Page 125 of The Long Way Home
“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 withyou, 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 realizeswhat 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.
