Page 174 of The Fine Line
“When they don’t have people to lean on… yeah, they do.”
His spine stiffens. Jaw tight.
“So don’t listen to your father. He’s a miserable, loveless asshole?—”
“You’re right about that,” Rhett cuts in. “But that doesn’t make him wrong about me.”
“He was wrong,” I say, stepping closer.
“Caroline,” he sighs, leaning against the wall, “you don’t know that. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“Then I was wrong,” I say softly. “And I… I am so sorry. Rhett, I had no idea?—”
“Don’t do that,” he says quickly, his voice tight, eyes glassy. “Please.”
“Do what?”
“Feel sorry for me. I don’t deserve it.”
“But you do,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You deserve so much more than you’ve been given. By everyone.”
He shakes his head, staring at the carpet. “No…”
“Yes,” I insist.
He lifts his head, and I realize how close we are. So close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. But I don’t step back. Neither does he.
We just hover there, suspended, the moment held together by something unseen that neither of us can manage to say.
Then my phone dings, breaking the trance.
Linda: Pictures surfaced of you two out with Rhett’s parents tonight. Great work!
I open the attached photo. A picture of all of us at the bar, captured at just the right moment. Both of Rhett’s parents wearing fake smiles like they belong in a Hallmark ad. Roger clapping Rhett on the back.
“The show goes on,” Rhett mutters.
“I guess it always does.”
We look at each other. Like we both want to say more. But Rhett steps back.
“I’ll let you get some sleep. Good night.”
My lips part, but all I can say is, “Okay.”
I open the door and slip inside. Close it behind me. Lean against it, heart pounding.
I don’t even give myself time to think.
I spin around and open the door again.
Rhett is standing there, hand half-raised like he was about to knock.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey,” I breathe.
“Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just saw a weather alert that it might storm tonight, and I wanted to make sure you?—”
