Page 124 of The Long Way Home
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 toomuch, 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.
