Page 28 of Unholy Confessions
Rhett is the only guy I've ever kissed, the only real relationship I've ever had. I love him with everything I am. I'm just not sure that it's enough anymore, that I'm enough.
After everything though, I find myself in the parking lot of the Franklin Walmart. It's where bus call always is and I've never not been at a bus call. It's late at night so that they aren't mobbed. I'm always here when he gets on and when they get home.
The familiar rumble of the tour bus echoes across the asphalt before I see it turning the corner. My heart does that stupid flutter thing it's done every time I've seen him for the past seven years, even when we're fighting. Especially when we're fighting, apparently.
I lean against my car, trying to look casual, like I haven't been sitting here for twenty minutes checking my phone and reapplying lip gloss. The bus hisses to a stop, and one by one the guys start filing out. Jake first, then EJ, then Mitch with his bag slung over his shoulder.
Then Rhett.
He looks tired, his dark hair longer than when he left a few months ago, a couple of days worth of stubble covering his jaw. He's wearing that faded black t-shirt I bought him for his birthday two years ago, the one that hugs his shoulders just right. When his eyes find mine across the parking lot, something passes between us – relief, maybe, or just the familiarity of seven years of doing this with one another.
He walks over slowly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He drops his bag at his feet when he reaches me.
"Hey," he says, and his voice is rougher than usual.
"Hey yourself." I cross my arms, then uncross them, not sure what to do with my hands. "How was the last part of the tour?"
"Good. Long." He runs a hand through his hair. "Gum, I?—"
"I'm sorry," I blurt out before he can finish. "About the texts, about everything. I was being stupid and jealous and?—"
"No." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with the lingering scent of tour bus and truck stops. "I'm sorry. I should have called instead of just texting. I should have told you about the photo thing before it happened. I was the jealous one. You know Hayden really bothers me."
The tension that's been living in my chest for two weeks finally starts to ease. "We're both idiots."
"Yeah, but you're my idiot. And I'm yours." He reaches out tentatively, like he's not sure if he's allowed to touch me yet. When I don't pull away, his fingers find mine. "I missed you. So much."
"I missed you too." The words come out softer than I intended. "Want me to drive you home?"
He squeezes my hand. "Please."
The drive to his house is quiet but not uncomfortable. Not like I expected it to be. Rhett has his hand on my thigh, thumb tracing small circles through my jeans, and I keep glancing over at him like I need to make sure he's really there.
He bought the house with his first big royalty check – a modest ranch-style place on the outskirts of Franklin with a big front porch and an even bigger backyard. I helped him pick it out, thinking I would spend most of my time here. It's nothing fancy, but it's his, and I love how proud he was the day he got the keys. We made love on the living room floor, free to be ourselves for the first time. Neither one of us had to worry about either one of our parents or roommates coming in.
Inside, everything looks exactly the same as when he left. I kick off my shoes and follow him to the kitchen, watching as he grabs two beers from the fridge.
"You know what I missed most?" he says, handing me one.
"Your own bed?"
"You in my bed." His voice is low, and seductive. The way I like it. He steps closer, backing me against the counter. "You in my kitchen. You in my house, making it feel like home."
My breath catches as he leans down, his forehead resting against mine. His scent surrounds me, and goddamn I love it. I've fucking missed it. "Rhett..."
"I know we still need to talk about some things," he says quietly. His tongue comes out to lick his dry lips. "But right now, I just want to hold you. Can I do that?"
Instead of answering, I stand on tiptoe and kiss him. It's soft at first, tentative, like we're both afraid of fucking up this truce we have. But then his hands are in my hair and mine are fisted in his shirt, and it's like it all just melts away.
He lifts me onto the counter, stepping between my knees, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His lips move to my neck, finding that spot that makes my core clench, and I arch into him.
"Bedroom," I manage to say, and he doesn't need to be told twice.
When we get there, we disrobe quickly. His mouth trails along my chest, taking my nipple into his mouth. With his teeth, he tugs, and I scratch my nails down his back. Before I know it, my knees are at his rib cage and he's pressing easily into me. Throwing my head back against the pillow, I let him work me into a frenzy, and come with a hoarse cry.
Later, tangled in his sheets with my head on his chest, I listen to his heartbeat slow back to normal. His fingers are trailing up and down my spine, and I feel more settled than I have in weeks.
"I love you," he murmurs into my hair.
