digital selfharm is real. do NOT check up on that ex-partner/ex-friend. do NOT reread those old messages/conversations that you know will hurt your feelings all over again or that will otherwise make you feel like shit. do NOT block evade to see if youāre being talked about. inhale. exhale. let it pass and youāll be better for it.
Thinking about Rhett carrying you to bed after youāve fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home from a week-long circuit
Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Fem!Reader!
Author's note: Just wanted to make a little fluff piece because I've been stressing out all week about my practical lab simulation that's happening today. Writing this really took the edge off, and I hope y'all enjoy <3
The television had gone quiet sometime after midnight, its stale blue light still flickering across the living room without a sound. The cable box had shut itself off hours earlier, leaving nothing but a blank, glowing rectangle that cut through the dark.
Rhett noticed it the second he eased the front door open. The hallway stretched ahead of him in near-total darkness, the whole house holding that particular hollow quiet of a place already turned in for the night. Only the televisionās leftover light reached this far. Then he saw your slippers abandoned near the edge of the rugāsomething that shouldāve been with you in the bedroomāand finally his eyes settled on the uneven stack of quilts on the couch, with one of your arms hanging limply off the side.
You had fallen asleep curled on your side in a tight ball beneath them with your cheek pressed hard into the cushion instead of the pillow that had slipped halfway off the edge. The shirt you were wearing was his. He knew it by the frayed edges at the sleeves, the ones he had always picked at when he was thinkingāremoving the stray threads until they unspooled.Ā
The sight of you in it undid every ache that had been riding him since the last chute.
He was exhausted, his body spent from a full week of travel and competition that hadnāt let up once. Arena dust sat thick under his fingernails, and a deep bruise along his ribs had been spreading with every mile of the drive home. His wrist was throbbing steadily inside the brace he had put on before leaving the arena, and the long hours behind the wheel had settled into the muscles of his lower back until they screamed for a mattress to lay down on.
But looking at you made it all recede, even as he toed off his boots and crossed the living room toward the couch.Ā
A mug waited on the coffee table beside your phoneātea that had gone cold hours agoāand three messages from him still glowed unanswered on the screen when he tapped it awake.
Headed home.
Running a little late, lotās of traffic tonight, think thereās an accident.
Donāt wait up, Sweetheart. Iāll see you in the morning.
Rhett lowered his head, a tired smile pulling faintly at one corner of his mouth.
āYou never listen to me,ā He murmured, lifting his hat off his head and setting it carefully beside the mug. Even through the pain he crouched beside the couch, as the floorboards under his boots giving a loud, familiar creak. He sucked in a sharp breath and held still, his eyes snapping at you for any sign that he disturbed your sleep. But you only shifted deeper into the cushion, your face turning further into the plushness of it.
Up close he could see the faint crease pressed into your cheek from the pressure, and the soft furrow that lingered between your brows, like some part of you had kept worrying about him long after sleep had taken you.
Rhett let out a quiet sigh and reached for you slowly, curling his dirt-dusted fingers so the backs of his knuckles could brush along the cool skin of your temple. He eased your hair away from your face so he could see you betterāso he could take in the sight he had missed the most this week. His skin was rough, calloused in spots where callouses shouldnāt have been, but his touch was painfully gentleāthe way it always was with you.
āHey, darlinā,ā He whispered, watching as your eyelids fluttered at the sound of his voice, even though they remained closed. Rhett dragged his knuckles slowly across your forehead, before bringing his hand down to cup the side of your faceāhis large palm dwarfing the size of it. You tilted into the warmth without wakingāas if you were a sunflower and he was the sunānuzzling closer like you had been waiting for this contact. He could feel his heart seize at that moment, stopping in the caverns of his chest at the way you responded to him regardless of your alertness.
He had spent the last seven days getting thrown around under bright arena lights, sleeping on narrow motel beds that never held enough heat, eating alone with the television running just to fill the silence. Every night without fail he would call you from a parking lot or those cheap rooms, pretending the sound of your voice was enough to make the distance bearable for him, but it had never been. Because nothing compared to walking into this house and finding you waiting for him like thisāeven if it was against his wishes.
āShould be in bed,ā He said, though there wasnāt any real scolding in the comment. You made a quiet sound, a small hum, and your outstretched hand shifted until your fingers brushed his bicep beneath the soft cotton of his button-up. As if you were testing to see if what you were feeling was real, your touch slid down the length of his arm, closing loosely around the hard plastic of his wrist braceāthough your fingers couldnāt touch.
āRhett?ā Your voice was thick with sleep, and he could hear the confusion lacing the edges of it, and his throat tightened at the relief he could sense beneath it.
āYeah, baby,ā He answered, stroking the soft skin under your eye with his thumb, āItās me.ā He confirmed. Your eyes opened only halfway, peeking out through your lashes, and for a long moment you just looked at him, completely dazed, as though you needed to make sure you werenāt still dreaming. Then your mouth curved into a small smile.
āYouāre home.ā He nodded once, his hair falling out of itās slicked back form while doing so.
āIām home.ā You hummed at that, as your eyes slipped shut again, but your fingers began to absentmindedly rub along the thick plastic of the brace, like you were trying to keep yourself from falling back to sleep.
āTook you forever.ā You murmured.
āI knowā¦ā
āI tried to stay awakeā¦Wanted to see youā¦ā The words came out drowsily and soft as you made futile attempts to fight against the exhaustion that was plaguing you. Rhett smirked and leaned in, pressing his chapped lips to your forehead. He stayed there long enough to breathe you ināthe faint scent of your honey shampoo and all the other hair products you piled on after a shower, mixing with the spicy, pine and woody cologne that he owned, all of it mixed with the unmistakable warmth of home, of comfort, of love.
āYouāre seeinā me now,ā He replied, easing back just enough to look down at you, noticing that your eyes were still closed.
āBarely.ā You muttered, and a soft laugh escaped him.
āWell it would help if you would open your eyes, but I can tell youāre too tired for thatā¦So letās get you to bed, sleepinā beauty.ā He stood carefully, gathering the quilts tighter around you so nothing would fall as he was walking, tucking the fabric in until you were fully cocooned. Once he was satisfied with his work he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, then lifted you off the couch slowly, making sure he wasnāt triggering the ache that was still pulsing in his back. Even with him keeping all his injuries in mind, his muscles and bruises still protested, but he ignored every one of them as he drew you close, feeling the heat of your body soaking straight through the fabric that separated the two of you.
Immediately, you curled into him, your cheek pressing against the hard muscle of his chest as you nuzzled closer into him, and without thought, Rhettās arms tightened around you.
āDid you win?ā You asked, the words muffling against the fabric of his shirt.
āStayed on.ā He answered as he began to walk.
āWasnāt my question.ā You shot back, and a small smirk tugged at his mouth at the quiet jab.
āYeahā¦Yeah I won.ā He said, glancing down to caught the soft smile that touched your lips.
āKnew you would.āĀ
The certainty in your voice made his heart clench. You had never doubted himānot once, not through any of the long sessions of training or the hard falls that you had beared witness to. You had watched him win enough buckles that he made most of these circuits look easy from the outside. But that never stopped the worry in you. The wrist brace along was proof enough that the work he put in took its toll, and you couldnāt yet see what was waiting for you under his clothes. But that would be tomorrowās problemāyou would nurse him back to health when he allowed you. Tonight you just wanted himāhis presence, his body, his arms, everything.
Rhett carried you down the hallway with careful stepsāmindful of how narrow it wasākeeping you tucked securely against him so you didnāt accidentally knock against the walls. The navigation of the dark house was only amplified by the soft creak of the floorboard under your combined weights, and halfway to the bedroom your fingers found the greasy strands of his hair, tangling into them.
āMissed you,ā You murmured, and Rhettās jaw flexed at that, as he tilted his face down to rub his chin against the top of your head.
āMissed you tooā¦So damn much.āĀ
There were things he had never learned to say easily, even after five years of being together. He could take a hard fall without making a sound. He could carry every expectation his family stacked on his shoulders without complaint. Tenderness, though, still sometimes caught behind his teeth like it was too fragile to risk letting out those feelings. But with you half-asleep and warm in his arms, the words came easier.
āHated wakinā up without you,ā He said quietly, āAnd I definitely hated cominā back to an empty motel room.ā Your hand slipped from his hair and smoothed slowly down the side of his neck, resting your fingertips over the steady thunder of his pulse.
āYou donāt have to now.ā Rhett closed his eyes for a brief second and let out a long breath.
āNoā¦I donāt.ā
He crossed the threshold into the bedroom, angling carefully around the hefty basket that was stacked high with neatly folded laundry and the sharp edge of the dresser. When he reached the bed he pulled the covers back with one hand without ever letting you go, before lowering you onto the plushness softness of the sheets, putting in more care than he used for almost anything else in his life. But the second his arms started to ease away you made a small, protesting sound.
āIām right here baby.ā He promised, as he began to unravel you from the quilts, tossing them haphazardly on the floor, before crouching down to pull off your socks one at a time. HIs thumb rubbed slowly over the faint indentations each elastic had left around your ankles, kissing the marks, and nuzzling against them, feeling the way your muscles jumped at that. When he was finished he drew the duvet up to your chin and tucked you in, smoothing it around you.
Your eyes opened again the moment he was levelled with you, and he watched concern pull across your faceāyour brows drawing together, and your mouth parting slightly on a breath. You hadnāt seen the bruise blooming along his jaw when he had been crouched beside the couch, but now that you were in a room that had enough lightāfrom the moon that peeked through the curtainsāyou were able to identify the purple shadow that stood out beneath the stubble. Your hand came out from under the covers and your fingertips traced the edge of it, watching as Rhettās eyes closed at the contact and feeling him leaning into the touch even though the sharp pinch of pain made him flinch.
āYouāre hurt,ā You whispered, your voice cracking a little on the discovery. You wondered how this happened, but deep down inside you didnāt really want to know, especially when you werenāt there when it happened. He looked at you through his lashes, his blue eyes catching the light.
āJust soreā¦Itās nothinā to worry about.ā He replied, turning his head to press a kiss into your palm before easing back. If the exhaustion hadnāt already settled so deep in your bone you mightāve sat up and followed himāwrapped your arms around his neck to pull him back down so you could hold him. But as it was right now, the attempt died before it even started and you only managed another soft whine.
āCome backā¦ā Rhett let out a short huff of a laugh and shook his head at you.
āBaby, I need a shower.ā You mirrored him in those moments, shaking your head against the pillow.
āTomorrow.ā His brows lifted at that.
āY/N, I smell like a stockyard and Iām covered in dirt.ā You only shrugged at him.
āDonāt care, we can change the sheets tomorrow and I donāt mind if you smell bad.ā The corner of his mouth twitched.
āYou will in about five minutes.ā He mumbled, as you shifted under the covers to make room before opening them up toward him, quietly inviting him in the space you made.
āCāmere and Iāll prove you wrong.ā There was no demand in your voiceāonly that soft, teasing affection that always managed to cut every argument out from himāand he gave in with a gruff sigh.
āAlrightā¦Itās your funeral.ā He stated, as he worked his belt open and unbuttoned his jeans, letting both of them fall into a careless heap he already knew you would give him hell for in the morning. The buttons of his shirt took longer as he undid them with one hand, before shrugging it off his shoulders to let it join the rest of the clothes. Once he was down to just his boxers he climbed carefully onto the mattress beside you, feeling your body moving in close immediately, dragging the duvet over the both of you. Rhett stretched his arm out so you could fully settle against him, as your leg slipped between his while you tucked your head beneath his chin. His body loosened the second your full weight rested against him, closing both arms around youāsurrounding your body and covering you completelyāsliding one hand up under your shirt until his palm pressed against the small of your back.Ā
Your fingers began tracing slow, idle patterns across his chest while you breathed him in deeply, letting his scent fill your lungs.
āYou donāt smell like a stockyardā¦You smell sweaty.ā You corrected him quietly, pressing your nose against the dark lines of the bull-rider tattoo over his heart and inhaling again on purpose, āLove that smell.ā He hummed low in his throat and shook his head once.
āI think youāre so tired that your sense of smell has gone off its rocker.ā You glared up at him, a small smirk curving your mouth, before leaning in to press a soft kiss right at the base of his throat, tasting the saltiness of his skin.
āMaybeā¦But right nowā¦I like it a lot.ā Rhett sighed, clenching his arms around your body to embrace you even further.
āI told you not to wait up for meā¦If you hadnāt you wouldnāt have been so tired, and you wouldnāt be waking up smellinā like a farm.ā He said, and you hummed again.
āI wanted to be the first thing you saw when you got home.ā You replied softly, feeling Rhettās breathing halt for a moment beneath your head, as your eyes began to close again, feeling the heaviness of sleep washing over your body and invading your mind. You could feel Rhettās hand slowly sliding upward, coming to cradle the back of your head. He gently tipped your face upward towards his and kissed your forehead, then the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then finally your lips. He kept it tender, and unhurriedātouches that asked for nothing but made him feel like he was reuniting with you in a far more intimate way, like he wanted to complete it.
āYou always are,ā He whispered against your mouth, as he allowed you to settle back down against his chest again, and even through the haze of sleep that was about to overtake you, he saw the sleepy smile that draped across your lips before you fell asleep against himāfinally in the comfort of your lover's arms.
āThere were things he had never learned to say easily, even after five years of being together. He could take a hard fall without making a sound. He could carry every expectation his family stacked on his shoulders without complaint. Tenderness, though, still sometimes caught behind his teeth like it was too fragile to risk letting out those feelings. But with you half-asleep and warm in his arms, the words came easier.
