“Then why do you have that?”
That’s a good question. One I’ve been mulling over for a few days now to distract myself from the tension with Rhett and Blair’s withdrawal. Why won’t I let this go? I’m probably reading too much into nothing. Yet, I feel like there’s something I’m missing. I just don’t know what it is, yet.
Rather than speak my concern out loud, I let it go.
“I don’t know. Just thought it was weird how she looks a lot like Blair, I guess.” With that, I fold the missing person’s flyer up and tuck it back into my pants. With a grin I tell him. “I’ll be back down to eat in a few.”
Chapter 25
Wesley
Iwake to the sound of someone throwing up across the hallway.
Stifling a tired groan, I stare up at the ceiling wondering if—after five nights of this—it’s finally time to say something. It’s been days since the blow up in the kitchen. It wasn’t even that big of an argument but for some reason, Rhett’s gotten all in his feelings about it.
I get his worry about safety concerns, but that’s why more eyes on Blair—and on each other—will be the best bet in terms of staying alive.
Maybe this isn’t completely about the safety risk Blair’s presence presents. Santi’s been giving him the cold shoulder. Maybe that’s what’s bothering him? Or, I suppose it could be the fact that Santi has been hanging out with Blair more and more, leaving Rhett all on his own.
I frown up at the ceiling.
If it’s not Rhett that I’m worrying about these days, it’s Blair. She puts a smile on and she doesn’t retreat to drink in her roomafter work like Rhett does but something’s not right. She’s been acting off. Not that I know her all that well but I can feel it. When she’s not hanging out with Santi, me, or Ledger, she’s in the woods. Something’s been broken and I don’t know what exactly it is or how it came to be, but this sense of pulling away from both Blair and Rhett has to stop or our little family will implode.
With a sigh, I throw off the covers and walk out of my bedroom. Rather than go to the bathroom, where I can hear Rhett retching up everything he’s had to drink, plus probably dinner, I head downstairs. When I return to the second floor and knock on the bathroom door, I have a glass of water in my hand.
“Go away,” Rhett rasps through the door.
“Open up,” I call, ignoring his order.
Rhett groans loudly. There are a few seconds of silence that follows before the shuffling of movement. The door cracks open but doesn’t go further. I push it open the rest of the way. It’s dark, so I flick on the light. Rhett’s sprawled out on the floor in just his boxers with an arm thrown over his face. His skin is sickly pale and there’s sweat beading on his chest. The room smells of vomit and alcohol. The latter is seeping through his pores.
Internally, I wince. I remember what this feels like. Seeing it from the other side is humbling. How many times had my daughter walked in on me just like this? Memories from that time are hazy at best and it doesn’t help that I avoid thinking about them. It’s not a point in my life that I’m altogether proud of.
“What do you want?” Rhett rasps out, without looking up at me.
“Just checking on you.” I place the glass on the counter beside the sink, then crouch down by his feet. “What’s going on, Rhett? I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“Like what? Piss-face drunk? Well, you’re about to see awholelot more of this side of me.” His words are slurred dramatically, and when he finishes talking, he hiccups.
I frown. “Why? What happened?”
“Fuck if I know why I just started. I should’ve been drinking this whole fucking time.” He shrugs. “But I decided ‘fuck it’ the other day when I realized it doesn’t matter if I’m sober or not. I’m always going to be a bad guy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Wes, haven’t you noticed? I’m the—”hiccup“—I’m the villain in everyone’s story.” Rhett throws up his free arm in exasperation. “I don’t want to make things official with Santi because I can’t give him what he wants, so I’m the bad guy. I don’t want Blair around because she’ll get him, and the rest of us, killed. Again,I’mthe bad guy. I kill people who like to touch kids and guess what? I’m the bad guy in that too.” There’s a pause before the smallest sob escapes his lips. A whine enters his voice as he adds softly, “Abby would hate me if she saw me now… Fuck, I miss her so goddamn much.”
My heart sinks. His ramblings don’t really make sense but I do know that Rhett’s little sister, Abigail, has always been a touchy subject for him. He doesn’t talk about her. The only reason I know about her existence is because he told Santi an abridged version of his life growing up and Santi told the rest of us during one of Rhett’s darker times. That’s when I started going with them when they played The Hunt. Rhett needed another set of eyes on him then. I suppose I could start going again, if he needs to be looked after more.
I take a deep breath and consider the rest of what Rhett’s shared. All of this must’ve transpired after breakfast the other day. I’m not altogether surprised. Whatever this thing is between Rhett and Santi was never going to last. Not with how distant Rhett is and how clingy Santi can be.
That, however, can be fixed.
“You know, all you have to do is talk to Santi, right?” I tell him. “There’s got to be some middle ground between you two. Santi is probably the most forgiving person I know.”
“Fuck him for demanding something I can’t give,” Rhett spits out in a drunk drawl. “Fuck. Him.”
I sigh. Okay, maybe logic isn’t going to get through to Rhett tonight. I’ll have to try again another time.
