Page 59 of The Long Way Home
RACHEL
Idon’t say a word as we leave Margo and Anderson’s. I guess it’s not much different than how I spent the first half of this evening.
The night air has cooled, but my skin feels flushed. Every step I take toward the car feels like walking with static under my skin. I hate feeling this way. Thankfully, Rhett doesn’t follow us out, but I still feel his stare, heavy between my shoulder blades.
Ben doesn’t open my door. He stalks ahead, stiff and shoulders squared. I know he is spoiling for a fight. I unlock the car, slide into the driver’s seat.
Ben caves and breaks the silence first, letting out a theatrical sigh. “Did you think the wine tasted like it was shelved next to a gas station burrito, or was that just me?”
I’m not taking the bait. I keep my hands steady on the wheel.
“And Anderson’s playlist? Jesus. He is so try-hard it hurts.”
“You didn’t have to come, Ben.”
He scoffs. “Relax. I’m just saying, if he is trying to impress people, he should maybe start with music that doesn’t sound like it was curated by a guy who owns three leather jackets and a superiority complex.”
I don’t respond to his belittling comment. There is no point when it comes to this. Ben wants a fight, and he is willing to say whatever he thinks will bait me into an argument. Instead of giving him that, I keep driving, trying to organize all of the chaotic thoughts running through my head.
It has been years since I have been called Sunny so regularly, but that word still hits somewhere deep in my gut. It’s almost like he has kept it safe all this time and is pulling it out now to remind me I’m still that version of myself, whether I like it or not.
When he said it tonight, in front of Ben, in front of everyone, it wasn’t just a nickname anymore. It was a truth I’ve spent years trying to bury, a body I swore I had laid to rest. Rhett Hayes doesn’t feel that way about me, the way I have always felt about him. If he had, he would have never left me. Hell, he would have acted on it at least once over the last twelve years.
But tonight, the way he looked at me when he said my name, I felt it all again. Four years of distance should have been enough to kill this feeling. But it wasn’t. Turns out I’m still that same foolish girl.
We pull into the driveway, and Ben is out of the car before I even put it in park. The door slams behind him, and I can feel it rattle through my bones.
I exhale through my nose, keeping my jaw tight as I gather my bag and follow him inside. I barely set my keys down before I hear cabinets slamming.
“Ben—”
“You didn’t tell me he was gonna be there,” he snaps at me.
He yanks a glass from the cabinet and slams it down on the counter. The thud of it hitting the counter is loud enough to make me flinch.
“I didn’t know, Ben,” I say, my voice flat.
I mean, I could have guessed he’d be there. Margo has always had a soft spot for Rhett. I’ve been reminded of that repeatedly over the years with her constant questioning. Do you miss him, Rachel? Have you spoken to Rhett recently? Do you know what he’s up to nowadays? But I didn’t know he’d be there for sure, and I didn’t want to give Ben another excuse to spiral before we even arrived.
Ben scoffs. “Right.”
“How the hell was I supposed to tell you when I didn’t know he would be there?” I snap, tossing my purse onto the bench by the front door. “Margo invited him. They are—” I stop and correct myself. “We all were good friends a few years back. And I guess Rhett moved back here, so Margo included him. It seems like he is going to be part of the group now. You’re going to have to get over whatever the hell you have against him.”
Ben lets out a condescending laugh and grips the edge of the counter so hard I half-expect it to splinter under his hands.
“Right,” he spits. “Because he just conveniently keeps showing up. Funny how that works, Rach.”
“Can we not do this tonight?”
“No. Actually, I think we should. I think we need to.”
His voice is level but sharp enough to cut. His eyes shine, not with tears but with something worse. Something hungry. I’ve seen this before, the way he looks at me like I’m slipping through his hands, and the only thing keeping me here is his grip.
He takes a step closer. I shift back, instinctively.
“I saw the wayyoulooked at him tonight,” he says, each word clipped. “I saw the wayhelooked at you,” he continues, louder now. “He acts like he knows things about you that I don’t.”
“Ben, come on—”
