Page 90 of Not Made to Last

I don’t really know how to respond, so I don’t. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’ll be seeing Rhys, in some capacity, until I graduate, so regardless of who we once were to each other or what he’s done since, I have to at least acknowledge him.

Last night, after Dominic came home from the sports park, we sat on the front steps of the house, and I handed him all the missing pieces of the puzzle. I told him about the job interview with Rhys’s mom and everything that happened after. He told me I should’ve stopped the moment I realized Rhys played for St. Luke’s. That would’ve been a ridiculous reason to deny our main paycheck, and I told him as much. He’d agreed, somewhat, until I told him the truth—that Rhys had become a friend to me. Sometimes, it felt like more. Rhys had been there during some of my darkest times—times that I’d kept hidden from Dominic because I didn’t want my stress to fall on his shoulders. There were moments when I felt guilty, sure, but at the end of the day, Rhys and his mother—they saved me. Saved us. In more ways than I can count. Even Dominic’s work—the vending machines—exists because Mrs. Garrett allows it. And sure, I had pulled back a lot once the whole Rhys-stealing-his-girl thing happened, but I was still obligated to complete what I had started.

It was in the contract.

And that contract was supposed to end as soon as he left town and moved to Colorado with his family. The job with the laundromats was still mine until I no longer wanted it. But things have changed, obviously, and as of right now, I don’t know where I stand.

Regardless of all of that, I had to (finally) be real with Dom. I couldn’t be mad at Rhys for the things he’d done, because like I said—I hurt him first.

Ibetrayedhim.

In so many ways.

And on so many levels.

“Can we talk?” Rhys asks now, pulling me from my thoughts.

It’s so sudden—the fear that makes its way up my spine, to my neck, tightening its hold. I don’t know if I’m ready to hear what he has to say. But I know that I have to. “Sure.”

He motions into his office but leaves the door open. I stand in the middle, unsure of whether to sit, or stand, or…

“The couch is comfortable,” he says, deciding for me.

I sit on the couch, and he leans on his desk, opposite, his ankles crossed. And then he just looks at me. Right into my eyes. And I wish I knew what he was thinking, because maybe it wouldn’t be so bad that I’m thinking the same.

I miss him.

Both versions of him.

“Do you know a kid named Silas Carney?”

My eyes narrow—in confusion at first and then in thought. “No,” I answer. “Should I?”

Rhys grabs a printout from his desk and hands it to me. It’s a picture of a school-issued ID card of this Silas kid. “He’s a freshman—just started here,” Rhys tells me, then waits a beat. “Still nothing?”

I shake my head, handing it back to him.

“What about Aaron Holmes?”

The name rings a bell, and I try to remember how, but still…nothing. Rhys hands me another printout—Dominic’s team picture from middle school. “I?—”

“Look at the names,” Rhys suggests, and so I search for Aaron Holmes and find him in the second row. He’s not a player,though. He’s a volunteer coach from the local high school back in Wilmington.

“Okay…?” I shrug. “Why is this information important to me?”

“They’re half-brothers—Silas and Aaron,” he replies. “Turns out Silas is a big fan of basketball. And even bigger fan of his older brother. He used to go to all his games, even the ones Aaron coached…”

Realization falls over me like a cold blanket on an even colder night…

“I assume you attended a lot of Dom’s games?”

My heart drops to my stomach, and I choke on my words. “Every single one.”

Rhys nods, taking the printout from my hands as I stare ahead, too ashamed to face him. Heat burns behind my eyes. My nose. And I hold my breath, wait for Rhys to deliver the gut-punch.

“I wasn’t the one to reveal who you are.”

“But the plants…” I say, and it’s such a dumb thing to be caught up on, but: “You were the only one who knew about my plants…”

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