Page 52 of The Long Way Home
Sliding the door fully open and step back inside. Rachel is standing by the doorway with a small, familiar smile on her face. Everything else fades for a moment, the uneasy buzz of the unknown call dissolving into the background.
“It’s this big real estate firm out of Longchester,” Ben says. “High net-worth clients, serious investment potential. I’m heading up the rebranding strategy, all the big-picture stuff. The execs love me.”
I watch Rachel lean slightly closer, hand brushing his arm. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about work tonight, babe.”
Ben laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Right. Sorry, sorry.”
He glances at Anderson. “She hates when I talk about work, but she doesn’t always get how important this stuff is. It’s not just a job. It’s a trajectory. It’s what is going to provide for our future.”
I have to hold in a scoff. He says it as if Rachel doesn’t have a doctorate in Physical Therapy, making more money than he does. It probably bothers him, since he is so clearly insecure.
“I do get it,” she says, quietly. “I just thought we could have one night that wasn’t about sales projections.”
Ben leans back, arm casually resting on the small of her back. “Of course, babe. You’re right.” He winks at her, then turns back to Anderson. “Anyway, I’ll spare you the details. I’m sureyou’ve got your own projects you’re juggling. Probably a totally different pace.”
Anderson nods unfazed. “Different, yeah.”
I watch it unfold, forcing myself not to react to the wordbabecrawling under my skin or the way his hand rests on her back.
I glance back at Rachel. She is staring down at her beer, slowly turning the bottle in her hands. Calm on the outside, but clearly, she is not relaxed. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line, and I get the sense she’s heard this whole speech at least a dozen times before.
She catches my gaze and straightens, snapping into the version of herself that refuses to give anything away. She lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a careful sip without saying a word.
I feel like I don’t know her at all. All the progress we made evaporated in seconds.
Ben slaps Anderson on the shoulder, grinning. “We should grab lunch sometime. I’ve got ideas I’d love to throw at you.”
Anderson’s smile tightens. “Sure. Shoot me a message.”
Rachel steps deeper into the kitchen, the light catching her pale blue sundress that brushes just above her knees. The fabric sways with each step she takes. Loose curls graze her shoulders, minimal makeup highlighting her eyes.
She stops near the counter next to me. “Hey, Rhett. How have you been?”
“I can’t complain. You?”
She shrugs and glances away. “Same.”
It is weird, talking like this. So casual and empty, with someone you used to sit and talk with at all hours of the day or night. All I want is to talk to her. But I say nothing. Silence becomes my cage, and I am trapped inside it, listening to my own heart pound like a guilty drum.
She moves past me toward Margo. The second Margo turns from the stove, she pulls Rachel into a hug.
“Hey, honey,” Margo says warmly. “I’m so glad you came.”
Rachel smiles, and I watch her shoulders relax the second Margo’s arms are around her.
Fifteen minutes later, the front door swings open and Connor walks in, still smelling faintly of smoke and soap. He had a shift at the firehouse today, so I can’t give him shit for being late.
I’ve gotten closer to Connor over the last couple of months. He is sharp and doesn’t waste words. That earns respect from me without trying. It helps that he has been friends with Anderson for years. Over the past three months, the three of us have caught games sometimes, and grab beers when we can line up our schedules.
Wes, Connor’s childhood friend, has been in that mix lately, too. He is a wildcard. He is laid back and funny, but there’s something underneath it that he doesn’t talk about. Connor has mentioned he is in the military, Air Force, maybe? The details are blurry, and I think Wes intentionally keeps them that way. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He came through town a couple of months ago and stayed for a bit. The four of us ended up hanging out. Me, Anderson, Connor, Wes. It felt familiar. It reminded me of nights I used to have with Josh. It made me realize I missed having guy friends.
“Nice place,” Connor says, clapping Anderson on the back. “Your texts better not have oversold the food, because I’m starving.”
Anderson grins. “Margo’s cooking, so it will live up to the hype. Beer’s in the cooler if you want one.”
We eat dinner outside. Margo lit candles on the deck, strung lights overhead, and set the long table with mismatched plates and cloth napkins. She always makes it feel easy while putting in all the work, making people feel cared for without making a production. I haven’t seen this version of her in a while, and I’ve never been happier to see her like this.
I slide into a seat near the middle. Anderson claims the head of the table with Margo beside him. Rachel sits directly across from me. Ben takes the spot next to her. Slone settles near the end, and Connor grabs the seat beside her, beer already in hand.
