Page 8 of Steal and Starlight

My stomach twisted. “Now and then,” I said, thinking about Jennifer, about my old man, about all the expectations that had been piling up on my shoulders for years. “I know what you mean, at least.”

Rhett finally turned to look at me, and in the starlight I could see the wet tracks running down his cheeks. He’d been crying out here alone, and the realization of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I feel like that all the time,” he said quietly. “Like I’m supposed to be someone I’m not, and everyone around me just accepts it because it’s easier than... than dealin’ with the truth.”

I didn’t know what he meant exactly, but I could hear the pain in his voice, could see it written all over his face. Without thinking about it too much, I reached over and put my arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. He was shaking from the cold, or maybe from something else entirely.

“You can tell me,” I said. “Whatever it is. You know that, right?”

Rhett leaned into me, his head dropping to rest against my shoulder. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The creek rushed past us, indifferent to our problems, just like those stars he’d been waxing poetic about earlier.

“I know,” he finally whispered. “I just... I don’t know how to say it out loud yet.”

I tightened my arm around him, feeling the way his breathing had started to slow down, become less ragged. “Then don’t say it yet,” I told him. “We can just stand here as long as you need.”

We stayed like that, watching the water and the stars, and I realized that this was the most honest conversation we’d had in weeks. Rhett was still hiding something, but it didn’t seem to matter. The cat had been let out of the bag, at least partially. He’d tell me the truth when he was ready and I wasn’t gonna rush him.

“Do you wanna pack up and go back to the house?” I asked, even though it was the middle of the night.

Rhett shook his head. “I don’t wanna go back to that bunkhouse tonight.”

“Then don’t. Come back to mine.”

He just looked up at me. “Your daddy hates me.”

“My daddy is mad at me, not you,” I replied. “You’re just an easy target for him because he knows it bothers me.”

“I have a spare key to Aunt Dolly’s extra apartment,” he offered. “Nobody’s stayin’ there right now. And that means breakfast is close by in the mornin’.”

Aunt Dolly’s place sounded better than anything else I could think of right that moment. It was far enough from the ranch that my old man wouldn’t be breathing down our necks first thing in the morning. And it meant Rhett wouldn’t have to face the bunkhouse crew after whatever this was that he was working through. They were mean to him on a good day, much less when he was already down.

“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds good. Better than good, actually.”

We made our way back to camp and packed up what we could in the dark, moving quietly like we were trying not to wake the world around us. The fire was completely dead now, nothing but ash and cold stone. I threw the leftover beer back in the cooler and grabbed both our sleeping bags, rolling them up haphazardly. We could sort it all out in the morning.

The drive back toward town was quiet except for the rumble of the truck engine and the occasional crackle of the radio. Rhett had his head turned toward the window, his reflection ghostly in the glass. I kept glancing over at him, wondering what was eating him up inside so badly that he’d sneak out of his sleeping bag in the middle of the night to cry by the creek. Clearly something was eating away at him and I had the feeling that when it finally came out, it was going to be a doozy.

Aunt Dolly’s apartment was above the diner she ran downtown, accessed by an external staircase that creaked under our boots as we climbed. The key worked smooth in the lock, and we stepped into a space that smelled like inherited furniture and lemon cleaner. I found the light switch and flipped it, revealing a small studio with a kitchenette, a full bed, and a worn armchair in the corner.

“Get comfortable,” I said, though the words felt strange. This wasn’t my place to invite him into. “You can have the bed.”

Rhett moved to the bed and sat down on the edge of it, his shoulders still carrying that defeated slump they’d had at the creek. I wanted to say something, to push him a little harder to tell me what was really going on, but I remembered what he’d said about not being ready to say it out loud yet.

Instead, I went to the kitchenette and filled a glass with water from the tap, bringing it back to him. “Drink this. You need it after all that beer.”

He took it without argument and drained half of it in one go. I sat down next to him, close enough that our shoulders were almost touching, and waited. The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it was heavy with all the things we weren’t saying.

“Thank you,” Rhett said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “For not pushin’. For just... bein’ here.”

“Always,” I replied, and I meant it with every fiber of my being. “Like I said, you don’t have to say nothin’ tonight. I think we should just get some sleep and we’ll talk when you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I think you’re right.”

I started to stand up, but Rhett’s hand grabbed my sleeve.

“Stay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You… You shouldn’t have to sleep in that chair or on the floor.”

I was a bit surprised by his request. “You don’t mind? I’m not exactly little. I’ll take up this whole damn bed by myself.”