Page 25 of The Long Way Home
Questions keep circling my thoughts, relentlessly. What does Rhett even want to say? Why reach out now, after all this time? The past four years can be reduced to a handful of scattered texts. I’m not sure if he remember it the same way I do, or if he has he rewritten it into something easier to live with.
I let the water pound against my shoulders, waiting for the tension to give.
I can handle coffee. I’m a big girl. There is no reason why Rhett should have any effect on me anymore. I’ll walk in, sit, sip, nod. Let him talk himself into feeling better if that’s what this is. Half an hour, maybe less. No questions I don’t want answered. No digging up things I already buried. I’ll leave, and that will be that.
He probably wants closure. Or absolution. I can be reasonable. I can give him what he wants if it means he leaves.
Because if he’s not just visiting—if he is staying—then this isn’t just coffee. It’s running into him at the grocery store. It’s his truck parked somewhere familiar. It’s the constant awareness of him existing too close to the life I rebuilt without him. And I know myself well enough to know what happens when gravity comes back into play.
Old habits don’t fade.
I reach for the shampoo bottle, but my hands tremble just slightly as I squeeze it out. I force my focus smaller. Right now,I’m standing in a shower that feels almost perfect. The steady rhythm of water. The clean bite of soap. Heat soaking into my skin. Later, there will be pad thai or pizza. Maybe I’ll pull up the application for the new position and work on it, remind myself I’m moving forward.
These are the things I can hold onto.
After the shower, I pull on soft pajamas and pad into the living room. Ben’s kneeling by the coffee table, arranging takeout containers. I open the one with my name on it.
Salad.
I pause, a flicker of disappointment lighting up in my chest. I close the lid again and smooth my expression into place. It’s fine. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t make a thing out of it. This is what I deserve for not choosing.
I grab a fork and sit anyway, telling myself the same thing I’ve been telling myself all night.
I can handle this.
“Long day today?” he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“Yeah.” My fingers fidget as I speak. “The patients were extra grouchy today. But I did get some surprising news.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Oh yeah? What kind of news?”
“Dr. Faier told me there’s an opening for Director in the new neuro unit. He said I should think about taking the job.”
Ben freezes mid-bite. “Director?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a big deal. I didn’t even know he noticed my work like that.”
He takes a slow sip of beer, eyes fixed on the TV even though it’s muted. “Huh. That’s… interesting.”
I wait for him to say something more, some kind of ‘That’s great, Rach,’or ‘I’m proud of you.’But he doesn’t.
So I fill the silence before I can overthink and ruin the moment. “It would be more responsibility, sure, but it could be a good experience. And I’d get to work more directly with theneuro patients and their recovery. That’s my favorite part of the job, you know?”
“Mm.” He sets his beer down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “That sounds like a lot of stress, though. You already come home exhausted most nights.”
“It’d be an adjustment,” I admit, feeling the edges of my smile start to slip. “But maybe it’s time I push myself a little.”
Ben lets out a small laugh, edged with something I can’t quite name. “Rach, you say that every time you take on something extra. And then you burn yourself out and get anxious. Remember last spring? You barely slept for a week.”
I look down at my plate, the fork still in my hand. “That was different.”
“Was it?” He leans back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch. His tone stays light, almost teasing. “You just—you get so emotionally invested. Don’t get me wrong, that’s what makes you good at what you do, but it’s also what drains you. Leadership isn’t really your thing, babe. You’re more of a one-on-one person.”
I swallow hard, the salad suddenly dry in my throat. “Dr. Faier seemed to think otherwise.”
“He’s probably just being nice. You’ve been through a lot. People want to encourage you.”
The flicker of pride that had warmed in my chest cools fast, replaced by something heavy and familiar. I push my plate away, my appetite suddenly gone.
