Page 114 of The Long Way Home
The panic starts small, a restless flutter under my ribs, then spreads, scraping through me until it steals my breath. I can’t stop the spiral when I think about how many years of wanting I let spill over into something permanent and irreversible.
Rhett sits up beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Shit,” he mutters softly. “Sorry. I forgot to shut my alarm off. I usually run in the morning.”
He fumbles for his phone, the screen flaring harsh blue in the dim room as the alarm blares on, until finally the sound cuts off. When he turns back to me, he stills.
His brow furrows, the corner of his mouth pulling down in that way I know too well. He can feel it, my panic, before I say a word.
“Hey. Hey, hey,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. He leans closer, reaching across the sheets. His hand settles on my shoulder. I flinch anyway, shame rushing in hot and fast, and bury my face in the pillow, humiliated by how completely I’m unraveling.
Rhett doesn’t pull away. Rhett’s other hand comes up, brushing my hair from my temple, then slides under my chin. He nudges my head toward him. I resist at first, but his touch is patient, and my eyes lift, meeting his.
His gaze holds mine, unwavering, and it feels like being tied to something solid in the middle of open water. Something steady. Something safe.
“Sunny,” he whispers. His voice is rough with sleep and threaded with something softer. “What’s wrong?”
I open my mouth, but words falter, stuck somewhere between desire and the memory of the boundary we just shattered.
“I don’t know,” I finally breathe, voice shaking. “We…”
We ruined the friendship. It’s dead. I’m going to lose him the same way I lose everyone I care about. I’m going to be alone, stuck with myself. And I don’t even know who I am anymore.
Rhett leans in, resting his forehead lightly against mine.
“We are okay. Okay? You’re okay. I’m right here,” he says. His thumb brushes my cheek, and the panic that’s been clawing at my ribs loosens just enough to let me inhale.
“You’re here,” I repeat to myself. “You are here, and you want to be here.”
“There isn’t any place I’d rather be, Sunny,” he confirms, his lips brushing my temple. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?”
“How the hell are you not?” I shoot back. “We spent all night doing something friends don’t do. Over and over and over again.”
His laugh is soft, warm, a rumble in his chest that vibrates through me. “Yeah, we did. I think we should do it again.”
“It wasn’t a mistake?” I challenge.
He leans in, lips ghosting over my collarbone before he whispers, “Do you think it was a mistake?” and slowly traces a path down my neck, every touch deliberate.
My mind starts to cloud, heat rising to my cheeks, and words become hard to form. “No,” I murmur, breath catching.
“Good.” His voice rumbles against my skin. He presses a kiss to my ribs. “Because I want this. I’ve wanted this for years.” Another kiss follows, just above my belly button. “I want you.” His mouth traces lower, stopping at the apex of my thigh. “This is not a mistake. Not a moment of weakness. It’s a need. Pure and simple.”
I arch into his kiss, needy for his touch, but before my thoughts can fully scatter, the fear claws its way out of me.
“What if I ruin it?” The words tumble fast. “What if I’m… too much? What if you—” My voice breaks despite my effort to hold it steady. “—get sick of me?”
I hear the doubt even as I say it. I have failed before. I have loved people and lost them anyway. The thought of doing that with him, of being the reason something breaks between us, makes my chest ache.
Rhett stills.
He lifts his head and catches my attention, forcing me to stay with him, right here. His eyes are wholly focused on me, as if nothing else in the room exists.
“Sunny,” he says calmly. “Do you trust me?”
I’m not sure I’ve ever had a problem trusting Rhett. Even when he left. Even when it hurt so badly, I thought it might split me open. I trusted him then. The problem has never been him. It’s me. Somewhere along the way, I veered off the life I thought I was building, and now I barely recognize the woman laying here. My thoughts slip through my fingers. I want to believe I can still choose clearly. That I can trust myself enough to believe I’m making the correct decision.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word shaking but true. “I trust you.”
His eyes never leave mine, and it sends my pulse skittering. I feel the old panic leaving my body, being replaced by the flutter of heat he is already drawing out of me. His hands move as he continues.
