Page 60 of Rhett & Moses
Our bodies found a rhythm as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the tide. The physical pleasure was intense, but it was the emotional connection that threatened to overwhelm me, the sense of being truly seen, truly known, in a way I had experienced with no one else.
When release finally came, it was with an intensity that brought tears to my eyes, not from the physical sensation alone, but from the profound understanding that this man, this relationship, was worth whatever challenges lay ahead. We clung to each other in the aftermath, breathing synchronized, heartbeats gradually slowing in tandem.
“I love you,” Rhett said softly, breaking the silence that had settled over us. “I don’t think I’ve said that explicitly yet, this week. But I do. I love you, Moses Morley. I think I always have.”
The simple declaration, delivered with such certainty, pierced something inside me, the last barrier of self-protection I’d maintained even as we’d grown closer throughout the week.
“I love you, too,” I replied, the words surprisingly easy once released. “I tried not to, for twenty years. Failed spectacularly.”
Rhett laughed, the sound vibrating against my chest where his head rested. “Thank goodness for that failure.”
We lay together as the rain continued outside, neither willing to be the first to move, to acknowledge that time was still passing, departure still approaching. Eventually, though, reality reasserted itself in the form of a gentle alarm from Rhett’s phone, the reminder he’d set to ensure we wouldn’t lose track of time completely.
With reluctance, we separated, moving to shower and dress for the journey ahead. There was a new quality to our interactions now, a certainty, a foundation that hadn’t quite been there before. The declarations of love, the physical connection, had cemented something that had been building all week.
As we carried our luggage down to the parking lot, the rain had stopped, leaving behind that peculiar fresh scent that follows a steady downpour. Our cars sat side by side, his rental that would be returned in Boston, my own vehicle that had brought me from Atlanta a week earlier. The stark reminder of our separate destinations.
“So,” Rhett said, standing between the cars, his hands in his pockets in a gesture that seemed almost shy. “This is it. For now.”
“For now,” I emphasized, stepping closer to him. “Three months. Weekly video calls. Visit me whenever he can. And then a decision.”
He nodded, his expression a mixture of determination and vulnerability that made my heart ache with tenderness. “It’s a good plan. Solid. Practical.”
“Very us,” I agreed with a small smile.
“I’ll call when I stop for the night,” he promised. “Let you know where I am.”
“Same,” I replied. “And I’ll send you that link to the property listing so you can forward it to your real estate contact.”
We were back to logistics, to practical details, avoiding the emotional weight of the moment. But beneath the mundane exchange lay the deeper current of what we’d shared, what we’d promised each other.
Finally, there was nothing left to say, no reason to delay the inevitable. I stepped forward, closing the distance between us one last time. The kiss we shared was both promise and farewell,heavy with meaning yet lightened by the certainty that this was not an ending but a brief intermission.
“Drive safely,” I murmured as we separated.
“You too,” he replied, his hand lingering on my arm as if reluctant to break the final contact.
Then we were in our separate cars, starting engines, preparing to head in opposite directions, he north toward Boston, me south toward Atlanta. Through the windows, we exchanged one last look, one last smile, before putting our vehicles in gear and pulling away from the hotel.
In my rearview mirror, I watched his car turn onto the main road, heading toward the interstate that would take him away from Gomillion, away from me. A familiar ache bloomed in my chest, the pain of separation that I remembered all too well from twenty years ago.
But this time, it was different. This time, there were no secrets between us, no misunderstandings, no force driving us apart against our will. This time, the separation was temporary, a necessary step in building something lasting and real.
As I drove through Gomillion one last time, past the landmarks that had featured so prominently in our story: the school, the town square, Timbers & Tallboys, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. This town, which had once represented shame and exile, had become the site of redemption, of truth finally told, of love rekindled.
When I reached the town limits, passing the ‘Thank You for Visiting Gomillion’ sign that marked the boundary, I didn’t feel the relief I’d expected at leaving. Instead, I felt a curious sense of anticipation, of looking forward rather than back.
The road stretched before me, leading south toward Atlanta, toward the life I’d built for myself over the past twenty years. But it was no longer my only path, my only possibility. Now there was another road, one that might lead to a shared home inthe Carolina countryside, to a life intertwined with Rhett’s, to a future I’d stopped allowing myself to imagine long ago.
I connected my cell to the car’s Bluetooth system and used the voice recognition system to call Rhett. He answered on the first ring, his voice filling the car’s interior as if he were sitting beside me.
“Missing me already?” he teased, though I could hear the same emotion in his voice that tightened my chest.
“Terribly,” I admitted, no longer interested in playing it cool. “But I had a thought.”
“I’m listening.”
“What if we didn’t wait until the weekend to visit? What if I came up to Boston next Wednesday? I could fly up after the bar closes Tuesday night, stay through Friday morning.”
