Page 3 of When You're Gone
She crossed her arms over her chest, careful not to press too hard on her new boobs, as Jake had inappropriately dubbed them. She had never been self-conscious about her body before. Not like this. She hadn’t felt like this after her hysterectomy. But now there was this hollowness—a pang of discomfort that was more emotional than physical—when she thought about her mastectomy.
It didn’t help that the scars were still so fresh. The angry, red lines would fade away with time. She just had to hold out hope that her insecurities would deflate with them.
“Do you want to go inside?” Fielding asked, cocking his head in concern and meeting her gaze. They didn’t really talk about her mastectomy—he may have been one of her closest friends, but he wasn’t Rhett, Lia, or Jake—yet he still knew her well enough to know when she was uncomfortable.
“No, I’m fine. I’m just being weird.” She shrugged, tightening her hold on her upper arms as gingerly as possible while avoiding his gaze.
Fielding kept his eyes on her, trying to force her to look at him. She didn’t give in, though—she didn’t want him to see the truth she couldn’t even make sense of herself.
“Tori… Let’s go inside,” he offered again, moving closer on the bench in an effort to guide her out of the hot tub.
She sucked in a frustrated breath. She wasn’t mad at him. She was just so damn tired of feeling empty and unsure about what was next.
She finally glanced over to find concern marring his expression. The tension eased up when they locked eyes. She uncurled her arms from around herself and slid lower, submerging her body deeper. The bubbles came to her top rib now, the warm water pleasant and soothing where she could feel it.
“I’m good, I promise. Please stay.”
Fielding squinted at her, looking for the lie. He must have accepted that the moment had passed because his critical expression transformed into a playful smile.
“Fine. We’ll stay out here. Truth or truth?” he asked as he reached for his bottle, scooted farther away, and resituated himself on the underwater bench.
She scrunched up her nose and held back a grin. She was grateful that Fielding didn’t back down when things were charged or uncomfortable. She heard the sunroom door slam shut behind Jake as he brought out their refills and confidently declared, “truth,” to kick off the game.
Chapter two
Rhett
V:Whatareyoudoing right now?
He glanced down at his phone and grinned, then quickly schooled his expression.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Rhett announced, pushing to his feet and buttoning his suit jacket as he rose from the table. His granddad caught his eye and tilted his head in question. He held up his phone and mouthed “Tori” before turning on his heel.
Jonathan wouldn’t mind him taking a phone call from his wife. His granddad knew his priorities. And their business dinner had now stretched past the four-hour mark, so at this point he had worked a sixteen-hour day.
He strode down a narrow hallway toward the back of the restaurant, ducking into a little alcove near the bathrooms as he clicked her name on the screen.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted her when she answered on the second ring.
“Hi, you,” she whispered into the phone.
He held back an audible groan. He had missed her so much these last few weeks. This was the longest stretch they’d been apart in a while—this would be the third weekend he was stuck in Virginia while she was warming their bed at his parents’ house in Hampton. But he’d had several investor meetings over the last few weeks, and Tori insisted she wanted to get back on the schedule at Clinton’s and get back to her day-to-day routine as soon as she was cleared to work.
“How are you? How’s your night?”
“Mmm… I’m good,” she sighed breathily.
Rhett smirked. He knew that tone.
“Oh yeah?” He peeked his head out of the alcove, glancing left, then right to see if anyone was around. Once he confirmed no one was lingering in the hall, he lowered his voice and spoke again. “Why don’t I believe you right now?”
“Ev,” she whispered. “I wish you were here.”
Hell yes.He definitely knew that tone.
“What would we be doing if I was home?”
“Fucking,” she deadpanned.