āHated wakinā up without you,ā He said quietly, āAnd I definitely hated cominā back to an empty motel room.ā Your hand slipped from his hair and smoothed slowly down the side of his neck, resting your fingertips over the steady thunder of his pulse.ā
Rhett talking about how much he missed the reader made my heart melt š„¹
āWhen he reached the bed he pulled the covers back with one hand without ever letting you go, before lowering you onto the plushness softness of the sheets, putting in more care than he used for almost anything else in his life. But the second his arms started to ease away you made a small, protesting sound.ā
That part was so sweet it made me tear up
āIām right here baby.ā He promised, as he began to unravel you from the quilts, tossing them haphazardly on the floor, before crouching down to pull off your socks one at a time. HIs thumb rubbed slowly over the faint indentations each elastic had left around your ankles, kissing the marks, and nuzzling against them, feeling the way your muscles jumped at that. When he was finished he drew the duvet up to your chin and tucked you in, smoothing it around you.ā
Heās being so gentle and careful I- š„¹š¤§š„°
This was amazing and it contained all the softness that he deserves!!!!
You Shaped Absence - A Teen Rhett Story. (Rhett Abbott/Female Reader)
briefing: grief shows itself in more ways than one can count. you and rhett have spent the last 2 years coping in very different ways. (THEY ARE 20 IN THIS)
words: 14.1k
WARNINGS: references to child abuse, emotional abuse, coercive control, implied sexual abuse, trauma recovery, PTSD symptoms, panic responses, nightmares, family estrangement, grief, loss of a significant relationship, physical violence, assault, arrest, discussions of past victimization, lingering psychological effects of abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and emotionally complicated relationships.
author note: HEED THE WARNINGS. But please let me know what you think!! Also, I'm sorry this is so long. I had a lot of story i wanted to put into this. So it's kinda like a dual-POV situation with Rhett and Girlie's POVs.
September 2016
The sun wasn't up yet. The world sat in that strange hour between night and morning, where everything looked washed in blue-gray shadows and the air still carried the chill from the dark.
Rhett had been awake for almost two hours. Not because he needed to be. Not because there was that much work waiting.
Sleep just didn't stick anymore. It hadn't for a long time.
The fence line stretched along the eastern pasture, disappearing into the dim morning light. Rhett crouched beside a broken post, driving staples into weathered wood with practiced swings of a hammer.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The rhythm was steady. Mechanical. Thoughtless. Exactly the way he liked it.
His old high school hoodie hung loose on his frame, sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms despite the cold. Dirt stained the cuffs. More dirt sat beneath his fingernails. He barely noticed anymore.
A strand of wire snapped into place. He moved to the next section. Then the next. Then the next.
By the time sunlight finally started creeping over the horizon, he'd already repaired nearly fifty yards of fencing. Not because he was in a hurry. Just because there wasn't much else to do.
The horses greeted him when he crossed the pasture. A few nudged at his pockets searching for treats. One bumped his shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. Rhett reached up automatically, scratching the gelding's neck. The horse huffed happily.
Rhett didn't smile.
He dumped feed into the troughs instead. The animals crowded forward immediately. Their excitement felt foreign. Simple. Easy. A life where needs could be met with grain and water and routine.
Lucky bastards.
He lingered for a moment after they settled. Watching them eat. Listening to the soft sounds of chewing and shifting hooves. The quiet didn't bother him anymore. It was almost preferable.
People expected things. The horses never did.
By the time he walked back toward the house, the sun was fully up. The Abbott ranch was awake. Royal's truck sat outside. The kitchen lights glowed through the windows.
Rhett wiped his hands on his jeans before stepping inside. The smell of coffee hit him immediately. Bacon. Eggs. Breakfast. Cecelia stood at the stove. Royal sat at the table reading something that looked suspiciously like he wasn't actually reading it. Both looked up when Rhett entered.
"Morning," Cecelia said softly.
"Mornin'."
His voice sounded rough from disuse.
He grabbed a mug. Poured coffee. Sat down. That was it. No conversation. No stories. No complaints. No plans for the day yet. Just silence. The kind that had become normal.
Royal folded the paper. "Fence fixed?"
"Mostly," Rhett replied without looking up.
"You finish the east section?" Royal asked, moving his head to try to look at rhettās face
"Yeah," Rhett replied flatly.
Royal nodded. Conversation over.
Cecelia set a plate in front of Rhett. He thanked her automatically then started eating. Across the table, Royal exchanged a look with Cecelia. A quick one. The kind people thought went unnoticed. Rhett noticed. He just pretended not to. They'd been doing that for two years. Sharing those looks. Worrying. Trying not to worry. Watching him when they thought he wasn't paying attention. At first he'd hated it. Now he mostly felt tired.
Outside, a truck passed on the road. The sound reached the kitchen windows. Before he could stop himself, Rhett glanced toward it. Just for a second. A habit. Nothing more. The truck kept going. Not that he expected otherwise.
He looked back down at his breakfast. Across the table, neither of his parents said anything. That almost made it worse. Because they knew.
Not everything. Not the whole of it. But enough. Enough to know he never went anywhere unless he had to. Enough to know he stopped going out after work. Enough to know he hadn't dated a single person since. Enough to know he rarely laughed anymore. Enough to know that every unfamiliar vehicle still made him look up. Not because he thought she'd be in it.
Not really. Not consciously. Just because some part of him still checked. Some stupid hopeful part that refused to die no matter how many years passed.
Rhett took another drink of coffee.
Outside, the ranch carried on exactly as it always had. The horses needed feeding. The fences needed repairing. The work never ended. And tomorrow morning he'd wake up before sunrise and do it all again.
For a while, the only sounds in the kitchen were silverware against plates and the occasional turn of a newspaper page. Cecelia hated it. Not the silence itself. The emptiness inside it.
Before, Rhett had always been quiet compared to Perry, but there'd been life underneath it. Smiles. Sarcasm. Complaints about chores. Stories about bull riding. Talk about friends.
Now every conversation felt like trying to coax words from stone. She poured herself another cup of coffee.
"Sleep alright?" she asked softly.
Rhett swallowed a bite of eggs before replying. "Little."
That was all. Not good. Not bad. Justā¦ little.
Cecelia nodded as though that answer wasn't heartbreaking.
"Better than yesterday?" she asked, trying to pry just a little bit of her past sonās personality out of him.
A shrug. Maybe. Maybe not. Rhett didn't elaborate. He kept eating.
Royal kept pretending to read.
Cecelia tried again. "You wanna come into town with us tomorrow?"
"If I must,ā Rhett replied, emotionless.
No irritation. No argument. Just complete indifference. Somehow that felt worse.
Years ago, Rhett would've complained about wasting time in town. He would've asked where they were going. Whether he could stop somewhere afterward. Now he sounded like a man discussing weather.
Royal turned another page. Still not reading.
Cecelia stared into her coffee.
"You talked to anybody lately?" she asked, one last desperate attempt at a conversation with her son.
That finally earned a glance. Brief. Exhausted.
"No one to talk to,ā he replied, then he looked back at his plate.
The answer settled heavily across the table. Not bitter. Not self-pitying. Just matter-of-fact. Like saying the sky was blue. Like saying winter was cold.
No one to talk to.
Royal folded the newspaper. Slowly. Deliberately. The sound seemed unusually loud in the quiet kitchen.
"We need feed," Royal said, firmly.
Rhett nodded.
Royal continued. "And fencing supplies."
Another nod.
"The feed store's got both."
Rhett took a drink of coffee. "Okay."
Royal studied him for a second. "You ain't staying here."
That got a blink. Barely.
"We're going after breakfast in the morninā."
No response. Royal adjusts to look Rhett in the face. "You hear me?"
"Yep," Rhett responds flatly.
Royal leaned back in his chair. "Good."
Silence returned.
Cecelia watched her son carefully.
Twenty years old. Strong. Capable. Working harder than most men twice his age. And somehow looking older than he should. Not physically. Justā¦ Tired. Like he'd been carrying something for too long.
Rhett finished his coffee and stood.
"I'll get the truck loaded."
He carried his plate to the sink before either of them could stop him. Then he disappeared out the back door. The screen slammed shut behind him.
The kitchen felt quieter immediately. For several seconds neither Royal nor Cecelia spoke. Then Cecelia sighed, a deep one. The kind that came from somewhere near her heart. Royal stared toward the door Rhett had just walked through.
"He'll come," Royal said matter-of-factly
"I know," Cecelia said quietly.
"He needs to leave this property once in a while," he continues firmly.
"I know," she said, giving a soft sad smile to her husband. Royal nodded.
Neither mentioned that Rhett only left when absolutely necessary. Neither mentioned that every invitation from friends had stopped coming months ago. Neither mentioned that no girl had been around since. Neither mentioned that half the town seemed to have accepted things would simply be this way now. Because saying it out loud wouldn't help.
Outside the window, Rhett crossed the yard toward the barn. Head down. Hands shoved into the pocket of that old hoodie. Moving with the same steady purpose he always had. Working. Existing. Surviving. Nothing more.
Cecelia watched him disappear inside. Then she quietly reached across the table and squeezed Royal's hand. Royal squeezed back. Neither said what they were both thinking.
Two years should have been enough.
It hadn't been.
ā
Life existed here. That was the first thing people noticed about Oklahoma State.
The movement. The noise. The constant feeling that something was happening somewhere.
Students hurried across campus carrying backpacks and coffee cups. Laughter drifted from groups gathered on benches. A tour group shuffled past a fountain while some exhausted senior tried explaining campus traditions to a collection of terrified freshmen.
The place never seemed to stop moving.
At first, it had been overwhelming. Now it was simply life.
You adjusted the strap of your bag and stepped out of the student union, blinking against the morning sunlight. A crowd flowed around you immediately.
You let them. You'd gotten good at that. Moving with people instead of against them. Blending into the current. A sharp shout somewhere behind you made your shoulders tense automatically.
Not dramatically. Most people wouldn't notice. But you felt it. That brief tightening in your chest. That instinctive spike of adrenaline.
You glanced over your shoulder. Just a group of students joking around. Nothing dangerous. Nothing directed at you.
You kept walking. The tension faded after a few steps. Mostly.
The campus stretched out ahead of you. Brick buildings. Green lawns. Students everywhere.
You still sat near exits whenever possible. Still preferred knowing exactly where the nearest door was. Still hated being startled. Still found yourself apologizing for things that weren't your fault. But you weren't living in fear anymore. That was the difference. The biggest difference.
You reached your classroom a few minutes early and slipped inside. The room was only half full.
Perfect.
You claimed your usual seat. Third row. Near the side door. Not close enough to look strange. Not far enough away to miss anything. Just comfortable. Predictable. Safe.
You pulled out your notebook. Opened to a clean page. Clicked your pen.
Around you, conversations filled the room. Most people in this class knew who you were by now. Not because you were loud. Quite the opposite. People liked you. Professors liked you. Classmates liked you. You showed up. You paid attention. You listened when people talked. Turns out that went a long way. A few students waved as they entered. You waved back. One stopped by your desk briefly.
"Hey, did you finish the reading?" they asked.
"Yeah," you replied, giving a gentle smile.
"Was it awful?"
You considered it. "A little."
The student laughed. "I knew it."
You smiled. Small. Genuine. The conversation lasted maybe thirty seconds before they moved on.
Two years ago, you probably would've spent the rest of the day replaying it in your head. Wondering if you'd said something wrong. Wondering if you'd sounded stupid. Wondering if you'd somehow upset them.
Now? You just opened your notebook. And waited for class to start.
Progress wasn't always dramatic. Sometimes it looked like that. A thirty-second conversation you didn't spend six hours worrying about afterward.
The professor arrived. The lecture began. You took notes. Answered a question when called on. Participated in discussion. Normal things. Things that would've seemed impossible once.
Outside the windows, students crossed campus beneath bright Oklahoma sunshine.
Inside, pens scratched across paper. The professor rambled about concepts that would definitely be on the exam. Someone yawned loudly. Someone else nearly fell asleep.
Life. Messy. Ordinary. Moving forward whether you were ready or not.
By the time class ended, your notebook was filled with pages of notes. You packed your bag and stood with everyone else. The crowd bottlenecked near the doorway. Too many people. Too close together. You waited instead. Let them leave first. You always did.
Eventually the room emptied enough to breathe. Only then did you step into the hallway. The noise hit immediately. Hundreds of students moving between classes. From room to room, from building to building. Conversations overlapping. Shoes squeaking against polished floors.
You managed it. You always managed it. But by the time you escaped outside again, the exhaustion had already started settling behind your eyes. Crowds still did that, they took something out of you. Not enough to stop you. Not enough to send you running. Just enough to remind you that healing wasn't the same thing as being healed.
The breeze caught your hair as you stepped into the sunlight. You tilted your face toward the warmth for a second. Then continued toward your next class. One foot in front of the other.
Building a life. Slowly. Carefully. But building it all the same.
You met Wesley because he wouldn't leave you alone. Not in a creepy way. Not even in an annoying way, somehow. Just...Wesley-shaped. The first time you'd spoken to him had been during a group project at the beginning of the semester. The second time had been because he'd spotted you in the library. The third time had been because he'd apparently decided you were his friend. You hadn't really gotten a say in it. Somehow, that was okay.
"You're doing it again."
You looked up from your textbook. Across the table, Wesley was staring at you. Suspiciously.
"You have to be more specific."
"You're reading."
You blinked. "...That's what people do in libraries."
"No, you're reading like you're preparing to testify before Congress."
You stared at him. He stared back. Neither moved.
Finally, Wesley pointed at your textbook. "You've been on the same page for six minutes."
"I have not."
"You absolutely have."
You glanced down. The page number was exactly the same one you'd been looking at when he'd left to get food.
Damn it.
Wesley looked unbearably pleased with himself.
"See?"
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
Unfortunately, he was correct.
A few minutes later, the two of you had migrated outside. The weather was too nice to stay indoors. You sat beneath a tree near one of the walkways, balancing a basket of fries on your knee while Wesley talked about something that had happened in one of his classes. Honestly? You'd lost track of the story three tangents ago.
"...and then he said it wasn't technically arson."
You paused.
"What?"
"Exactly."
"Wesley."
