I’m angry that this isn’t easier. That nothing in my life ever has been. At this moment, I’m not feeling very glass half full, and I take it out on the good man standing in front of me. Because as much as I want to, I can’t rely on a man who’s so busy not caring what anyone thinks that he’ll hurt me to prove the point.
“Oh, I hear you, Rhett. I just don’t believe you. What you did tonight doesn’t feel like you caring about me. It feels like you losing control and flying off the handle.” A surge of nausea hits me, and I hold a hand over my mouth as I pin him with watery eyes. “Go home. To your hotel. Just go. I can’t deal with you right now.”
“What does that mean? For you and me?”
My eyes close. Even that small movement hurts. Everything hurts. A laugh that blends into a sob leaps from my lips. “I don’t know, Rhett. I’m not even sure there is a you and me. We’ve never been more than here and now.”
And then I push past him to cry in the washroom, just like I planned.
Well, a little harder than I planned.
29
Summer
Summer: Winter, can we please talk? I’m coming back to the hospital today. I can meet you any place, any time. I don’t expect you to forgive me. I would just like to tell you my side of the story.
Winter: There’s nothing to forgive.
Summer: Okay. Can we please just still talk? I know things are strained between us, but I love you. I want to make sure you’re okay.
Winter: I’m not okay. I’m pregnant. And the father of my child has been lying to me for years. I’m not ready to talk. Please stop asking. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.
Rhett: How is Kip?
Summer: Apparently, fine.
Rhett: How are you?
Summer: Tired.
Rhett: What can I do to help? Just tell me.
Summer: Nothing.
Rhett: Have I mentioned how sorry I am?
Summer: Just be safe tonight, please.
“So, tell me about the cowboy.”
I decide not to turn around. Instead, I busy myself rearranging some of my dad’s flowers in their vase. “Hm?” I ask like I didn’t hear him.
“You know. Long hair. Punches people who’ve wronged you. Featured on your wall as a teenager.”
I groan, dropping my chin to my chest.
“Bet you thought I didn’t remember that.”
“Yup.” I stare at the white sneakers on my feet. I finally snuck back to our house this morning. As though it might make me feel better, I took a shower, blow dried my hair, and put on a pretty matching bra and thong set. I threw on some jeans and a soft, gray jersey pullover and came back to keep Dad company.
Feeling right as rain. If this were my last moment, I’d want to be happy with my dad. So, I’m forcing myself to feel that. To do that. To control what I can.
And I’m failing because I’m sick about Winter. I was literally sick over that last message she sent me. I have to keep busy somehow. Rhett rides tonight, and Willa’s bar is hosting some concert this weekend, so I’m here with Kip, who is now asking questions I don’t want to answer.
With a sigh, I turn and face my dad, who appears awfully pleased with himself. “You should look worse. You just had a heart attack.”
He waves me off. “A minor heart attack. And you know what would make me feel better?”
“What?” I perk up, eager for something to keep me busy and out of my head. Something other than arranging flowers that don’t need arranging.
“Tell me about what went down with Rhett.”
“Ugh.” I stomp across the room, feeling notably childish as I flop down into the chair beside him. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Do you like him?”
Fuck me, this is awkward. I can’t even look at Kip. He’s found out more about my sex life in the past twenty-four hours than I’d have liked him to know in my entire lifetime.
“Yeah, Dad. I like him. He’s not like he comes off. Nothing like everyone thinks.”
“I know.”
My head flips in his direction. “You do?”
“Of course, I know. Been helping that kid for over a decade now. He pisses me off because he’s a loose fucking cannon, but I like him. I knew you two would get along eventually.”
I blink, thinking back to the way Kip ranted and raved about him when this whole milk thing hit the fan. I saw it as frustration, but now, I’m thinking it might be affection. Frustration that things weren’t going right for him rather than frustration directed at him.