Page 98 of The Fine Line
We kneel to gather the mess. But Rhett goes still, hand hovering mid-air. I follow his gaze.
He’s staring at my prescription bottles.
“What are those?” he asks, voice low.
“Um, since we’re legally bound by a work contract, I’m pretty sure that’s a HIPAA violation to ask.”
My tone is clearly deadpan, laced with sarcasm, but Rhett doesn’t seem to register it..
“They’re just my ADHD meds, Rhett,” I say. The only response I get is the slight furrowing of his brow. I reach over, picking up the bottle and spinning it to display the label readingAdderall. “See?”
He blinks a few times, and then his gaze shifts to the second bottle on the ground.
“And that’s Ambien. I…” My voice falters. “ I have a hard time sleeping when it storms.”
Rhett finally lifts his head to look at me, and I don’t know what it is, but something between the tense silence and the heaviness in his gaze makes the words spill out of my mouth.
“They’ve always scared me, ever since I was little. I don’t even know why. My parents tried everything. Sleeping masks, earplugs, white noise machines…And it only got worse once Dad started coaching in the NHL and was gone all the time.”
I feel my throat tightening, but I swallow it down.
“Then, one night when Dad was out of town, there was this horrible storm. Lightning hit a tree in our front yard, and it split. One of the branches came crashing through my bedroom window. I was seven, I think. So that didn’t exactly help anything.”
I exhale, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’ve learned to manage it some over time, but it’s still hard sometimes,” I admit. “Especially since I’ve been living alone the past few years. So, sleeping pills help on bad nights.”
I glance back at Rhett. He’s still watching me, his expression unreadable.
“I’m—” he starts, but doesn’t finish. A second later, he shoots to his feet. “Sorry. Just gonna—bathroom.”
Before I can process what just happened, he’s out the door and down the hall. A moment later, I hear his bedroom door click shut.
I sit there, stunned.
“Uh, okay then.”
I pick up the bottles, finish unpacking the box, and head back to the kitchen for another one.
Just as I’m about to grab it, my phone rings.
I slip it out of my pocket and feel my stomach drop when I see Addie’s name on the screen.
“Shit,” I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. I let it ring three more times before finally picking up, knowing I can’t avoid this conversation forever.
“Caroline Barrett, what in the actualfuckis going on?”
“Hey—”
“You said you’d call me back,” Addie continues. “You didn’t. Then I see pictures plastered all over social media of you leaving Rhett’s place after asteamy night of passion?—”
“Jesus, Addie, really?—”
“After you’ve insisted, repeatedly, that youcan’t standhim—which I’ve always known was a lie, but still?—”
“Addie—”
“Ask her where Rhett is,” I hear Bennett’s muffled voice ask in the background. “Tell her to tell him to pick up his goddamn phone.”