"I'm just saying if someone starts a fire accidentally, can we really call it arson?"
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
He gasped dramatically. "Betrayal."
You rolled your eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
Wesley continued talking. You listened. Half listening. Half watching students pass by. The afternoon sun felt warm against your skin. The campus buzzed with life around you. And for once, it didn't feel overwhelming. Justā¦ Present.
You reached for another fry. Stopped. Considered. Maybe.
A hand shot into the basket. Your eyes widened. Wesley immediately shoved the stolen fry into his mouth. You stared at him. Offended. Genuinely offended.
"Wesley."
He chewed thoughtfully. "You took too long deciding if you wanted it."
You continued staring.Ā
He swallowed. "That's legally my fry now."
The seriousness in his voice broke something loose. A laugh escaped before you could stop it.
Real. Unexpected. Not polite. Not forced. A laugh.
Wesley's face lit up immediately.
"Oh my God."
You narrowed your eyes.
"What?"
"You laughed."
"I do that."
"No, you don't."
"I absolutely do."
"I've known you for months."
You pointed a fry at him threateningly. "Careful."
"I've seen you smile." He held up one finger. "Once."
A second finger. "And smirk."
A third finger. "And commit minor acts of sarcasm."
"Wesley."
"But laugh?" He shook his head dramatically. "Historic occasion."
You groaned.
He looked delighted. The idiot.
For a moment, you simply sat there. Watching students move through campus. Listening to Wesley ramble about absolutely nothing. Feeling the warmth of the afternoon. And for the first time all day, maybe all week, breathing felt easy. Not because Wesley fixed anything.
He didn't.
The nightmares still happened. Crowds still exhausted you. Sudden movements still made your heart jump. There were still days where grief appeared out of nowhere and sat heavy in your chest.
But Wesley had a strange talent. He made room. Room to laugh. Room to exist. Room to be twenty years old instead of a survivor. And sometimes, that was enough.
"Can I have another fry?" Wesley asked.
"No."
"I think friendship requires sacrifice."
"You can sacrifice your own money and buy your own fries."
"Wow." He put a hand over his heart. "That was unnecessarily hostile."
You smiled despite yourself. And Wesley, predictably, stole another fry anyway.
The drive home wasn't long. Long enough to leave campus behind. Long enough for the noise to fade. Long enough to exchange crowded sidewalks and brick buildings for familiar roads and open sky. Not long enough for your grandmother to stop waiting by the front window.
She was standing there when you pulled into the driveway. Just like always. The front door opened before you'd even shut off the car. You smiled despite yourself.
"Hi, Grandma."
"There she is." You barely had time to set your bag down before she wrapped you in a hug. A real one. The kind that squeezed. The kind that lingered. The kind that had helped keep you alive two years ago. "How was the drive?"
"Fine."
"Classes?"
"Good."
"You eating?"
You laughed. "Yes."
She narrowed her eyes. "You better be."
"I am."
"You promise?"
"Grandma."
"That's not a promise."
You groaned.
She looked entirely too pleased with herself. Some things never changed.
Thank God. The house smelled like home. Dinner simmering on the stove. Fresh coffee. The faint scent of laundry detergent. Safe. That was still the first word that came to mind whenever you walked through the front door. Safe. Two years later, it still felt strange sometimes. Not because you doubted it. Because you'd spent so long without it.
Your grandmother watched you unpack your overnight bag while pretending she wasn't watching. You noticed. You always noticed. But you let her. Because you understood. She worried. She always would. It wasn't entirely her fault. Two years ago, you'd arrived carrying everything you owned in a handful of bags. Exhausted. Underweight. Constantly crying. Barely sleeping. Barely eating. Barely speaking.
You remembered sitting on this same couch for hours without moving. Remembered staring at the television without actually seeing it. Remembered waking up screaming from nightmares and pretending you hadn't. Remembered apologizing every time you took up space. Every time you made noise. Every time you needed something. You remembered the way your grandmother had simply sat beside you. Never pushing. Never demanding. Just waiting. Patiently. Loving you anyway.
But now? Now you smiled. Not all the time. But enough. You had friends. You went to class. You laughed. You ate actual meals without being reminded. You slept through most nights. Not all. Most. It was progress. Real progress. The kind people fought for. The kind people earned.
Your grandmother saw it too. That was why she smiled every time you walked through the door. Because she remembered. She remembered every step it had taken to get here. That didn't mean she stopped worrying. Not even close.
Later that evening, the two of you sat together in the living room. A movie played quietly in the background. Neither of you were really watching it. Your phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Unknown number.
The reaction was immediate. Tiny. Almost invisible. Your shoulders tensed. Your stomach dropped. Your eyes locked on the screen.
Unknown Caller.
Your grandmother noticed. She always noticed.
The phone rang twice more. Then stopped. Voicemail. You exhaled slowly. Only then realizing you'd stopped breathing.
Your grandmother reached over and squeezed your hand. "You okay?"
You nodded. "Yeah."
It wasn't entirely true. But it wasn't entirely false either. You were okay. You just weren't untouched. The distinction mattered. The movie continued.
Outside, the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The house settled into evening quiet.
Your grandmother studied your profile for a moment. The relaxed posture. The healthier complexion. The way you smiled more easily now. Then she thought about the nightmares that still slipped through sometimes. The panic that appeared whenever an unknown number called. The way you instinctively apologized when someone bumped into you. The tension that still entered your shoulders around certain men. Certain women. The scars nobody could see.
Her chest tightened. Because healing wasn't the same thing as being healed. And because there was one fear she never quite managed to shake. That somehow, some way, your parents would come after you.
She hated herself for thinking it. But she thought it anyway. Every time the phone rang unexpectedly. Every time a strange vehicle drove too slowly down the street. Every time someone knocked on the door after dark. It wasn't rational anymore. Not really. But fear rarely cared about rationality.
Across the room, you laughed softly at something ridiculous happening on the television. Your grandmother looked over. And smiled. Because fear wasn't the whole story anymore. Not anymore. You were building a life. A real one. And every day that passed made her a little more certain that leaving had saved you. Even if it had broken your heart. Even if it still hurt.
You were alive.
You were healing.
And for now, that was enough.
ā
The ranch got quieter at night. Not silent. Never silent. There were always sounds. Wind brushing against the side of the house. The occasional creak of old wood settling. Coyotes somewhere in the distance. Horses shifting in the pasture.
But compared to the day? It was quiet enough that a person could think.
Rhett hated that part.
He sat on the edge of his bed in the darkness. The lamp beside him was the only light in the room. Everything else sat in shadow. His boots rested by the door. His hoodie hung over the back of a chair. The room looked almost exactly the same as it had two years ago. That wasn't intentional. He just never found a reason to change it.Ā
The phone in his hand lit his face blue. A familiar contact sat open on the screen. A conversation that hadn't moved in years. The last message he'd sent was old enough that it should've stopped hurting by now. It hadn't. He stared at it for a long moment. Then looked away. The thing wasā¦ he knew. He knew there wouldn't be a response. He wasn't stupid. He wasn't sitting around expecting a miracle. He understood reality. That didn't stop his thumb from hovering over the keyboard sometimes. Tonight wasn't any different.
Hey. The word appeared. He stared at it. Then deleted it. The cursor blinked. Waiting. He locked the phone and tossed it onto the bed beside him. The room fell deafeningly quiet again.
For a while, he just sat there. Elbows on his knees. Looking at nothing. Then eventually he stood. Crossed the room. Opened the top drawer of his dresser. Everything inside was ordinary. Socks. Old receipts. Random junk. Beneath it all sat a faded t-shirt. Small. Soft from years of washing. Not his. It had never been his. You'd left it behind accidentally. Two years ago. Back when leaving a shirt somewhere had felt normal. Back when either of you would've assumed there would be another day. Another week. Another month. Another year.
Rhett picked it up carefully. Not because it was fragile but because he was. His thumb brushed over the fabric. The shirt didn't smell like you anymore. That part had disappeared a long time ago. Now it just smelled like cotton. Laundry detergent. Time. Stillā¦ he couldn't make himself throw it away. Not because he thought you were coming back for it. Not because he was preserving some shrine. Because every now and then he needed proof that you'd actually existed. That you weren't becoming something his brain had invented.
A dream. A memory. A story. The shirt was real. Which meant you had been too.
He folded it again after a moment. Placed it carefully back where it belonged. Beneath everything else. Out of sight. Not gone. Just hidden.
The drawer slid shut.
On the wall above his desk hung a few old photographs. Most people wouldn't have noticed them. Most people wouldn't have looked twice. One was from high school. A group photo. Friends crowded together after some football game. Your old best friend Casey was in it. Rhettās friends were in it. A few others too. And there you were. Half hidden behind someone. Laughing at something outside the frame. Rhett couldn't even remember what had been funny. Just that you'd been laughing.
His chest tightened. The same way it always did. Not sharply anymore. Not like the beginning. Back then the grief had been loud. Violent. Impossible to escape. Now it was quieter. A permanent ache. Something woven into everything else. Like an old injury that never healed quite right. You have to learn how to live with it. That doesnāt mean it stops hurting.
The phone lit up again. No messages. Just the screen waking when it shifted on the blanket. Rhett looked at it. Then away. Then back again. Eventually he picked it up. Opened the conversation. Typed. Hope you're okay. He stared at the words. Long enough for the screen to dim. Then he deleted them too. Locked the phone. Set it face down on the nightstand.
Outside, the wind rattled softly against the window. Inside, the room felt too big. Too quiet. Too empty. Rhett switched off the lamp. Darkness settled around him immediately. He stretched out on top of the blankets. Closed his eyes.
And somewhere hundreds of miles away, in a place he couldn't picture anymore without trying, you were living a life he knew nothing about. Maybe that was what hurt the most. Not that you'd left. Not anymore. It was that the world had kept turning afterward. And he wasn't part of yours. Just like you weren't part of his. At least not in any way that mattered. The thought sat heavily in his chest.
Then morning came anyway. Just like it always did.
ā
The feed store smelled like grain, dust, and fertilizer. It always had. Some things in Wabang never changed.
Rhett followed behind Royal, one hand wrapped around the handle of a flat cart while his father compared prices on fencing supplies. The store was busy for a weekday. Farmers. Ranchers. A couple of families. The usual crowd.
Rhett barely paid attention. He rarely did when he came into town. Get the supplies. Load the truck. Go home. That was usually the extent of his interest.
Royal wandered toward another aisle. Rhett stayed behind with the cart. A voice called from behind him. "Well, shit."
He turned. Casey stood near the register holding a pricing gun. The name tag clipped to her shirt confirmed what everyone in town already knew. She worked here now. Her dark hair was pulled back. A pen was tucked behind one ear. She looked exactly how Rhett imagined someone who worked at a feed store should look. But nothing like high school. Comfortable. Capable. At home here.
"Hey," Rhett said.
"Look at that." She tilted her head. "It can still talk."
Rhett rolled his eyes. The reaction came automatically. Which was probably why Casey smiled.
"There he is."
"There who is?"
"The guy who used to have a personality."
Rhett snorted softly. Not quite a laugh. But close enough.
Casey noticed. Of course she noticed. She always noticed things. Especially when it came to him. Or ratherā¦ when it came to things connected to you. The realization sat quietly between them. Unspoken. As it always did. Casey had been your friend long before you'd left. One of your closest friends. She'd watched you disappear. Watched the aftermath. Watched what it had done to Rhett. Nobody had ever really talked about it directly. There wasn't much to say. You were gone. That was the fact everything else revolved around.
Casey leaned against a pallet of feed bags. "You look terrible."
"Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious." She frowned slightly. "You sleeping?"
"Some."
"You eating?"
Rhett shot her a look.
She raised both hands. "Sorry. I forgot your mother already asks those questions."
"Daily."
"Thought so."
For a moment, Casey simply studied him. Not judgmental. Not pitying. Just honest. The way old friends sometimes were. She noticed the things everyone noticed. The thinner frame. The permanent exhaustion. The way his attention seemed to drift somewhere far away even when he was standing right in front of you. Most people eventually stopped asking about it. Stopped expecting improvement. Stopped hoping he'd wake up one day magically healed.
Casey hadn't. Not because she thought she could fix it. Just because she remembered. She remembered who he'd been before. The same way she remembered who you'd been.
"You're staring," Rhett said.
"You still look terrible."
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The kindness."
Casey laughed. A real laugh. The sound startled something loose in him. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remember. For a second, he could almost picture the three of you standing together after school somewhere. You laughing. Casey rolling her eyes. Him pretending not to smile. The image disappeared as quickly as it came. Like it always did.
Casey's expression softened slightly. Only slightly.
"You know," she said, "one of these days somebody's gonna drag you somewhere fun."
"Doubt it."
"I could."
"No."
"You don't even know where I'd take you."
"Doesn't matter."
Casey sighed dramatically. "See? This is why nobody invites you anywhere anymore."
"Good."
"That's a deeply concerning answer."
Rhett shrugged.
Casey shook her head.
But there was affection there. Familiarity. Something old and worn-in. Not romantic. Not yet. Just two people carrying around the same absence.
Royal's voice echoed from farther down the aisle. "Rhett."
"Yeah."
Casey stepped aside as he started pushing the cart again.
"See you around, Abbott."
"Probably."
"You better."
Rhett glanced back once.
Casey was already helping another customer. Moving through her day. Living her life.
He turned the corner. The moment passed.
But for the first time all morning, something felt different. Not better. Not fixed. Justā¦ less heavy. A tiny shift. Gone almost as soon as it arrived. Still. It was there.
ā
The counseling center sat on the quieter side of campus. You liked that. Less foot traffic. Less noise. Less chance of running into someone you knew while walking in or out. Not that there was anything wrong with therapy. You knew that now.
Two years ago, you probably would've apologized for being there. Now you just showed up. Sat down. Did the work.
The waiting room was familiar enough that you no longer felt nervous when you stepped inside. The receptionist smiled. You smiled back.
