Rhett’s smile is soft as he regards me. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I make him his coffee with a bunch of sugar and cream like he loves, hand it off to him, and then grab myself a cold Sprite. Soda is probably terrible while pregnant, but it’s the only thing that keeps me from puking my guts out on the daily.
We settle in our usual spots on the sofa. I curl up against him, and the cats settle in between us. With my head on his shoulder, I close my eyes and drink in his closeness. I ache for it every day now. Like an addiction I can’t quit.
“I, uh, overheard something I don’t think I was supposed to hear,” Rhett says, voice low and gravelly. “I really hope it was bullshit.”
Anger simmers beneath his words. I shiver which then spurs him to grab a blanket off the back of the sofa.
“What did you hear?” I glance over at him, peeking up through my lashes. “That I’m a whore?”
His nostrils flare. Bingo. It’s the usual song and dance from my sister. No surprise there.
“For the record,” I grumble, “I’m not. I hate that I have to say it.”
“You don’t have to say it.” With Rhett’s free hand, he takes mine and squeezes it. “But there’s clearly a story there. I want to know your version.”
Bitterness roils in my stomach. Angela just can’t leave anything be. She has to pick at scabs until they turn into festering wounds. I just want to heal but she won’t let me.
“Do you remember me? Before all this?” I motion to my tattoos and piercings. “When I looked like a carbon copy of her?”
He frowns. “I remember seeing the two of you around at the country club. Everyone talked about the Serengeti sisters. Said they were hot.”
I shudder at his words. There was one guy in particular who said those exact words. “We were teenagers and some of those guys had no business thinking we were ‘hot.’”
“I agree. There are some grade-A douchebag members there.”
“Do you know Beau Masterson?”
He grimaces. “The balding thirty-year-old nepo-billionaire baby wannabe actor who drives an obnoxious lime-green Lambo?”
My skin crawls at the mention of that stupid car. “That’s him.”
“What about that fuck face? My dad hates him and once tried to get him banned from the club.”
I haven’t officially met Rhett’s dad, only seen him in passing, but now I want to.
“I like your dad,” I say, unable to suppress another shudder. “I was really insecure when I was a freshman in high school.Whenever Angela would tear me down, I’d be at the club and Beau would build me back up. At first, he was just a nice guy.”
Rhett moves the cats away and then pulls me until I’m sitting in his lap. I’m grateful for his comfort because this story isn’t easy to tell. I cling to his shirt and shiver uncontrollably.
“Go on,” Rhett urges. “Unless you can’t. But I really want you to tell me. You can trust me.”
I know I can. We’ve held this secret between us for months now, so I know he’ll hold another one of mine.
“I got sort of close to Beau. He’d always run me home in his fancy cars whenever I’d be bored out of my skull at the club. While Angela was fishing for a future husband, I just wanted to escape the rich people drama. Beau, despite being the richest man at our country club, seemed normal.”
Rhett rubs a palm up and down my thigh as if he’s anxious with nervous energy. It’s soothing and warms me, so I don’t ask him to stop.
“One night, he brought liquor.” I shrug, unable to meet Rhett’s intense stare. “It was fun and felt rebellious. I drank with him. Being young and a lightweight, I got wasted fast.” A ripple of disgust washes over me and tears form. “I don’t remember much aside from him pawing at my clothes, his brutally intrusive fingers, and then the sharp pain of him taking something I never said he could have.”
“That. Motherfucker.” Rhett swipes a tear from my cheek and kisses my flesh so close to my mouth I can nearly taste him.
“Anyway,” I say through my tears, “I cried the whole time. When he finished, he held me and said one day he’d marry me. When it was legal. I was numb through the drive home. He kissed me on my porch like he owned me.”
Rhett shakes his head, eyes flaring with anger. “He had no right, honey. No fucking right.”
His reaction to my story is so visceral and protective. It’s what I’d hoped from my own family. Instead, I was met with disbelief, mockery, and disgust.
