He looks me over, then extends his hand.
Ishouldn’t have given Kaia control of my phone, because she turns on the playlist Rhea affectionately callsSongs to Get Dirty To.I know it the second the first song starts. It’s mostly trash. A combination of rap, country, and mainstream pop music that she considers worth adding, but there’s one specific song I know Rhea loves. It pours over the field from every speaker they’ve got. Loud. Consuming. And it puts a smile on her face.
Her hair is loose around her sharp jaw, and her eyes are bigger and sadder than I remember. She’s in a dress I’ve never seen—she must’ve bought it while I was gone — and it hugs her chest and her waist. It’s soft, and it makes it hard not to touch her, but I keep my other hand in my pocket until she’s ready.
It’s been weeks.She’s nervous, angry, and sad — and she doesn’t believe we’re just friends. She doesn’t. Give her a second to catch up.
But I miss the way she smells, and being patient with her is the worst pain imaginable.
“Come on, Hellcat,” I say gently. “We have our best conversations when we’re dancing.”
“The girls are here somewhere,” she huffs. “If you think they left, you’re delusional.”
“I promised them a romance movie moment. Here it is.” I smile more widely at her.
It was a whole fight when I called them together. They were pissed at me, and I let them berate me for nearly an hour before they finally agreedto help me get my sad girl back. Cosy was the first to cave and made her demands very clear.
Go big or go home.
Reaper deserves the drama.
“Are you serious right now?” She looks around, confused.
“Quit acting like you don’t love the attention.” I smile at her, praying to whoever will listen to get her to cooperate.Just for one song.“You can be high maintenance and petty over here, with me.”
I step forward when she doesn’t move, and she crosses her arms over her chest. I breathe her in, the orange in her shampoo, the subtle smell of her favorite lotion. I slip my hand between her arms and grab her wrist until I can tangle my fingers into hers, and I spin her in a soft circle that makes her fight to keep the serious look on her face.
“What song is this?” she asks me, and I shrug even though I know. “Is this the 'Get Dirty' playlist?” she asks, her eyes flickering up to mine.
“It is,” I say, guiding her back into my steps as my hand finds her back and her fingers rest gently on my shoulder blade. Her touch makes my entire body shiver.
“You’ve been home a whole week, Brighton.” Her sad accusation isn’t a lie, but it pinches at my nervous system, and I nod to confirm it.
“I fixed it,” I say to her, and she looks at me with a confused expression.
“Brighton…” She opens her mouth to argue something, and I shake my head.
“I came too close to losing everything that night, Rhea,” I tell her.You, Daisy.Even a friend I thought would be in my life. For every step. Someone who understood me better than anyone. And it was a lie.
“I was here,” she whispers.
“You’re the only reason I’mhere.” I tell her, “You and Daisy.”
“I have nothing to do with that.” Rhea shakes her head. “There’s no forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do, Brighton.”
“That morning, waking up, remembering what I did. How I treated you when you were just trying to help me. I stripped myself of my prideand got help. It’s not perfect. There’s so much medication my head spins, but I’m in control,” I tell her, confident in my actions, in myself. “I couldn’t do this back then, I didn’t have it in me. I didn’t know I could. But I’m stronger now, and I had to make things right, with more than one person this week. Daisy, Riona, and my siblings. I had to prove to myself that I could handle this without an outburst. The stress, the guilt.”
She stares at me like I’m talking too fast, and it’s taking everything in me not to kiss the look off her face. “I couldn’t make my last stop until I knew that I was the man you needed.”
“Oh,” she exhales.
The man you deserve.
“You're it for me. I don’t know what I need to say to you to convince you to forgive me. Maybe you never do, but I’ll do anything.” She tenses in my grip, and I know she’s conflicted. This is all a lot, and she’s been bombarded.
“Brighton,” she sighs, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
“I’ll stick glow-in-the-dark stars to every surface in the apartment, eat all your tomatoes, learn all the wrestling moves, never make you eat pasta ever again,” I whisper as the song comes to a soft conclusion and the next one is a loud, trap song that cracks a smile on her face. “Hell, I’ll even relinquish music privileges in the truck as long as you promise to never make me listen to this song ever again.”