A few minutes later, your therapist appeared in the doorway. "Ready?"
You nodded.
The session itself wasn't remarkable. Most of them weren't anymore. Not because they weren't important. Because healing rarely looked dramatic. Most weeks it looked like conversations. Observations. Patterns. Small victories. Small setbacks. Life.
Today was no different. The two of you talked. About classes. About stress. About sleep. About Wesley. Your therapist seemed particularly amused by Wesley. Most people were. By the end of the session, your therapist closed her notebook and leaned back slightly.
"You know," she said, "I still think one of the things that surprised me most was how aware you were."
You knew what she meant. She wasn't talking about school. Or friendships. Or anxiety. She was talking about before. Your chest tightened slightly. Not painfully. Just enough. You looked down at your hands. For a long moment, neither of you spoke.
Then you shrugged. "I always knew." The words came quietly. Matter-of-fact. Not emotional. Not defensive. Just true.
Your therapist nodded slowly. Because she'd heard this before. Not from everyone. But from you. Again and again. You always knew. You hadn't spent years believing everything was normal. You hadn't spent years completely unaware.
That was what had surprised her.
Many survivors spent a long time untangling what happened. Finding language for it. Understanding it.
You hadn't needed help understanding. You'd needed help surviving afterward. There was a difference.
You stared at a spot on the floor. Thinking. Remembering. Not details. Never details. Just the feeling. The certainty. The constant awareness. You'd known things weren't right. You'd known things weren't okay. You'd known things weren't supposed to happen. The problem had never been understanding. The problem had been consequence. Because understanding something and being able to do something about it weren't the same thing. You had understood. And you had also understood exactly what would happen if you spoke. Exactly what would happen if you fought. Exactly what would happen if you ran before you were ready. Survival had required silence. At least for a while. That realization no longer filled you with guilt the way it once had.
Your therapist had helped with that. A lot. Not by giving you permission. By helping you understand you didn't need permission. You'd been a child. Then a teenager. Then a young woman trapped in an impossible situation. You had survived the only way you knew how. There was no shame in that.
Your therapist seemed to read part of the thought on your face. "You did what you had to do."
You nodded slowly.
The words still felt strange sometimes. Not wrong. Just unfamiliar.
The session ended a few minutes later. You scheduled your next appointment. Collected your bag. Stepped back outside.
The Oklahoma sun greeted you immediately. Warm. Bright. Alive.
Students crossed campus in every direction. Someone laughed nearby. A bike rolled past. Life continued.
You stood there for a moment. Breathing.
Two years ago, you had arrived in Oklahoma carrying fear like a second skin. Now?
The fear was still there sometimes. The nightmares too. The panic. The memories. But they weren't driving anymore. You were.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and started walking. One class left for the day. Then dinner. Then probably listening to Wesley say something ridiculous. A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Not because everything was okay. Because enough things were. And for now, that was enough.
ā
Night arrived differently in Wyoming.
And differently in Oklahoma.
But loneliness, it turned out, looked remarkably similar no matter where you were.
~
Rhett drove because he couldn't sleep. The truck rolled down an empty county road with the windows cracked just enough to let cool air inside. The radio stayed off. It usually did. The headlights cut through darkness while pastureland stretched endlessly on either side. No destination. No reason. Just movement. Sometimes that was enough. The town disappeared behind him. The ranch disappeared behind him. Everything disappeared except the road.
Rhett rested one arm against the window frame and watched fence posts flash by. The same fences. The same roads. The same fields.
His entire life had happened out here. Some nights that felt comforting. Other nights it felt like being trapped inside a photograph.
~
You sat cross-legged on your bed with a textbook open in your lap. The dorm was quiet. Not silent. Never silent. Someone laughed somewhere down the hall. A door opened and shut. Music played faintly from another room.
Life continued around you.
You highlighted a sentence. Read it twice. Then realized you hadn't absorbed a single word.
Your eyes drifted toward the window. Darkness stared back. The campus looked completely different at night. Softer somehow. Less crowded. Less demanding.
You liked it best this way.
~
Rhett pulled into a gravel turnout overlooking nothing particularly special. Just open Wyoming land. He shut off the truck. Silence settled immediately. The engine ticked softly as it cooled. He leaned his head back against the seat. Closed his eyes. Tried not to think. Failed.
You eventually gave up pretending to study. The textbook slid onto your nightstand. You stretched out on top of the blankets and stared at the ceiling. The glow from a nearby lamp painted soft shadows across the room.Ā
Your roommate was gone for the weekend. The quiet felt larger because of it. Not unpleasant. Just noticeable.
~
Rhett eventually made it home. The ranch slept around him. Lights off. Windows dark. Everyone else resting. He climbed the stairs quietly. Entered his room. Changed clothes. Turned off the lamp. Then laid awake.
Just like he had the night before. And the night before that. And most nights before that.
~
You checked your alarm. Checked the time. Checked it again ten minutes later. Sleep refused to come. Not because you were afraid. Not because of nightmares. Not tonight.
Sometimes your brain simply wouldn't settle. Too many thoughts. Too much life. Too much history.
~
The moonlight spilled across Rhett's ceiling. He watched it without really seeing it. Somewhere along the way, memories had become strange things. Less sharp. Less immediate. Not gone.
Justā¦ distant. Like photographs left in the sun too long. Still recognizable. Still important. Just harder to hold onto.
~
Streetlights painted pale shapes across your bedroom wall. You rolled onto your side. Then onto your back again. The ceiling remained stubbornly unchanged.
A laugh escaped you suddenly. Small. Private. You remembered something Wesley had said earlier. Something completely ridiculous.
You could already hear your grandmother laughing when you told her about it next weekend. The thought made you smile.
~
Rhett turned onto his side. Then back again. Sleep still nowhere in sight. Tomorrow would come early. The horses would need feeding. The fences would need work. The ranch would keep moving. It always did. The world never seemed to care whether people were ready for another day.
~
You eventually sat up. Grabbed your notebook. Started reviewing lecture notes instead. The familiar routine helped. Words. Facts. Information. Something concrete. Something that stayed where you put it.
~
Hundreds of miles apart. Different states. Different lives. Different futures unfolding one day at a time. Yet somehow the emptiness felt familiar. Not identical. Not even close. But familiar. Like two people standing beneath different skies and looking at the same moon. Neither aware of the other. Neither knowing where the other was. What they were doing. Whether they were happy. Whether they were hurting. Whether they ever thought about the past anymore.
~
Eventually, sometime after midnight, you fell asleep with your notebook still open beside you. The lamp remained on. A pen balanced loosely between your fingers.
~
Eventually, sometime after midnight, exhaustion finally dragged Rhett under too. The moonlight still stretched across the room. The ranch remained quiet. The truck sat cooling outside.
~
Morning would find both of you again. Building separate lives. Carrying separate griefs. Moving forward in ways neither could fully see. Still shaped by the same absence. Still orbiting something neither one knew how to let go of.
Not yet.
ā
The second trip to the feed store happened three days later. Because of course it did.
No matter how carefully Royal planned, there was always something forgotten. A box of staples. A replacement latch. A specific type of feed that somehow hadn't made it into the truck the first time. Something. There was always something.
Rhett didn't complain when Royal told him they needed to go back. He rarely complained about much anymore. He just grabbed his keys and followed his parents into town.Ā
The parking lot was nearly full when they arrived. A good sign for the store. An annoying sign for everyone trying to find parking. Royal squeezed the truck into a spot near the far side of the lot. The three of them climbed out.
The afternoon sun sat high overhead. Warm. Bright. Normal.
Inside, the store buzzed with activity. The sound hit immediately. Shopping carts rattling across concrete floors. People talking across aisles. Someone laughing near the registers. The occasional bark from a dog that had convinced its owner to bring it shopping. Normal. Entirely normal. The smell of feed, fertilizer, leather, and dust hung in the air. Familiar enough that Rhett barely noticed it anymore.
Royal immediately headed toward the hardware section. Cecelia disappeared in the opposite direction after announcing she needed "one thing" and refusing to elaborate further. Which probably meant six things. Maybe ten.
Rhett grabbed a flat cart and followed his father.Ā
The store felt more crowded than usual. People moved around them constantly. Farmers discussing equipment. Ranchers comparing prices. Teenagers working weekend shifts. Families picking up supplies. Life. Ordinary life. The kind that continued whether you participated in it or not.
Royal stopped beside a display of fencing materials. "Need those."
Rhett loaded them onto the cart.
A few minutes later:
"Need those too."
More supplies. The cart slowly filled. The work required no thought. Which was good. Thought usually wasn't particularly useful. Especially in places like this.
He rounded the corner of another aisle and nearly collided with a customer pushing a cart. "Sorry." The apology came automatically.
The man waved him off. "No problem."
Rhett continued walking. The store swallowed him back into its noise.
At the front registers, Casey worked through a growing line of customers. Scanning feed bags. Answering questions. Helping someone find a specific brand of horse supplement. She looked up briefly while handing a receipt to a customer. Her eyes found Rhett automatically. Not because she'd been looking for him. Because she always seemed to notice him when he was around. The same way he'd noticed her. The same way everyone noticed familiar faces in a small town. Their eyes met for a second. Casey lifted two fingers in a casual greeting. Rhett nodded back. Nothing more.
Then another customer demanded her attention and she disappeared back into work. Normal. Everything felt normal. A little annoying. A little busy. A little boring. Exactly the sort of day people forgot about by dinner.
Royal compared two different boxes of hardware. Rejected one. Selected the other. Rhett loaded it onto the cart.
A kid ran laughing through an aisle before his mother caught him and dragged him back. Someone dropped a bag of feed. A worker cursed softly. Life carried on. Unremarkable. Routine. Safe.
By the time they finally headed toward the front of the store, the cart was piled high enough that Royal looked vaguely satisfied. Which was about as enthusiastic as Royal Abbott ever got while shopping.
Rhett pushed the cart toward the registers. Casey was helping another customer. Cecelia was somewhere nearby.
The afternoon crowd continued moving around them. Conversations overlapped. Carts rolled across concrete. Someone laughed. Someone complained about prices. Someone argued over fencing wire. Nothing unusual. Nothing alarming. Nothing that suggested the next few minutes would become something people in Wabang talked about for years afterward. At that moment, it was still just another afternoon. Just another trip to the feed store. Just another day.
The cart was nearly full. Royal stood beside it, mentally checking through the list one last time.
Then frowned. "Damn it."
Rhett looked up. "What?"
"I forgot the gate hinges."
Rhett wasn't surprised. Royal never forgot the important things. The problem was there were approximately eight hundred things Royal considered important.
"They're back there somewhere," Royal muttered, already turning away.
"I'll stay with the cart."
Royal nodded once. "Don't let your mother start adding things."
"No promises."
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of Royal's mouth before he disappeared down another aisle. Rhett rested both hands on the cart handle. Waited. People moved around him. Customers wandered past. A couple argued over feed prices. Someone asked an employee where to find mineral blocks. Normal.
Just another afternoon.
Then he saw him.
The recognition was immediate. Violent. Not physically. Something else. Like ice water down his spine.
Your father stood near the end of an aisle twenty feet away. Older than Rhett remembered. Not by much. Just enough. He was looking at a display of fencing supplies. Completely unaware.
For a second, Rhett considered simply leaving. Turning around. Walking the other direction. There was nothing worth saying. Nothing worth hearing.
The man had made your life hell. Then you'd left. That should've been the end of it.
Unfortunately, life rarely cared about should've.
As if sensing it, your father glanced up. Their eyes met. Rhett saw recognition happen instantly. Saw the moment the older man placed him. Saw the smile that followed.
Rhettās stomach turned. Not fear. Disgust. Pure disgust.
Your father started walking toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he had all the time in the world. Like he owned the place.
Rhett looked away first. Not because he was intimidated. Because he wasn't interested. The cart suddenly seemed fascinating. Maybe if he ignored him, the interaction would end before it started.
No such luck. Your father stopped beside him. Close enough that Rhett could smell stale cigarette smoke.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then: "Aren't you the kid that stole my baby girl from me?"
The words landed with exactly the amount of smug satisfaction the man intended.
Rhett stared straight ahead. Said nothing.
Your father chuckled. "Nothing to say, boy?"
Slowly, Rhett turned his head. Met his eyes. The disgust sitting in his chest sharpened. Not grief. Not sadness. Certainly not fear. Just revulsion. The kind usually reserved for something rotten. Something dead.
He sighed. Once. Tired already. "You ran her off."
The smile on your father's face faltered slightly.
Rhett continued. "So she left me too."
The words came out calm. Flat. Matter-of-fact. No emotion behind them.
That seemed to irritate the older man more than yelling would've.
"Right." He laughed, disbelieving. "That was my fault."
Rhett looked away again. The conversation wasn't worth having. Not with him. Not here. Not ever.
"What do you even want, man?" Rhett said, noticeably annoyed.
For a second, silence stretched between them. Then your father smiled again. And somehow it looked uglier this time.
"I just think it's funny."
Rhett didn't respond.
"You took my baby girl away."
The smile widened.
"But I'll always have something of hers you never will get."
Something about the way he said it made Rhett's skin crawl.
Not the words. The tone. The ownership. The satisfaction.
Every instinct told him to walk away. So he did.
He pushed the cart forward. Ready to end the conversation. Ready to find Royal. Ready to be done.
"Whatever, man."
Rhett barely looked at him.Ā
But behind him, footsteps followed. And your father wasn't finished talking. So his footsteps followed. Persistent. Deliberate.
Your father clearly wasn't interested in letting the conversation end.
"Go away, man," Rhett muttered.
The older man laughed. Not a pleasant sound. Not even an angry one. Just smug. Satisfied. Like he was enjoying himself.
Rhett hated it.
"Still thinking about her?"
Rhett kept walking. No answer.
"Funny thing is," your father continued, "you never really knew her."
That finally made Rhett stop. Not because the words hurt. Because they irritated him.
