Page 89 of Stupid Matchmaking Love
“You promised to tell me eventually.”
I suck in my cheeks. “I’ll tell you if you explain why you sleepwalk.”
His eyes flare—he didn’t expect me to say that, and I know the answer is deeper than his sister’s death. I know there’s something else there—the way he rubs his knuckles absentmindedly, or the way he’s so together, perfectly polished, yet he holds a darkness inside him the same way I do.
What he says sends a pulse flooding my body. “I’ll tell you if you tell me first.”
Oh, so we’re doing this, are we?
“Okay.” I kick off my heels and scoot back on the bed. Rhett picks up Flame and hands her to me.
“Looks like you could use something to cuddle.”
I don’t know why this small kindness makes my chin wobble. “Thank you.”
He sits on the bed beside me, his long legs stretching out way past mine.
He is so damn tall.
As I stroke Flame’s head, I begin: “You know when I was a kid, I was sick a lot.”
I wait for a reply of some kind, but the only response is silence. It’s more comforting than I would have thought, this quiet.
“My parents knew I needed my inhalers, but the canisters were always empty. So I’d wind up unable to breathe, feeling like I was dying. They’d rush me to the emergency room, where I’d be diagnosed with pneumonia, over and over, because I wasn’t properly treated at home. My parents were poor, but the medicine was free. Free, and they still couldn’t give it to me.”
My chest feels small, compressed as I explain this and go over the hurt I experienced time and again. But Rhett just remains quiet, every once in a while petting Flame.
I knew he liked the bunnicorn.
“The visits got to be so frequent that eventually my great-aunt and uncle stepped in. They’re on my mom’s side. They told my parents they would take care of me because they couldn’t have children.
“So my parents said yes—for a price. I don’t know what it cost my aunt and uncle—who I call Mom and Dad—to save me, but if I had stayed, I probably would’ve died from pneumonia.”
My chest tightens so hard it feels like it’ll crack, and the next words, the ones describing what happened next, are so thick in the back of my throat that I have to dig them out.
“And that was the last time I ever saw my parents. I didn’t hear from them until a few years ago. They never even sent Christmas cards when I was growing up. When Glen contacted me, he wanted money. Just a little. They went silent for a few more years, then popped up asking for money again—more than they asked for the first time.”
I stroke Flame’s soft fur and sigh. “Then he messaged me a couple of weeks ago. My mom has COPD.” A bitter scoff slips out of me. “He’s seen the live streams, so he knows I’m in this competition. Now he’s sending me texts cheering me on, telling me how proud he is, but I’m being used. Rhett—”
His body goes rigid when I say his name, like I’ve shocked him back to life.
“I can’t win this thing. I can’t have those people in my life. I was too much for them as a child.”
Quick as a wink, Rhett takes my hand that’s petting Flame and squeezes it. “Is that what you think?”
My lungs compress, starting to lock down. Thanks to scar tissue from numerous bouts of pneumonia, my lungs are fragile. I release a shaky breath and give him the most honest answer I’ve ever allowed myself to say to anyone.
“Yeah, I do. I’m a lot, Rhett, or I was with my health problems—”
“Look at me.”
Why are my hands suddenly shaking?
I blink and slowly turn to look into Rhett’s deep dark eyes—like bitter chocolate, warm and velvety. “Cristina, I promise you’re not too much, and anyone who thinks that has no idea how awesome you are.”
“That’s a nice thing to say—”
“No.” The fire in his voice stops me cold. “I’m not being nice. I’m not saying this to make you feel better. I mean it. Your parents failed you. They were the problem, not you.”
