Page 173 of The Fine Line
“And aren’t you proud of it?” she asks without missing a beat.
“I hope you know you’re just another distraction for him,” hespits. “Another thing he’ll cling to until he inevitably spirals again. And when he crashes—because he will—you’ll be the one left picking up the pieces.”
“Now who’s hiding when things get hard?” Caroline tilts her head. “Don’t worry. I’m not scared. I can take it from here.”
He opens his mouth again—but the click of heels stops him.
My mother appears, holding the check. She extends it toward me.
“Here,” she says flatly. “Everyone’s ready to go.”
Caroline blinks. “You’re kidding.”
“They’re not,” I mutter. I grab my wallet from my pocket, fishing out a few hundred-dollar bills and shoving them into the checkbook. “And they’re not worth another second.”
I reach for Caroline’s hand.
“Let’s go.”
And for once, she happily listens to me.
forty-two
CAROLINE
I listen to the sound of cars passing by. The click of my heels on the pavement. My own breathing.
Because it’s the only thing keeping me from losing it.
I meant what I said in the bar. Rhett can speak for himself. He can fight his own battles.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to scream at the people who dared to call themselves his parents.
We haven’t said a word since we left the bar. Not during the short walk back to the hotel. Not as we passed through the lobby. Not as the elevator carried us up in tense, aching silence.
Only when we reach my room do I realize Rhett’s still with me.
"I'm sorry," he finally says.
I spin on my heel, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes down. “Yeah… I’m just—I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’m sorry for him. I’m just… fuck. I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone now. Good night.”
He turns to go, but I catch his arm.
“Rhett, why in hell are you apologizing?”
He flinches, eyes darting away. “I just… I didn’t?—”
“You didn’t do a single thing wrong.”
He stares at the floor. “Were you there the whole time? Did you hear…”
Everything. I heard everything. And I don’t even know where to start with all of it. But one thing is still true.
“Everybody screws up,” I say.
“Does everybody keep screwing up?”