He turned around slowly. The cart sat forgotten between them.
Around them, the feed store carried on. People shopping. Carts rattling. Conversations blending together. Normal life continuing completely unaware.
Your father smiled. "You thought you did."
Rhett folded his arms. "What are you trying to accomplish here?"
The question didn't seem to matter. The older man just kept talking.
"You always looked so proud."
Rhett's jaw tightened. "Man, I really don't care."
"You should." Your fatherās smile widened.
Something about it felt wrong. Rhett couldn't have explained why. Only that every instinct told him to leave. Now. Immediately. Instead, he stayed. A mistake.
"Every time we thought someone touched her..."
The words caught Rhett off guard. Not because they made sense. But because they didn't.
He frowned.
Your father chuckled. As if he found the confusion amusing.
"We made sure she remembered who her body actually belonged to."
For a second, Rhett genuinely didn't understand. The sentence entered his ears. The words registered. But his brain refused to arrange them into anything meaningful.
Belonged to? What the hell did that evenā
Then understanding began creeping in.
Slow. Horrible. Piece by piece. Like a door opening somewhere deep inside his head.
No.
No.
That wasn't what he meant. It couldn't be.
Rhett stared at him. The noise of the store suddenly seemed farther away. Muted. Distant.
Your father was still smiling. Still watching him. Waiting. Enjoying the reaction.
And suddenly Rhett felt sick. His stomach dropped. Cold adrenaline flooded his system so quickly it almost hurt. His hearing narrowed. The edges of his vision seemed strangely blurry.
His hands had curled into fists without permission. Without thought. Without him even noticing. For one terrible second he couldn't draw a full breath. The air caught somewhere in his chest. Refused to move.
Your father laughed. The sound scraped against his nerves.
Rhett slowly turned toward him.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?"
His own voice sounded strange. Too calm. Far too calm.
The older man only grinned. Like he'd been waiting for exactly that question.
"If I could tell she'd been out with youā"
Rhett took a step forward. The movement was automatic. Unconscious.
"Whatā¦ the fuckā¦ did you just say to me?"
Slower this time. More deliberate.
The smile never left your father's face. If anything, it grew. Because now he knew. Now he knew Rhett understood. And he liked it.
"She knew who she belonged to,ā your father said clearly.
Rhett's pulse thundered in his ears.
The store seemed impossibly quiet despite all the people around them.
Every muscle in his body locked tight. His fists hurt. He hadn't realized how hard he was clenching them.
Your father kept talking. Kept smiling. Kept enjoying himself.
And that was the part Rhett couldn't process. Not the cruelty. Not the implication. The pride. The satisfaction. As though this was something worth bragging about. Something worth claiming.
Rhett moved another step closer. His breathing felt wrong. Too fast. Too shallow. Like his body had forgotten how to function properly.
"What."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"The."
Another step.
"Fuck."
Your father didn't move. Didn't back away. Didn't stop smiling.
"Did."
The nausea rolled through him again. Violent. Hot. Cold. Everything at once.
"You."
The older man opened his mouth. Still talking. Still explaining. Still proud.
"Just."
And suddenly Rhett understood something else. The reason you'd been afraid. The reason you'd left. The reason you'd never talked about it. The reason you'd run. All of it crashed together at once.
"What did you say to me?"
The words landed almost gently. Disturbingly calm. Far calmer than he felt.
Your father smiled directly into his eyes. And kept talking.
That was the mistake.
Not the words. Not the smugness. Not even the horrible pride behind it.
The mistake was continuing. Continuing as if this was a story worth telling. As if it was funny. As if it was something he'd earned. Something he'd won. Something he was proud of.
Rhett didn't remember deciding to move. One second he was standing there. The next his fist connected. The impact snapped your father's head sideways. The smile vanished instantly.
A collective gasp rippled through the nearby aisle. Not screaming. Not panic. Just shock. The kind that came when something everyone knew was possible finally happened.
Your father stumbled.
Rhett hit him again.
Then again.
Years of grief. Years of guilt. Years of wondering why. Years of believing you'd left because there was no other choice.
And nowā¦ Now there was this. This horrible truth. This thing Rhett couldn't unknow. Couldn't put back.
Your father tried to shove him away. Tried to regain his footing. Tried to say something.
Rhett didn't hear it. The blood rushing through his ears drowned everything out.
The older man lost his balance and crashed into a display. Feed bags toppled. Something clattered loudly onto the concrete.
People jumped back. Nobody stepped forward. Nobody grabbed Rhett. Nobody got between them.
Not yet. Not after what they'd heard. Not after years of rumors. Years of suspicions. Years of looking at a terrified girl and wondering.
Across the store, Casey froze. For half a second she simply stared. Then realization crossed her face. Horror. Not at Rhett. At why.
"Rhett!" Her voice cut through the noise. He didn't react.
Your father hit the floor hard. Rhett followed him down. The older man threw his arms up defensively. Tried to push him back. Tried to fight him off. But Rhett was younger. Stronger. And completely beyond listening. Another hit. Then another.
Everything felt disconnected. Far away. Like he was watching someone else. Like none of this was real. Because if it was realā¦ If what he'd heard was realā¦ Then what the hell had you lived through? What the hell had you survived?
"Rhett!" Casey's voice again. Closer now. More desperate. "Rhett, stop!"
The store had gone strangely quiet. Not silent. Just subdued. People backing away. Watching. Nobody cheering. Nobody intervening. Just witnessing.
A few aisles away, Royal appeared. Drawn by the commotion. His eyes took in the scene: Rhett. Your father. The overturned display. The horrified expressions. The tension. Then something else: the look on Rhett's face.
Royal knew his son. And whatever Royal saw there made him stop. He folded his arms. And stayed exactly where he was.
Nearby, someone quietly muttered: "Get the deputy."
Not shouted. Not panicked. Just practical. The way people handled things in small towns.
Casey reached the edge of the crowd. "Rhett!"
This time he heard her. Barely. Not enough to stop. Just enough to recognize the voice.
Your father tried to scramble backward. Tried to create space. Tried to get away. Rhett followed. Still furious. Still sick. Still hearing those words. Still seeing that smile. Still understanding more and more with every second. And somehow that made it worse. Because the anger wasn't fading. The horror was catching up to it. And together they were becoming something far uglier.
Something nobody around him had ever seen from Rhett Abbott before.
Then, somewhere behind the crowd, a familiar voice barked: "Move."
The deputy had arrived. Not quickly. Not because he didn't care. Because he'd heard enough before he got there. Enough to know exactly what kind of situation he was walking into. Instead of charging straight through the nearest aisle, he'd taken the long way around. A clear path. A clean angle. No civilians in the way. No chance of catching an elbow from a furious twenty-year-old ranch hand built like a freight train.
By the time he reached them, your father was scrambling backward across the floor. Bleeding. Terrified. And Rhett was still laying into to him. Not to win. Not to prove anything. Not out of pride. Out of something much uglier. Something that had settled deep in his chest the moment understanding hit.
The deputy caught both of Rhett's arms from behind. Hard. Using his full weight.
"Rhett!"
The world lurched. The sudden resistance nearly threw them both sideways. For a split second Rhett fought it automatically. Pure instinct. Pure momentum. Then he realized who had him. The deputy. Not your father. The deputy. And immediately the fight changed. Rhett stopped trying to throw the deputy off. Stopped trying to swing. Stopped trying to break free from the man restraining him. But he did not stop trying to get back to your father.
"Rhett." The deputy tightened his grip. "Knock it off."
Your father had managed to crawl several feet away. Still backing up. Still staring. Still alive. That fact alone felt unbearable. Rhett surged forward again.
The deputy dragged him backward.
"Rhett.ā
āLet me go."
"No."
"Let me fuckinā go."
"No."
Each of Rhettās words came out through clenched teeth. Cold. Furious.
Your father opened his mouth. Maybe to yell. Maybe to threaten. Maybe to lie.
Rhett didn't care. He lunged again. The deputy held him. Barely. And suddenly Rhett snapped his head toward the crowd. Toward the people watching. Toward the witnesses. Toward the people pretending not to stare.
"Did you fucking hear him?!" Rhettās shout echoed through the store.
Nobody answered. Nobody moved. The silence that followed felt enormous. Because they had heard him. Every word. Every disgusting, smug, horrible word.
A woman near the register covered her mouth with her hand. Someone else looked down at the floor. A rancher at the end of the aisle stared at a display of feed as though it had become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Nobody wanted to meet anyone else's eyes. Nobody wanted to say the words out loud. But everyone had heard them. The deputy had heard them. Casey had heard them. Royal had heard them. The entire damn aisle had heard them.
"Did you fucking hear him?!" Rhett shouted again. His voice cracked this time. Not from sadness. From rage. From disbelief. From the horrifying realization that what he'd heard had actually happened.
The deputy's grip tightened. Not punishing. Steady. Keeping him anchored. Keeping him from doing something neither of them could take back.
Your father stayed where he was. Silent now. The smugness gone. The confidence gone. Only fear remained.
Rhett stared at him. Breathing hard. Still trying to get free. Still trying to get to him.
And the deputy knew. Everyone in that aisle knew.
This wasn't over.
Not for Rhett. Not even close.
The adrenaline couldn't last forever. Eventually it started to burn itself out. Not all at once. Slowly. Leaving something heavier behind.
The deputy kept one hand firmly on Rhett's arm while reaching for the cuffs with the other. For the first time since the fight started, Rhett didn't resist. Not because he'd calmed down. Because the exhaustion had finally caught him. His chest still heaved. His knuckles ached. His jaw hurt from clenching it. But the explosive fury was gone. What remained felt worse.
Your father sat against a display several feet away.
Blood covered his face. Terror in his eyes. Gone was the smug smile. Gone was the confidence. Gone was the ownership.
For the first time since Rhett had ever met him, the man looked afraid.
Good.
The thought appeared immediately. Cold. Simple.
The deputy pulled Rhett's hands behind his back. The click of the cuffs seemed unnaturally loud. Metal. Final. Real.
Around them, the store had started breathing again. People whispered. Employees slowly righted overturned displays.
Customers pretended not to stare. Nobody was doing a particularly convincing job of it.
The deputy sighed. Long. Tired.
Then raised his voice just enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Rhett."
The young man looked at him.
"You can't just beat the hell out of somebody because of a past relationship." The words sounded rehearsed. Professional. Exactly what a deputy should be saying.
Rhett stared at him for a second. Then laughed once. A short, humorless sound.
"Did you not fucking hear him?"
The whispering stopped. Immediately. The store seemed to freeze again. Nobody answered. Because nobody could. Because everyone had heard him.
The deputy rubbed a hand across his face.
Looking suddenly much older than he had five minutes ago. Then he stepped closer. Lowered his voice. Low enough that only Rhett could hear.
"If there weren't this many witnesses..." The sentence trailed off. Unfinished. It didn't need finishing.
Rhett understood.
The deputy looked briefly toward the crowd. Toward the employees. Toward the customers. Toward Royal. Toward Casey. Then back to Rhett.
"It was a crowded store today, kid."
There was anger in his voice. Not directed at Rhett. Something else. Something quieter. Something harder.
For a second neither spoke. Then the deputy gently guided him toward the front doors. The fight was over. The paperwork was not. Rhett followed. No struggle. No argument. Just tired. So damn tired.
The automatic doors slid open. Warm afternoon air greeted them. The parking lot looked exactly the same as it had an hour ago. Which felt wrong somehow. The world should've looked different. It didn't.
The deputy opened the back door of the cruiser. Paused. Waiting.
Rhett looked toward Royal's truck. Toward the supplies. Toward the work still waiting back at the ranch. Fence repairs. Feed. The endless list of things that needed doing. The same things that would've needed doing if today had never happened. The same things that would still need doing tomorrow.
Finally he looked at the deputy.
"How long do I gotta stay there?"
The deputy blinked. Clearly expecting almost any other question. Lawyer. Charges. Bail. Something. Instead: How long?
Rhett glanced toward the truck. "Dad needs help on a fence line."
The deputy stared at him for a second. Then shook his head. Almost laughing despite himself. Not because it was funny. Because it was so painfully Rhett. Twenty years old. Handcuffed. Fresh off his first arrest. And worried about getting back to work.
"Just processing." The deputy sighed. "I'll call your dad when we get there."
Rhett nodded. Accepting that answer immediately. No complaints. No bargaining. No self-pity.
The deputy moved Rhettās cuffing from behind him to the front of him then watched him climb into the back seat. Then closed the door.
Inside the cruiser, Rhett leaned his head back against the partition. The emotional crash hit all at once. The horror. The realization. The exhaustion. And underneath it allā the awful certainty that what he'd heard was true.
The parking lot blurred slightly. For a second he closed his eyes. And wished he could unknow something. Anything. But some truths only worked one way. Once you knew themā you carried them forever.
The deputy stepped away for a moment. Something about paperwork. Something about calling ahead. Rhett hadn't really listened. The cruiser sat baking beneath the afternoon sun.
The parking lot moved around it. Customers coming and going. Truck doors opening. Shopping carts rattling. Life continuing.
Rhett sat in the back seat and stared through the window. Not really seeing any of it.
Across the lot, Royal loaded the supplies into the truck. One bag at a time. One box at a time. One section of fencing material at a time. Methodical. Steady. The same way he did everything. Nobody helped him. Nobody offered. Royal didn't ask. He simply worked. The way he always had. The way he always would.
Rhett watched him without thinking. Watched the familiar movements. The routine. The normalcy. Eventually the last of the supplies disappeared into the truck bed. Royal closed the tailgate. The metallic clang echoed across the parking lot. Then he stood there for a second. Looking at nothing. Thinking.Ā
Finally, he turned. And walked toward the cruiser. Rhett straightened slightly. Not because he was nervous. Because he suddenly wasn't sure what was coming. A lecture. Maybe. Anger. Disappointment. Questions. All reasonable. All deserved.
