Page 67 of Barbed Wire Fences
Chapter 20 - Jael
Most of the guys I’ve been with haven’t liked cuddling after sex. Christopher, especially, made it a point to roll over and pass out the second he’d finish, usually leaving me wanting more—both physically and emotionally. But Rhett was never like that.
And as I lie here now, wrapped in his strong arms tightly, I’m reminded of just how different he’s always been, even all those years ago during that short, unforgettable summer that we spent together when we were newly adults without much experience.
I remember Lainey telling me about her first time with her high school boyfriend Mark. How he’d gotten up immediately after, leaving her alone to sit in the aftermath of it all. She’d cried, heartbroken by the coldness of what should’ve been something special. It’s a story that sounded far too much like what Owen did to me.
But my first time was nothing like that because it was with Rhett.
Even at eighteen, after Rhett had introduced me to a world that I hadn’t known existed, he made sure I didn’t face it alone. I’d been a mess. Nervous, hot, sweaty, inexperienced and overwhelmed with emotions, but he hadn’t pulled away.
Instead, he’d held me close after we’d finished, his arms a sanctuary of safety as I absorbed the moment with him. He’d asked me if I was okay, and if I’d regretted anything. And of course, I hadn’t. Not a single thing.
Though Rhett teased and tried to come across as a jerk who thought I was annoying when we were kids, I realize now, lying here in the quiet comfort of his embrace, he was always looking out for me. And I’ve never regretted him being my first time. He was right—you never do forget it. And because of him, it’s a memory that I’ll always be grateful for.
“You still have the scar,” I say, reaching up to touch the small, bumped skin on his forehead from the toy boat that I’d thrown at him when we were fourteen years old.
He chuckles. “It hasn’t held me back that much. Though it did hurt like hell when you did it. Who knew a piece of plastic could cut that badly.”
I smile. “You know, I stopped playing with Barbies after that fight we had. Packed the few I had up in a plastic container and pushed them under my bed. I’m pretty sure they’re still there.”
“I’m sorry for that,” he says, his eyes watching me closely as his warm fingers continue to stroke the exposed skin on my back.
“It wasn’t your fault. You were right; we were heading into high school, and it was time to put them away. I mostly used them to fantasize about what it’d be like to have a healthy family.”
Rhett’s jaw clenches as he frowns. One of his hands moves behind his head to rest, the other continuing to soothe my warm skin. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have protected you more from what you went through. Your parents were shit at being parents.”
I shrug, pressing my cheek back to his chest and enjoying the way his heart is beating through the strong muscle there.
“We were kids. It wasn’t your job to do that. Now that I’ve had some space and perspective on things, I’ve realized some kids just get born into shitty circumstances and you do what you can to make the best of it and hope you make it out. To make a better life once you get free. I’ve tried to see the silver lining in things.” I hesitate before continuing with the last part. “Plus, living in that trailer brought me to you.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything more.
I roll off him and onto my back, staring at the exposed wooden rafters above us. His home is truly a work of art. It’s a log cabin on the outside but in the inside, it’s all him and it just makes sense.
It smells like pine and warmth in here and I feel like I could get the best sleep of my life in his bed, wrapped up in his arms.
“Your house is amazing,” I whisper. “It’s incredible what you’ve done. Starting your own business, managing everything for the town, it’s admirable. You’ve really made something of yourself. I hope it’s okay to say I’m proud of you though I know I had no part in your success.”
He rolls onto his side to face me, his hand falling to my hip, brushing against the exposed skin there. “It’s pretty incredible what you’ve done too. You took what life gave you, moved away with no support, became a nurse and then specialized in an in-demand field. I’m sure it isn’t easy working in the intensive care unit or traveling around to different locations for that matter.”
“It isn’t always, but I love it. The joy I get from helping people is what keeps me going. Feels like I’m feeding my soul.”
He clears his throat. “So…” his voice trails off for a moment, “when do you head back to Virginia?”
“The end of this month is the plan,” I hesitate and then roll onto my side to face him.
The sun has slipped completely beyond the horizon now, leaving us cocooned in darkness surrounded by the woods. The quiet hum of summer in the south fills the night, far removed from the harsh glare of city streetlights back in Virginia.
The full moon hangs above, its soft glow mingling with the flicker of fireflies, their tiny lights weaving a magical dance across his face. And for a moment, I forget everything—Richmond, the weight of reality, the pain I thought I’d left behind due to the loss we experienced.
All I see is him. It’s in the way that he looks at me like I’ve always mattered. The way he makes me feel so wholly seen, so unshakably cared for. The way I think I’ve always loved him.
We sit in the stillness for a few beats before he breaks it, his voice low and steady. “So, I’ve got a little less than a month to change your mind about going back, huh?”
A soft laugh escapes me, but it falters when his hands move to cup my chin. His touch is achingly tender, his thumb brushes against my cheek like he’s memorizing the moment. The longing in his eyes steals the breath from my lungs and I know he’s serious. I swallow hard, trying to steady myself because I have to leave.
I can’t stay here in Whitewood Creek. That was never the plan. Rhett and I will fight like we always have. He’ll realize I’m still the broken girl who left town with the tragic eyes, and he’ll push me away. I can’t change my whole life for a maybe.
