Page 107 of The Fine Line
“If I did,” he says, voice low, “I’d answer his calls.”
“Did something happen between you two?”
“Not today.”
“You know what I mean, Rhett.”
He meets my eyes, then looks away again. His fingers flex at his side. “I don’t think you know what you mean.”
“What does that even mean?”
“You don’t even know what question you’re asking.”
“Well, explain it to me,” I say, stepping closer. “What did your dad do?”
His gaze locks on mine now. “Why would you assume my dad did anything?”
I pause. “Did your mom do something?”
His mouth twitches. “Did yours?”
“How is that relevant?”
“I don’t know. How is any part of this conversation relevant?”
“Because… it has to do with you.”
“And?” he asks. “So that means it has to do with you?”
“Well, kinda.”
He drags a hand down his face, pressing his tongue into his cheek. Then he lets out a low laugh.
“What is so funny?”
“Just that I’ve had to practically beg for your attention for years, but this is what suddenly sparks your interest.”
“What do you?—”
“I mean, what is it?” he snaps. “Are you looking for another fun fact for your back pocket? Another bullet point for your script?”
“What? Rhett, no. I just want to understand?—”
“Yeah, well, you don’t need to understand everything.”
“I know that… I just don’t understa— I mean?—”
He exhales hard and turns away, taking off. “I’m going to bed.”
“Does this have something to do with Chicago?”
He stops. Doesn’t move. His back stays to me.
“Why would you ask that?” His voice is quiet, but there’s an edge to it.
I swallow. “Your dad… on the phone. Right before you came back, he started to say something about Chicago…”
A beat. Two. No reaction.