Royal stopped beside the rear passenger window. For a few seconds neither of them spoke. The silence felt strangely comfortable. Like old boots. Like fence posts. Like home. Royal looked through the glass. Taking in the split knuckles. The bruising already starting around Rhett's face from where your dad must have gotten one hit in. The exhaustion. The handcuffs. Everything. Then he sighed. Not heavily. Just enough.
"You done?" The question landed softly. No judgment. No accusation. Just a question.
Rhett looked away. Toward the dashboard. Toward the parking lot. Anywhere but directly at his father. His throat felt tight suddenly. Not from crying. Justā¦ everything.
Finally he answered. Quietly. "No..."
The honesty surprised even him. Because it was true. If the deputy hadn't stopped himā¦ If somebody hadn't stopped himā¦ He didn't know what would've happened. And that realization sat heavily in his chest.
Royal nodded once. Slowly. Like he'd expected that answer. Like there had never been any other answer.
"I know."
That was it. No lecture. No disappointment. No demand for explanations. Nothing.
Just: I know.
Two words. Simple. Small. And somehow they hit harder than anything else had today. Because Royal understood. Not the violence. Not the loss of control. The reason. The thing underneath it. The horror. The grief. The realization. The awful truth Rhett couldn't stop hearing.
For a moment neither of them spoke. The parking lot noise continued around them. Distant. Unimportant. Royal rested one hand on the roof of the cruiser. Looking at his son. Really looking at him. Then he nodded once. A tiny gesture. Almost invisible.
"I'm gonna finish up."
Rhett nodded back. "Okay."
Royal started to walk away. Then stopped. Without turning around, he spoke. "You call me if they decide to keep you."
A lump formed unexpectedly in Rhett's throat. He swallowed it down. "Yeah."
Royal nodded. Then continued toward the truck. No speech. No advice. No judgment. Just certainty. Just understanding. Just a father quietly telling his son: I know why. I know.
And for the first time all afternoon, Rhett felt something dangerously close to breaking. Not from anger. Not from grief. From relief. Because at least one person understood.And somehow, right now, that mattered more than anything else.
The parking lot had mostly returned to normal. Mostly. People were still talking. Still glancing toward the cruiser. Still pretending they weren't. The deputy stood a few yards away speaking quietly into his radio. Royal's truck remained parked nearby. The afternoon sun hung low enough to cast long shadows across the pavement.
Inside the cruiser, Rhett sat alone. The adrenaline was gone now. The anger wasn't. But it had changed shape. Settled. Become heavier. Every time he closed his eyes he heard those words again. Every time he thought he'd managed to stop thinking about it, some new implication surfaced. Some new realization. Some new horror.
The knock on the window startled him. Not badly. Just enough.
Rhett looked up.
Casey stood outside the cruiser. The deputy stood beside her. The two exchanged a few quiet words. The deputy glanced toward Rhett. Then back toward Casey. Finally he sighed. Walked over. And opened the rear passenger door.
"You get two minutes."
Casey nodded. "That's all I need."
The deputy stepped away again. Giving them privacy. Or as much privacy as a parking lot and a police cruiser allowed. For a second neither spoke. Casey leaned one arm against the open door. Looking at him. Really looking at him. The bruised knuckles. The exhaustion. The emotional wreckage. Everything.
Rhett looked away first. Not because he was ashamed. Because he was tired.
Casey swallowed. Then quietly said: "I like that you're still protecting her after all this time."
The words settled between them.
Rhett didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted toward the parking lot. Toward nothing in particular.
Then: "She never deserved anything that ever happened to her."
No hesitation. No performance. No attempt at sounding noble. Just fact. Simple. Absolute.
She never deserved it.
Casey's eyes immediately burned. Because that was the thing, wasn't it? Neither of them had ever needed convincing. Neither of them had ever wondered if you'd somehow caused it. Neither of them had ever blamed you. You were the victim. Always had been. Always would be.
And hearing Rhett say it so plainly, so immediately, hurt. In the strange way truth sometimes did.
Rhett continued staring out at the parking lot. Not looking at Casey. Not realizing she'd gone quiet. Or maybe realizing and not having the energy to care.
Casey remembered you laughing. She remembered sleepovers. Classes together. Passing notes. Inside jokes. She remembered watching you disappear little by little during high school. Watching you become smaller. Quieter. More frightened as you got older. And she remembered the day you were simply...gone.
The grief never really left. It just learned new shapes. The same way it had for Rhett. The realization hit her suddenly. Without warning. Without permission. This stupid idiot had just gotten arrested because someone hurt you.Ā
Years later. After two years of silence. After two years of not knowing where you were. After two years of having every reason to let go. And he still couldn't. Neither could she.
Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward. And kissed him. The contact lasted only a second. Maybe two. Soft. Lingering. Nothing aggressive. Nothing heated. Nothing romantic. Not really. Grief. Recognition. Understanding. The shared ache of loving the same person in completely different ways.
Then Casey pulled back. Immediately realizing what she'd done. "Oh."
Rhett stared at her. Completely frozen. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.
Casey felt heat rush into her face. "Well." She cleared her throat. "That happened."
Rhett continued staring. Speechless. Which, honestly, was impressive. Casey had known him for years. Very little genuinely rendered Rhett Abbott incapable of forming words. Apparently this did.
Finally she laughed nervously. A little embarrassed. A little emotional. A little everything. Then she reached forward and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead before he could react. Far safer. Far less weird. Probably.
"I'll pick you up later."
Rhett blinked. "What?"
"The station." Casey smiled faintly.
"So your dad doesn't have to stop whatever fence he's working on."
For the first time all afternoon, the smallest hint of something appeared in Rhett's expression. Not happiness. Not amusement. Just confusion. Pure confusion.
Casey snorted. "There he is."
The deputy called from across the lot. "Time."
Casey straightened immediately. The moment dissolved. The parking lot returned. Reality returned. Everything returned.
She took a step backward. Then another. "See you later, Abbott."
Rhett watched her go. Still stunned. Still trying to understand what had just happened. The deputy closed the cruiser door. The sound echoed through the cab.
And as Casey walked back toward the store, neither of them realized they had just stepped onto a path that would take years to fully understand. For now it was just grief. Shared grief. Two people missing the same person. Nothing more. Nothing less.
ā
The kitchen smelled like cinnamon. And coffee. And whatever magical thing your grandmother had decided to bake that morning. Sunlight streamed through the windows above the sink. A country station played softly from an old radio on the counter. The house felt warm. Not physically. Though it was that too. Warm in the way only safe places ever managed.
You sat at the kitchen table in an oversized OSU sweatshirt, half-heartedly working through a bowl of cereal while your grandmother moved around the kitchen. Neither of you were in a hurry. That was one of the best things about weekends home. No classes. No deadlines. No rushing. Just quiet.
Your grandmother placed a fresh mug of coffee in front of you.
You smiled. "Thanks."
"You're welcome, sweetheart."
The conversation drifted easily after that. Classes. A professor you liked. A group project you hated. The usual. Then your grandmother paused. Just slightly. The way people did when they were deciding whether to bring something up.Ā
You noticed immediately. "What?"
She looked over her shoulder. "Hm?"
"You've got that face."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do."
Your grandmother laughed. "Brat."
"Learned from the best."
That earned another laugh. Then she sighed. And finally sat down across from you. The movement alone was enough to tell you this was something. Not necessarily important. Just something.
"I heard a little gossip from back home."
You groaned dramatically. "Grandma."
"What?"
"I escaped small-town gossip."
"No one escapes small-town gossip."
Unfortunately, she had a point. You shoveled another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.
"Okay. What happened?"
Your grandmother folded her hands together. Thinking. Choosing her words.
Then: "Apparently somebody beat the hell out of your father."
The spoon stopped halfway to your mouth. Not from shock. Just processing.
"Oh."
Your grandmother watched you carefully. Waiting.
Then the next thing out of your mouth was: "Did it kill him?"
The words came out flat. Dry. Almost conversational. Like asking about the weather. Your grandmother blinked. Just once. Caught off guard. Not because of what you said. Because of how casually you said it. You noticed immediately. A little guilt flickered through your chest. Not enough to take the question back. Just enough to recognize it.
Your grandmother recovered quickly. "Nah." She waved one hand dismissively. "I think somebody pulled the guy off him."
You hummed thoughtfully. Then took another bite of cereal. "Shame."
The deadpan delivery nearly made your grandmother choke on her coffee. "Sweetheart."
"What?" The corner of your mouth twitched.
Your grandmother pointed a finger at you. "You're terrible."
"I learned from the best."
"I regret teaching you sarcasm."
"No you don't."
"You're right." She didn't.
The conversation settled again. Comfortable. Easy.
You stirred your cereal absentmindedly. "I wonder who did it."
Your grandmother carefully kept her expression neutral. Years of experience helped.
"A lot of people back there probably wanted to."
You snorted. Fair. Then another thought occurred to you.
"I wonder what was said."
Your grandmother's grip tightened slightly around her coffee mug. Not enough for most people to notice. Enough for her. Enough for God. You didn't. You were too busy staring out the window. Thinking. Curious. Nothing more.
"I mean seriously," you continued. "What do you even say to somebody that makes them snap like that?"
Your grandmother took a slow sip of coffee. Buying herself a second. Then another. Finally she shrugged. A practiced movement. Easy. Casual.
"I try not to learn too much about them anymore, sweetie."
Them. Your parents. The people you'd left behind. The people she had spent two years helping you escape.
You nodded. Immediately accepting the answer. Because honestly? Neither did you. Not anymore. The curiosity faded almost as quickly as it arrived. The conversation moved on. The morning remained warm. Safe. Ordinary.
And somewhere far away in Wyoming, a young man sat nursing bruised knuckles because he couldn't live with what he'd heard.
While here, at this kitchen table, you remained blissfully unaware. Exactly as your grandmother intended. The conversation drifted again. Easy. Playful. Comfortable.
Then: "Maybe somebody finally got tired of him."
The words came out of you casually. Thoughtlessly. Not angry. Not bitter. Just practical. Your grandmother's smile faded slightly. Because there was truth there. A lot of truth. More than you realized.
You continued.
"Or maybe he said something stupid." A pause. "Actually that's probably it." You laughed softly. "He always had a talent for saying the exact wrong thing."
Your grandmother looked down into her coffee. Suddenly finding it very interesting. Because she knew. Not every detail. But enough. Enough to understand exactly why a twenty-year-old boy who had once loved her granddaughter would lose control. Enough to understand exactly what kind of words could make that happen. Enough to know who had thrown the punches. The moment she'd heard the story, she'd known. Not because anyone told her. Because there weren't many people in the world who would've reacted like that. And only one of them would've done it for you.
Her eyes drifted toward the window. Toward nothing. Toward Wyoming. Toward a ranch hundreds of miles away. Toward a boy her granddaughter hadnāt seen in years. Then her gaze returned to you. To your sweatshirt. Your cereal. Your smile. Your life. You were healing. Not healed. Healing. There was a difference. A precious difference. You had friends. You had college. You had plans. You had a future. The nightmares came less often now. You slept more. Ate more. Laughed more. You talked about classes instead of survival. You worried about exams instead of escape. And your grandmother would be damned before she willingly dragged you backward.
No. You could not know. Not right now. Maybe someday. Years from now. When enough time had passed. When the wound had scarred over completely. But not today. Today you were smiling. Today you were safe. Today you were building something beautiful from the wreckage. She wouldn't jeopardize that. Not for anything.
"Grandma?"
She blinked. Realizing you'd asked something.
"Hm?"
You narrowed your eyes.
"You zoned out."
"No I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
Your grandmother pointed her coffee mug at you.
"You inherited that from me."
You laughed. And just like that, the moment passed. The truth stayed exactly where she intended it to stay. Buried. For now.
The conversation drifted naturally after that. Away from Wyoming. Away from old wounds. Away from people neither of you particularly wanted to think about. Which was exactly how your grandmother preferred it. She stood and carried her coffee mug to the sink. You followed a minute later, grabbing a muffin from the cooling rack when she wasn't looking. Or at least when you thought she wasn't looking.
"Don't."
You froze. Muffin halfway to your mouth. Your grandmother never even turned around.
You narrowed your eyes. "How did you know?"
"I raised you."
"You didn't."
"You know what I mean."
Unfortunately, you did. You tore off a piece anyway. Your grandmother finally turned around. Caught you immediately.
"Criminal."
"You'll never take me alive."
"You say that now."
You grinned. She shook her head. Smiling despite herself.
Then: "So."
The word stretched suspiciously. You immediately pointed at her.
"No."
"I didn't even ask anything yet."
"You've got that face."
"What face?"
"The face."
Your grandmother sighed dramatically. "Fine." Then she smiled. "Gonna tell me about your friends?"
The question caught you off guard. Not because it was unusual. Because it wasn't. Two years ago you would've struggled to answer. Now? Now the answer came immediately.
"Well..."
The smile appeared before you even realized it. And your grandmother noticed that too. Immediately.
"There it is."
You blinked. "What?"
"Nothing." The grin on her face said otherwise.
You rolled your eyes. "There's Wesley."
The reaction was instant. Your grandmother perked up.
"Wesley."
You pointed a finger. "Don't."
"I haven't said anything."
"You were about to."
"I absolutely was."
You groaned. Your grandmother laughed.
Then clasped both hands together dramatically. "Ooooooo."
You immediately buried your face in your hands. "Oh my God."
"A new suitor for my baby?"
"No." The answer came so quickly that it only encouraged her.
"That wasn't a no."
"It literally was."
Your grandmother ignored that. "Tell me about Wesley."
You couldn't stop smiling. Not because of romance. Just because Wesley was impossible to describe without smiling.
"He's weird."
"Good start."
"He's loud."
"Mhm."
"He has absolutely no filter."
"Oh no."
"No, seriously." You laughed. "He just says whatever enters his brain."
"That sounds dangerous."
"It is."
