Page 98 of The Long Way Home
Margo glances over at me, then at Rhett across the table. “Then there’s one more bedroom left. Queen bed. And the pullout couch.”
I set my drink down slowly, picking up the hint of something unsaid in her voice.
“So,” she continues, her tone light, “Rhett and Rachel will have to figure it out between the two of them.”
Rhett lifts his beer, looking unfazed. “I’m not picky.”
I nod, trying to keep my voice casual. “Same.”
Connor smirks. “Just don’t go allHunger Gamesover the better mattress.”
“I’ll fight someone,” Rhett says, straight-faced, then glances at me for a split second. “But only if she throws the first punch.”
I shake my head and take a sip of my beer. “I’ll pack a coin, Rhett. Might want to sleep with one eye open.”
Anderson raises his glass. “To a great weekend away.”
Everyone clinks glasses, some more half-heartedly than others. I sip mine and glance around the table. There’s a rhythm to nights like this. I’m starting to feel like me again. Being here, surrounded by my friends, I almost forget everything that’s shifted over the past week. Then my phone buzzes in my bag, and I don’t even have to look to know who it is.
Rhett leans my direction and asks, “Rach, you driving up solo?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Just easier that way, with my schedule and all.”
His brows lift a little, but he nods. “If you change your mind, I’ve got room in my truck. I’m even willing to be generous and let you play your terrible playlist the entire drive.”
I scoff. “That’s sweet of you, Rhett, but there’s really no need to lie. My playlist is objectively excellent.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Still standing by the offer.”
“I know,” I say, softer now. “And for the record, you secretly love my playlist.”
He opens his mouth, then closes it. “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement.”
We settle the check slowly, still passing half-eaten fries and unfinished drinks between us. The conversation drifts from the lake house to weekend traffic to Wes’s questionable packing skills. I mostly listen.
“I think I’m gonna head out,” I say, standing first and slinging my purse over my shoulder. Rhett’s eyes flick up to me.
“You sure?” Margo asks.
“Yeah, I’m getting tired,” I say, forcing an easy tone. “I’ll see you all on Friday.”
She nods, but her eyes linger. I give her a small smile and turn toward the door.
The restaurant is cooler than it was earlier, the AC blasting even at night. I step outside into the heavier air. The lot is mostly empty now, streetlights casting a dull yellow glow over the asphalt.
And that’s when I see him.
Ben.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath.
Ben leans against the driver’s side of my car as if he owns it. His arms cross tight over his chest, his jaw locked hard. He looks furious.
My steps are slow. I draw in a breath and make myself keep walking, steady, eyes fixed on the car. I will not let him see fear.
When he notices me, he pushes off the car. His balance lags half a second behind, loose and unsteady. A crushed beer can sits near his feet, a dark ring of liquid still clinging to the rim.
“You’ve been ignoring me for over a week, Rach. I’m done. I wanna come home.” His voice drags, thick and uneven. He tries for calm, but every word bends sharp. Drunk Ben can be a scary man.
