Page 88 of The Fine Line
Mick and I both turn to find Rhett standing behind us.
Mick straightens quickly and offers his hand. “Hey, man. Congrats on the game.”
Rhett just stares at the offered hand like it’s beneath him.
“Put that away,” he says. “Before you regret it.”
Mick lowers his hand, adjusting his tie. “Sorry if there was a misunderstanding. I don’t have a problem with you?—”
“Yeah?” Rhett takes a step closer. “Well, anything you’ve gotwith her—” he points at me “—you’ve got with me now. So think long and hard before you open your mouth about Caroline again. I’m guessing your bosses prefer you camera-ready. And it’s probably kinda hard to do your job with a busted jaw. So if I were you, I wouldn’t do so much as breathe in her direction.”
He turns to go, pauses, rubs his mouth with the back of his hand, then swings back around and closes the distance between him and Mick.
“And you want to talk about setting back sports? Someone who only knows icing as what’s on top of a cupcake shouldn’t be commentating for the NHL. Maybe take the time to learn who your team’s players are and how to pronounce their names rather than fumbling through them every game like a kindergartener learning to read. It’s lazy, ignorant, and disrespectful.”
Rhett’s gaze drops, and he points at Mick’s chest.
“And that tie? Wrong shade of green. Clashes with the whole damn set. Even a blind guy could tell you that.”
Mick glances at me. I give him nothing. Just stare back, blank.
He mutters something under his breath and walks off.
Silence stretches between us as his footsteps fade. One second. Then another. Or maybe a minute. I can’t tell.
“Too much?” Rhett finally asks.
Honestly?
No.
If anything… not enough.
Right up until the last part.
I turn to face him. “Why don’t you just piss on me next time, Rhett? Save yourself the speech.”
His jaw ticks. “If that’s your thing, Cub, just let me know. Actually—go ahead and make a list of all your kinks while you’re at it.”
“Seriously? Now is when you make a sex joke?”
“Might as well. Doesn’t matter what I say—apparently I’m always wrong.”
I exhale. “Look, I’m sorry. I appreciate you standing up for me. I just… I don’t know how to do this. What I’m supposed to be okay with. How I’m supposed to act.”
“Well, let me help you out. Start by acting like you like me. I know that might be hard for you, but most people at least pretend to like their spouses.”
I scoff. “Sorry. Faking it doesn’t come naturally to everyone.”
Rhett presses his tongue into his cheek, stepping closer.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, Cub, but when it comes to you, there’s a reason my act looks so natural.” His voice drops. “Because I don’t have to pretend to want you.”
My lips part. No words come out.
Rhett watches me for a beat, then scoffs—a sharp, humorless sound.
“Rhett, I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