"Is he funny?"
You thought about it. Then immediately nodded. "Unfortunately."
"Unfortunately?"
"Because he knows he's funny."
Your grandmother winced. "Oh that's terrible."
"I know."
The two of you laughed. You leaned against the counter. Thinking. Trying to find the right words. Because Wesley wasn't easy to explain. Not really.
"He just..." You shrugged. "He's kind."
The answer came quietly. Honestly. Not a joke this time. Your grandmother's expression softened. Because she heard the difference immediately. Not attraction. Not infatuation. Gratitude. Affection. Trust. The sort of thing that had been nearly impossible for you when you'd first arrived. You continued.
"He annoys the hell out of me."
"Of course."
"He steals my food."
"Unforgivable."
"He interrupts me constantly."
"Monster."
"And one time he spent twenty minutes explaining why raccoons would be good accountants."
Your grandmother blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I don't even remember how we got there."
"What was his argument?"
You immediately laughed. "He said they already have little hands."
Your grandmother lost the battle completely. The laugh that escaped her echoed through the kitchen. You joined her. Both of you laughing now. The warmth of it settled into every corner of the room. Then your grandmother looked at you. Really looked. At the smile. At the easy laughter. At the way you spoke about another person without fear. Without anxiety. Without hesitation. And her heart swelled. Because two years ago this conversation would've been impossible. You wouldn't have had a Wesley. You wouldn't have had friends. You wouldn't have had stories. You wouldn't have laughed this easily. Eventually your laughter settled. You grabbed another piece of the muffin. Your grandmother pointed at you.
"You know."
"Oh no."
"Oh yes." She smiled. "I still think he sounds like a suitor."
You groaned loudly. "Grandma."
"What?"
"I thought so too."
That caught her off guard. "You did?"
"Briefly."
Your grandmother's eyes widened. Then immediately narrowed.
"What happened?"
You laughed. "He's gay."
The silence lasted exactly one second. Then your grandmother barked out another laugh.
"Oh honey."
"I know."
"That'll do it."
"That'll do it."
You shook your head fondly. "Honestly, it was probably for the best."
"Why's that?"
You thought about it. Then smiled. "Because he's one of my favorite people."
The words landed softly. Without drama. Without sadness. Just truth. Your grandmother watched you for a moment. Then reached over and kissed the top of your head. You swatted at her affectionately. She ignored you. Because for the first time in a very long time, she could see it clearly. You weren't just surviving anymore. You were living. And there was a difference.
ā
The deputy released Rhett shortly after sunset. A few signatures. A few warnings. A few uncomfortable conversations. Then he was free to go.
Casey was waiting exactly where she'd said she'd be. Leaning against her truck. Arms crossed. Looking entirely too pleased with herself. "There he is."
Rhett rolled his eyes. The movement pulled at a bruise. "Don't."
"That's the most words you've said all day."
"Congratulations."
Casey grinned. "See? Progress."
The drive back toward town was quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet. Casey filled most of it. Talking about customers. Talking about work. Talking about a dog that had stolen a bag of treats earlier that week. Rhett contributed occasionally. A word here. A sentence there. Just enough to prove he was listening. Mostly he watched darkness slide past the truck window. His reflection stared back at him. Bruised. Exhausted. Older than twenty. The knuckles on one hand were swollen and split open. He flexed them once. Immediately regretted it. Casey noticed. She didn't comment. For once.
Casey's truck rolled into her driveway. The engine shut off. Silence settled. For a moment neither moved. The porch light glowed softly against the darkness.
"You good?" Casey asked.
The question wasn't really about tonight. Rhett knew that.
"No."
The honesty surprised neither of them. Casey nodded.
"Yeah."
They climbed out. Walked toward the house. Slowly. Neither in much of a hurry. The day felt heavy now that it was over. Heavier than it had while it was happening. The front door opened. Closed. The house greeted them with familiar quiet.
Casey set her keys down and turned facing Rhett. Rhett stopped a few feet away. Neither spoke. There wasn't much left to say. Not tonight. Not after everything. Just two people carrying the same absence. The same grief. The same person-shaped hole in their lives.
Casey stepped closer. Rhett didn't move away. For a long moment they simply stood there. Existing in the silence. Looking at one another. Looking for something neither could quite name. The distance between them disappeared. And for the first time, neither one stepped back. The house remained quiet. The night continued outside.
And somewhere beneath the grief, beneath the loneliness, beneath all the things neither understood yet, a choice was made. Not a healthy one. Not an intentional one. Just a human one. Two hurting people reaching for comfort. Neither realizing where that road would eventually lead.
ā
Back in Oklahoma, you finally closed your textbook. "Done?"
Wesley looked skeptical. "No."
"Correct." You laughed again. The sound came easier these days.Ā
You gathered your things. Shouldered your bag. Followed your best friend out into the warm night air. Campus lights glowed around you. Students crossed the sidewalks. Life moved forward. Steady. Unstoppable. Beautiful.
ā
Neither of you knew where the other was. Neither knew what the other was doing. Neither knew how much had changed. Or how much hadn't. The years had carried you in different directions. Built different lives around old wounds. Given you different people. Different routines. Different futures. And stillāsome part of each of you remained shaped by the same loss. The same love. The same goodbye. For now, that would have to be enough. Not closure. Not healing. Not reunion. Just survival. Separate. Incomplete. Continuing anyway. And somewhere beneath different skies, both of you kept moving forward.
āOutside, a truck passed on the road. The sound reached the kitchen windows. Before he could stop himself, Rhett glanced toward it. Just for a second. A habit. Nothing more. The truck kept going. Not that he expected otherwise.ā
He looked back down at his breakfast. Across the table, neither of his parents said anything. That almost made it worse. Because they knew.
Not everything. Not the whole of it. But enough. Enough to know he never went anywhere unless he had to. Enough to know he stopped going out after work. Enough to know he hadn't dated a single person since. Enough to know he rarely laughed anymore. Enough to know that every unfamiliar vehicle still made him look up. Not because he thought she'd be in it.
Not really. Not consciously. Just because some part of him still checked. Some stupid hopeful part that refused to die no matter how many years passed.
HEāS STILL WAITING FOR HER TO COME BACK š
āCecelia watched her son carefully.
Twenty years old. Strong. Capable. Working harder than most men twice his age. And somehow looking older than he should. Not physically. Justā¦ Tired. Like he'd been carrying something for too long.ā
āTwo years should have been enough.
It hadn't been.ā
Ouch ouch ouch
āYou still sat near exits whenever possible. Still preferred knowing exactly where the nearest door was. Still hated being startled. Still found yourself apologizing for things that weren't your fault. But you weren't living in fear anymore. That was the difference. The biggest difference.ā
The lasting effects her past has had on the girl is so heartbreaking
āProgress wasn't always dramatic. Sometimes it looked like that. A thirty-second conversation you didn't spend six hours worrying about afterward.ā
Wesleyās reaction to the first time the girl laughed madd me tear up, he was so happy by it š„¹
āRhett picked it up carefully. Not because it was fragile but because he was. His thumb brushed over the fabric. The shirt didn't smell like you anymore. That part had disappeared a long time ago. Now it just smelled like cotton. Laundry detergent. Time. Stillā¦ he couldn't make himself throw it away. Not because he thought you were coming back for it. Not because he was preserving some shrine. Because every now and then he needed proof that you'd actually existed. That you weren't becoming something his brain had invented.
A dream. A memory. A story. The shirt was real. Which meant you had been too.ā
TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY FACE RN
āHundreds of miles apart. Different states. Different lives. Different futures unfolding one day at a time. Yet somehow the emptiness felt familiar. Not identical. Not even close. But familiar. Like two people standing beneath different skies and looking at the same moon. Neither aware of the other. Neither knowing where the other was. What they were doing. Whether they were happy. Whether they were hurting. Whether they ever thought about the past anymore.ā
Neither of them being able to sleep has my heart achingš
"Did you fucking hear him?!" Rhett's shout echoed through the store.
Nobody answered. Nobody moved. The silence that followed felt enormous. Because they had heard him. Every word.
Every disgusting, smug, horrible word.
A woman near the register covered her mouth with her hand.
Someone else looked down at the floor. A rancher at the end of the aisle stared at a display of feed as though it had become the most fascinating thing he d ever seen. Nobody wanted to meet anyone else's eyes. Nobody wanted to say the words out loud. But everyone had heard them. The deputy had heard them. Casey had heard them. Royal had heard them. The entire damn aisle had heard them.
"Did you fucking hear him?!" Rhett shouted again. His voice cracked this time. Not from sadness. From rage. From disbelief. From the horrifying realization that what heād heard had actually happened.ā
The part of the story where the girls father talks to rhett and then rhett kicks his ass (yay!) had me crying so hard I had to take a minute to stop reading cause I couldnāt see cause my vision was blurry. Iām disgusted by her father and Iām glad rhett beat the shit out of him. My heart breaks for the girl though knowing she endured so many awful and heinous things
āInside the cruiser, Rhett leaned his head back against the partition. The emotional crash hit all at once. The horror. The realization. The exhaustion. And underneath it allā the awful certainty that what he'd heard was true.
The parking lot blurred slightly. For a second he closed his eyes. And wished he could unknow something. Anything. But some truths only worked one way. Once you knew themā you carried them forever.ā
Poor rhett, learning how bad it actually was š
āAnd as Casey walked back toward the store, neither of them realized they had just stepped onto a path that would take years to fully understand. For now it was just grief. Shared grief. Two people missing the same person. Nothing more. Nothing less.ā
They both cared about her so much and now they have to go on without her š
Then: "Apparently somebody beat the hell out of your father."
The spoon stopped halfway to your mouth. Not from shock.
Just processing.
"Oh."
Your grandmother watched you carefully. Waiting.
Then the next thing out of your mouth was: "Did it kill him?"
The words came out flat. Dry. Almost conversational. Like asking about the weather. Your grandmother blinked. Just once. Caught off guard. Not because of what you said.
Because of how casually you said it. You noticed immediately.
A little guilt flickered through your chest. Not enough to take the question back. Just enough to recognize it.
Your grandmother recovered quickly. "Nah." She waved one hand dismissively. "I think somebody pulled the guy off him."
You hummed thoughtfully. Then took another bite of cereal.
"Shame."
The deadpan delivery nearly made your grandmother choke on her coffee. "Sweetheart."
"What?" The corner of your mouth twitched.
Your grandmother pointed a finger at you. "You're terrible."
"I learned from the best."
"I regret teaching you sarcasm."
"No you don't."
"You're right.' She didn't.ā
I love the way the girl reacted to the news and the way she had a sense of humor about it lol. I also loved the banter her and her grandma had!
āNo. You could not know. Not right now. Maybe someday. Years from now. When enough time had passed. When the wound had scarred over completely. But not today. Today you were smiling. Today you were safe. Today you were building something beautiful from the wreckage. She wouldn't jeopardize that. Not for anything.ā
I love her grandma so much!!! and āToday you were building something beautiful from the wreckage.ā is such beautiful phrasing
The conversation her and her grandma had about Wesley was so sweet!! š„°
āNeither of you knew where the other was. Neither knew what the other was doing. Neither knew how much had changed. Or how much hadn't. The years had carried you in different directions. Built different lives around old wounds. Given you different people. Different routines. Different futures. And stillāsome part of each of you remained shaped by the same loss. The same love. The same goodbye. For now, that would have to be enough. Not closure. Not healing. Not reunion. Just survival. Separate. Incomplete. Continuing anyway. And somewhere beneath different skies, both of you kept moving forward.
One day at a time.ā
They both had to go through so much heartbreak, it isnāt fair š this fic was so amazing!! It tore my heart out and I canāt stop crying
Real life pic of me after reading this
Anyway Iām gonna go back to the fluffy fic where Earle lies down on Rhettās back lol
Teen Rhett - Years Later 2 - Adult Rhett Abbott/Adult Female Reader
briefing: after a long day at work, Rhett comes home and is forced to interact with his arch nemesis: Earle, the orange corn snake.
words: 3.7l
warnings: fluff, cute relationshipy things, SNAKES, established relationship, life plans discussed, lightly kissing at the end
author note: whilst I edit the monster of the "in between" story, enjoy this little ficlet!! This was just thrown together because I've been thinking about it all day at work. Please don't judge me for grammatical or spelling errors, etc.
Late Summer 2026
The Arizona heat felt endless.
Rhett had stopped checking the temperature hours ago. There wasn't much point. Once it got hot enough to make your shirt stick to your back and the metal tools too hot to touch without gloves, the exact number didn't really matter anymore.
He took a long drink from his water bottle and leaned against the side of the truck parked near the barn.
The older man he worked for had disappeared inside the house for lunch, leaving Rhett with a few minutes to himself before he got back to repairing a section of fencing that had decided to lose a fight with a stubborn goat.
His phone buzzed.
Not unusual.
You texted him throughout the day.
Sometimes it was something funny Wesley had said. Sometimes it was a picture of a weird bug you'd found outside. Sometimes it was a complaint about the grocery store being out of something. Sometimes it was absolutely nothing important at all.
Rhett didn't always answer right away. Half the time, he couldn't. But he always looked.
Pulling the phone from his pocket, he unlocked it. Several messages sat waiting for him.
The latest one had arrived only a minute ago.
Darlin': heyyyyyy wanna see something cute?
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth immediately.
Rhett: course
The response came almost instantly.
A photo loaded.
Rhett stared at it.
Then barked out a laugh. A real one. The kind that startled him a little.
The snakes were somehow wearing a tube sock.
Well. Sharing a tube sock.
The toe had clearly been cut off. Two little heads poked out one end while the rest of their bodies disappeared into the fabric. The whole thing looked ridiculous.
Like the world's worst sweater. Or the world's most confusing caterpillar.
Another text appeared.
Darlin': they wanted matching outfits :D
Rhett shook his head.
Rhett: snakes don't want outfits
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Darlin': tell them that
A second picture arrived. This one was somehow worse. Or better.
