slightly, barely aware of being lifted until I rest my head on his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat grounds me more than any lecture ever could.
“Hey,” he whispers, brushing a loose strand of hair from my cheek. His voice hovers right at the edge of sleep. “I’ve got you.”
And I believe him when he says it.
He lays me down on his bed, his movements slow and deliberate. The sheets are cool against my skin, the scent of his detergent, something clean and manly, settling around me. He pulls the blanket up over my shoulders, tucking it in lightly at the edge as if he has done this before.
And then, I swear, the softest thing happens. I feel the brush of his lips on my forehead.
So light, I might have dreamt it.
I hear him step back, his footsteps padding away. The couch creaks again in the living room.
And then it’s just me. The dark. The smell of him in the sheets. The steady rise and fall of my own breath.
And the sinking realization that I think I might be in love with my brother’s best friend.
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 ofus. 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.
