Page 164 of The Fine Line
“That’s where you’re going?” His face hardens. “Are you serious?”
I shake my head. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to just exist without trying to be a savior. With your calm, cool, collected, never-shaken demeanor, your picture-perfect family, and your fucking Christmas cards—but I never asked for this. All I ever wanted was a friend. I don’t need your pity and I don’t want your help.”
My chest heaves as silence settles heavy between us.
Bennett nods slowly. “Fine. Loud and clear. You don’t need me.”
“I didn’t say?—”
“Done.” His hand cuts through the air. His voice is flat. Final. “See you on the ice.”
“Jamesy—”
“I’m done,” he says again. And walks out.
The door slams.
And I’m alone.
thirty-seven
RHETT
Austin, TX, USA
I stare at the door like it’s the only thing holding me together right now.
I’ve been parked outside for ten minutes, maybe longer. Long enough for my fingers to go numb from gripping the steering wheel. Long enough for the Oasis album I put on to start over from the beginning. I don’t even remember the drive here—just the impulse. The need.
The ache.
I glance down at my passenger seat. At the paper pharmacy bag with the pill bottle inside it. At the label with my name on it. At the first mistake I’ve made today.
I’m hoping this won’t be my second.
I grit my teeth, grab the bag, and pop the car door open.
I climb the steps one at a time, telling myself this is stupid. Telling myself to turn around. Telling myself I’ve been doing fine.
I start to turn around, but then I remember what I’d be going home to.
I can’t.
I knock on the door.
I don’t even know why. I’ve never needed an invitation before.
The door opens before I can think of what I’ll say.
She’s barefoot, blonde hair tucked behind one ear, sweater sliding off her shoulder like she didn’t bother to fix it before answering. She doesn’t look surprised.
“I figured I’d see you any day now,” she says, and it sounds so casual it stings.
I can’t meet her eyes. I can barely lift mine off the floor.
She studies me—quietly, like she’s taking inventory. The look in my eyes. The way I’m clenching my jaw. The bag in my hand. The way I haven’t stepped inside yet, like I might bolt.
“Come in, Rhett.”
