“Don’t princess me! We haven’t known each other for that long! I’m so sorry I didn’t spill all my dirtiest secrets to you right off the hop. How selfish of me.” My voice goes up to another level, and I feel the sleepiness of earlier falling away, being replaced by panic. By heartache.
“You shouldn’t keep secrets that eat you alive because you’re worried about what people will think. And definitely not because someone is manipulating you into it.”
“I know that! Don’t you think I know that? But it was my story to tell, and you took that from me. In the most public, humiliating way possible. And as badly as Rob hurt me, I’m not out to tank his career.” That one statement lands like an atomic bomb, silencing everything around us. Rhett’s expression goes blank.
He glances away, like it hurts to keep his eyes on me, and gives his head a subtle shake. “Jesus. Do you still have a thing for him?”
I wave a hand in front of us while I comb the opposite one through my hair. “No! Of course not! No. It’s just complicated. And it’s not about him. Not really. I know you don’t care what people think. But me? I do. And you keep steamrolling that. Maybe I shouldn’t care so much about what people think, and maybe you should care more. Maybe your family is unsupportive of you, or maybe they’re scared that every time you walk out that door, it might be the last time they ever see you.”
I’m panting now, and Rhett looks stricken by what I’ve just said. “Other people’s feelings are involved. It’s not all about you and what you want, Rhett. Not when you love someone. I care what my sister thinks of me—even if I shouldn’t, even if she’s mean. And my dad?” I point behind me. “The man in that room, who could have died today, is the only person who really cares about me, the only person I’ve got. They both deserved better than hearing about this the way it just came out. Maybe Rob got what he deserves, but what about the rest of us?”
His teeth grind as he gazes down at me, unblinking. He wipes a hand across his mouth. “I get that. I do. And I’m so fucking sorry I blew up like I did. But Summer”—he reaches for me, but I step back—“you’ve got me too. I’m not sure how else to prove it. I keep telling you, and it’s like you don’t hear me.”
My eyes sting. He’s saying all the things I so badly want to hear. He’s offering me all the support I so desperately want from him. But I’m also really fucking angry at him for betraying my trust and for being right about so much and wrong about so much all at once.
I’m angry that this isn’t easier. That nothing in my life ever has been. At this moment, I’m not feeling very glass half full, and I take it out on the good man standing in front of me. Because as much as I want to, I can’t rely on a man who’s so busy not caring what anyone thinks that he’ll hurt me to prove the point.
“Oh, I hear you, Rhett. I just don’t believe you. What you did tonight doesn’t feel like you caring about me. It feels like you losing control and flying off the handle.” A surge of nausea hits me, and I hold a hand over my mouth as I pin him with watery eyes. “Go home. To your hotel. Just go. I can’t deal with you right now.”
“What does that mean? For you and me?”
My eyes close. Even that small movement hurts. Everything hurts. A laugh that blends into a sob leaps from my lips. “I don’t know, Rhett. I’m not even sure there is a you and me. We’ve never been more than here and now.”
And then I push past him to cry in the washroom, just like I planned.
Well, a little harder than I planned.
29
Summer
Summer: Winter, can we please talk? I’m coming back to the hospital today. I can meet you any place, any time. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I would just like to tell you my side of the story.
Winter: There’s nothing to forgive.
Summer: Okay. Can we please just still talk? I know things are strained between us, but I love you. I want to make sure you’re okay.
Winter: I’m not okay. I’m pregnant. And the father of my child has been lying to me for years. I’m not ready to talk. Please stop asking. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.
Rhett: How is Kip?
Summer: Apparently, fine.
Rhett: How are you?
Summer: Tired.
Rhett: What can I do to help? Just tell me.
Summer: Nothing.
Rhett: Have I mentioned how sorry I am?
Summer: Just be safe tonight, please.
“So, tell me about the cowboy.”
I decide not to turn around. Instead, I busy myself rearranging some of my dad’s flowers in their vase. “Hm?” I ask like I didn’t hear him.
“You know. Long hair. Punches people who’ve wronged you. Featured on your wall as a teenager.”
I groan, dropping my chin to my chest.
“Bet you thought I didn’t remember that.”
“Yup.” I stare at the white sneakers on my feet. I finally snuck back to our house this morning. As though it might make me feel better, I took a shower, blow dried my hair, and put on a pretty matching bra and thong set. I threw on some jeans and a soft, gray jersey pullover and came back to keep Dad company.
Feeling right as rain. If this were my last moment, I’d want to be happy with my dad. So, I’m forcing myself to feel that. To do that. To control what I can.
And I’m failing because I’m sick about Winter. I was literally sick over that last message she sent me. I have to keep busy somehow. Rhett rides tonight, and Willa’s bar is hosting some concert this weekend, so I’m here with Kip, who is now asking questions I don’t want to answer.
With a sigh, I turn and face my dad, who appears awfully pleased with himself. “You should look worse. You just had a heart attack.”
He waves me off. “A minor heart attack. And you know what would make me feel better?”
“What?” I perk up, eager for something to keep me busy and out of my head. Something other than arranging flowers that don’t need arranging.
“Tell me about what went down with Rhett.”
“Ugh.” I stomp across the room, feeling notably childish as I flop down into the chair beside him. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you like him?”
Fuck me, this is awkward. I can’t even look at Kip. He’s found out more about my sex life in the past twenty-four hours than I’d have liked him to know in my entire lifetime.
“Yeah, Dad. I like him. He’s not like he comes off. Nothing like everyone thinks.”
“I know.”
My head flips in his direction. “You do?”
“Of course, I know. Been helping that kid for over a decade now. He pisses me off because he’s a loose fucking cannon, but I like him. I knew you two would get along eventually.”
I blink, thinking back to the way Kip ranted and raved about him when this whole milk thing hit the fan. I saw it as frustration, but now, I’m thinking it might be affection. Frustration that things weren’t going right for him rather than frustration directed at him.
“Well, cool,” I say, slumping back in my chair. “Way to play weird matchmaker. It worked.”
I can feel my dad staring at me. His gaze is burning a hole in my resolve to not say more.
“I let him get in my pants, okay?” I finally blurt.
My dad laughs.
I bring my hands up to my forehead as I stare at the ceiling. “You told me not to let him get into my pants, and I brushed you off like that was insane. And then I let him get in my pants. So, when we get back to work, you can just fire me and let me know what an unprofessional disappointment I am. Also, can we please never talk about my sex life again after this?”
Once Kip’s laughter subsides, he looks over and gives my elbow a squeeze. “Right. Well, I don’t think I told you not to fall in love with him.”
“I don’t love him.”
He shrugs and gives me one of those sarcastic frowns that says, Okay, sure, but we both know you’re full of shit.
I cross my arms, determined not to give him any further intel to harass me with. I don’t want to talk about it. And I definitely don’t want to consider the fact that I might be in love with Rhett Eaton.
The current state of things hurt bad enough without throwing the L word around.
“Wanna stream his event and talk about how terrible he is?”
I snort. The leg I have crossed jiggles as I try to avoid making eye contact with my dad. He’s dangled a carrot I almost can’t resist.
On one hand, I want to watch because I already miss Rhett so badly that there’s a constant ache in my chest. On the other hand, I don’t want to watch because there’s a constant ache in my chest that will only worsen with the anxiety of watching him ride.
“Okay. Fine.” I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak. A masochist, really.
Kip grins and reaches for his iPad, patting the bed as he scootches over. I fold myself onto the bed beside him and see that he already has the live stream queued and ready to go.
Traitor.