He couldn't decide.
Earle's head was sticking out farther this time, while Natalie looked halfway offended by the entire arrangement.
Rhett: yall are weird
The answer came back immediately.
Darlin': you love usssssss ā¤ļø
Rhett snorted.
Then looked at the first picture again. And the second.
He zoomed in. Shook his head. Smiled despite himself.
You and Wesley had somehow convinced yourselves that the snakes needed clothes.
Which was insane. Completely insane.
The kind of thing that made perfect sense only to the two of you.
His thumb lingered on the screen.
A moment later, both pictures disappeared into his camera roll.
No announcement. No message. No reason to tell you. Just saved.
He locked the phone and shoved it back into his pocket.
Then he pushed away from the truck and headed back toward the fence line.
Still smiling.
ā
By the time Rhett finally finished for the day, the sun had started its slow descent toward the horizon.
The worst of the heat had passed, but not by much.
His shoulders ached. His hands were dirty. His shirt was damp with sweat and dust.
And all he wanted was a shower.
Wellā¦
A shower and you.
The drive across town was familiar enough now that he barely thought about it.
A right turn here. A stop sign there. The gas station on the corner. The little Mexican restaurant that Wesley insisted had the best tacos in Arizona.
Home. Not technically his. The apartment he rented was on the other side of town. But this place felt more like home than that ever had.
The moment he pulled into the driveway, he spotted your car. No sign of Wesley's.
Interestingā¦
Rhett climbed out of the truck and made his way toward the front door.
He barely got it open before hearing movement deeper inside the house. Then you appeared.
A smile immediately spreading across your face.
"Hey!"
"Hey."
The greeting was simple. Comfortable. Familiar.
Rhett stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. Just enough to make both of you smile a little more afterward.
"How was work?"
"Hot."
You laughed.
"Insightful."
"I try."
His hands settled briefly on your hips before dropping away again.
"Wes home?"
You shook your head.
"Ran to the pet store."
Rhett narrowed his eyes.
"For what?"
"I don't know."
"That's concerning."
"It probably should be."
A pause.
Then you continued, "He said not to ask questions."
Rhett groaned.
"That's worse."
"It is."
You laughed as he stepped around you and headed toward the hallway.
"I'm showering."
"Good plan."
"I smell like a farm."
"You kinda do."
Rhett pointed at you without looking back.
"Rude."
"You love me!!!"
The response came automatically.
"Yeah, yeah..."
A few minutes later, hot water washed away the day. Dust disappeared down the drain. The ache in his muscles eased. The smell of hay, dirt, and sweat finally vanished.
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, a towel draped around his neck, the day felt farther away.
Quieter. Softer. The house was calm.
No Wesley. No work. No responsibilities waiting for him.
Just the low hum of the air conditioner and the knowledge that you were somewhere nearby.
Exactly where Rhett wanted to be.
The bedroom was cool in a way the rest of Arizona never seemed capable of being.
The air conditioner hummed softly somewhere in the house. The ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. The curtains were mostly drawn against the evening sun, leaving the room washed in muted gold and shadow.
You were propped against the headboard with a book open in your lap.
An oversized shirt hung off one shoulder. The shorts you were wearing were barely visible beneath it. One leg stretched out across the mattress while the other remained bent beneath the blanket.Ā
Earle rested comfortably on your chest. His body was loosely coiled, head tucked against the fabric of your shirt as if he'd personally decided this was the best place in the house to spend his evening.
You turned a page. Earle didn't move.
A few minutes later, Rhett wandered into the room. Fresh from the shower. Hair still damp. A clean pair of sweatpants hangs low on his hips. The scent of soap followed him into the room.
He paused long enough to glance at what you were reading.
"Good book?"
You hummed.
"Pretty good."
That seemed to satisfy him.
Rhett climbed into bed and immediately stretched out beside you. Face-down. One arm folded beneath the pillow. The other hanging near the edge of the mattress.
The bed shifted beneath his weight. Then settled again.
A long sigh escaped him. Not dramatic. Just tired. The kind of sound somebody made after a long day of work, and finally finding somewhere comfortable to land.
You smiled to yourself and continued reading.
For a while, neither of you spoke. There wasn't any need.
The room filled with small sounds instead. Pages turning. The ceiling fan. The occasional rustle of sheets. The distant hum of the air conditioner. Rhett's breathing slowly evening out beside you.
Every so often, you'd glance over.
His eyes would be closed. Not quite asleep. Close, though.
The kind of exhaustion that came from spending an entire day outside in the heat.
At one point, Earle lifted his head. His tongue flickered. He seemed to study Rhett for a moment. Then settled back down.
You reached up absentmindedly and scratched your fingers through Rhett's damp hair.
The response was immediate. A content grunt. Nothing more.
You smiled again.
The book remained open in your lap. The chapter continued.
Minutes slipped by unnoticed. The sun sank lower. The room grew dimmer.
And somehow, without either of you saying much at all, the day felt finished.
Eventually, the words on the page began to blur together.
Not because the book had gotten boring.
Mostly because your bladder had finally decided it was done waiting.
You slid a bookmark between the pages and closed the book.
The movement earned no reaction from Rhett. At least not visibly.
He was still stretched out on his stomach beside you. One arm folded beneath the pillow. The other draped across the mattress. Hair still damp from his shower. Eyes closed. Breathing slowly and even.
Completely asleep.
Or so you assumed.
Earle remained comfortably coiled on your chest.
You looked down at him. Then around the room. Then back at him.
"Well," you say under your breath.
Earle flicked his tongue.
Not particularly helpful.
You considered putting him back in his enclosure. That seemed excessive. You were only going to be gone for a minute. Maybe two. The snake certainly wasn't going to appreciate being evicted from his warm spot over a bathroom trip.
Your gaze drifted toward Rhett.
Still asleep. Still warm. Still conveniently located.
A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
"Oh, he'll be fine," you say, still under your breath.
Earle offered no objections.
Carefully, you slid the snake from your chest.
Rhett remained motionless.
The mattress shifted slightly beneath your weight.
Nothing.
Still asleep.
You gently lowered Earle onto the broad expanse of bare skin between Rhett's shoulders.
The reaction was immediate.
Not from Rhett.
From Earle.
The snake seemed absolutely delighted by this development. Warm. Comfortable. Large. Perfect.
Within seconds, he adjusted himself into a loose coil. His head settled comfortably against Rhett's back.
Content. Safe. Happy.
You smiled.
"There."
Then you climbed out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind you.
Silence.
For approximately three seconds.
Because Rhett Abbott was not asleep.
Not even a little.
The moment Earle had touched his back, every muscle in his body had locked. His eyes opened.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Staring directly into the pillow.
A snake.Ā
There was a snake on him.
An actual snake.
On him.
Rhett did not move. Not because he couldn't. Because he wasn't entirely sure what the rules were.
Could he move?
Would that upset the snake?
Would the snake fall?
Would it bite him?
Again?
He didn't know.
So he chose the safest option. Absolute stillness. His fingers tightened beneath the pillow. Every muscle in his shoulders went rigid.
The snake shifted.
Rhett stopped breathing.
Earle settled more comfortably.
Rhett continued not breathing.
The room remained quiet.
The ceiling fan turned overhead. The bathroom faucet ran briefly. Somewhere down the hall, a cabinet opened and closed.
Meanwhile, Rhett lay frozen beneath what was approximately two pounds of pure psychological warfare.
Earle, completely oblivious, appeared to be having a wonderful time. His body tightened into a comfortable coil. His head still rested happily against Rhett's warm skin.
Every so often, his tongue flicked into the air.
Exploring. Relaxing. Thriving.
Rhett stared into the pillow and questioned every decision that had led him to this moment.
The move to Arizona. Dating a woman who kept snakes. Allowing the snakes inside the bedroom. Allowing the snakes names. Allowing the snakes to become family members somehow.
A year ago, he'd been fixing fences in Wyoming.
Now, a snake was using him as furniture.
Life really comes at you fast.
The bathroom door opened.
Rhett's relief was immediate. Not visible. But immediate.
You stepped back into the bedroom, completely unaware of the emotional journey he'd just endured.
Your gaze landed on Earle. Still curled comfortably on Rhett's back. Still apparently convinced he'd found the best seat in the house.
"Aww."
You crossed the room.
Rhett remained perfectly still. The same way a deer might remain perfectly still if a hunter walked past. Or a man who currently had a snake on him.
You leaned over the bed.
"Alrighty, baby. back to mama."
Earle lifted his head. His tongue flickered. Then, without any fuss whatsoever, you slid your hands beneath him and lifted him from Rhett's back.
The weight disappeared instantly.
Just like that. Gone.
The threat had passed.
You settled Earle comfortably against your chest again.
Then turned back toward the bed.
Only to find Rhett sitting upright.
Fast.
Very fast.
Not panicked. But definitely no longer pretending to sleep.
His shoulders were tense. His jaw was tight. And there was a deeply stressed expression on his face.
You blinked.
"What?"
Rhett stared at you. Then at Earle. Then back at you.
You frowned.
"Honey?"
Nothing. Just staring.
The look on his face was so serious that you immediately started wondering if something had happened.
"Rhett, honey. What's wrong?"
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
For a moment, it genuinely looked like he couldn't find the words.
You waited. Concern growing slightly.
Finally, he gestured vaguely toward the bed.
Then toward himself.
Then toward Earle.
Still nothing coherent.
"Honey."
You shifted closer.
"Seriously. What happened?"
Another pause.
Then, finally:
"Snake on my back."
Silence. A breath. Two breaths.
You stared at him. Rhett stared back.
Completely serious. Utterly sincere.
And somehow that made it worse.
The laugh hit you so hard you nearly dropped Earle.
"Oh, my God."
Rhett looked offended immediately.
"I'm serious."
That only made you laugh harder.
The mattress dipped as you collapsed onto the bed beside him.
"You put a snake on me."
The accusation sounded ridiculous. Especially because it was technically true.
"I know."
You were laughing too hard to get the words out properly.
"I know, honey."
"You justā"
Rhett gestured helplessly.
"Left him there."
The image clearly replayed in his mind. You walking away. The door closing. The realization settling in.
A snake. On his back.
For several seconds, neither of you could speak.
One, because you were laughing. The other was because he was still processing the betrayal.
"I thought you were asleep."
"I was not asleep."
"You looked asleep."
"I had my eyes closed."
"That's sleeping behavior."
"It is not."
You laughed again.
Earle remained completely unconcerned by the argument.
His tongue flickered lazily as he rested in your hands.
"Honey, I was only gone like a minute."
"A minute too long."
The response came immediately. Without hesitation. Without thought. Pure conviction.
You rested your chin against Earle's side and laughed so hard your shoulders shook.
Rhett looked personally victimized. Which, in fairness, he believed he had been.
"Snake."
He pointed at Earle. Then at himself.
"On my back."
The fact that he kept repeating it like those four words explained everything, only made you laugh harder.
Eventually, your laughter settled into occasional giggles.
Rhett, meanwhile, still looked deeply unconvinced that any part of this situation had been funny.
You reached up and scratched lightly on top of Earleās head.
The snake immediately leaned into it.
"See?"
Rhett narrowed his eyes.
"See what?"
"Heās harmless and i know he likes you!"
The response was instantaneous.
"He bit me."
You sighed. Not because you'd never heard this argument before. Because you'd heard it many, many times before.
"Honey."
"He did."
"I know he did."
"He bit me."
You shifted further back against the headboard.
"Earle was scared."
"He bit me."
"He was scared."
"He still bit me."
You looked down at the snake.
The snake looked up at you. The snake, unfortunately, was not helping his case.
"He was stuck and got scared."
"He had teeth."
You laughed.
Rhett remained completely serious.
"Okay."
You adjusted Earle slightly.
"Then what's actually bothering you?"
Rhett blinked.
"What?"
"The snake thing."
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Looked away.
And that was all the answer you needed.
Your smile softened.
"Oh."
A small silence settled between you.
Not uncomfortable.
Just thoughtful.
You watched him for a moment.
Rhett stared at a loose thread on the blanket.
Then, finally sighed.
"It's not really the snake," he said quietly.
"I figured."
Another pause. Then,
"It's Wesley. Ohā¦ what heā¦"
That got a quick laugh out of you.
Of course it was.
"What's he do now?"
Rhett rubbed a hand across the back of his neck.
"He keeps callin' them your son and daughter."
You immediately smiled.
"Because they are my son and daughter."
"They're snakes."
"They're adorable."
"They're snakes."
You grinned.
Rhett didn't. At least not yet.
Instead, his gaze drifted toward Earle. Then away again. He exhales slowly before speaking.
"I know it's a joke."
You waited.
"But every time he says it..."
He hesitated.
The words were clearly harder to say than he'd expected.
"It catches me off guard."
The smile slipped from your face completely.
Not because you were upset. Because suddenly you understood.
"Oh."
Rhett nodded once.
"I don't want kids."
His voice was quieter now. Almost cautious. Like he wasn't sure how you'd react.
The concern in his expression made something ache in your chest. Because he'd clearly been carrying that around longer than he should have.
"Honeyā¦" You shifted closer. "A snake is not a child."Ā
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"I know."
"Earle is not secretly a toddler."
"I know."
"He's barely smart enough to be a snake."
That earned an actual laugh. Small. But real.
You continued before he could retreat back into his own head.
"I don't want kids either."
The tension left his shoulders so quickly it was almost visible. You hated that he'd worried about that. Even for a second.
"Really."
You nudged his knee with yours.
"Everyone is on the same page."
Rhett nodded.
Listening.
"The snakes are just the snakes."
"Right."
"But Wesley and I call them our kids because they're the closest thing either of us wants."
A smile finally appeared.
Properly this time. Small. Soft. Understanding. The kind that always made your heart squeeze.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
"No secret baby agenda?"
You gasped dramatically.
"Damn."
Rhett laughed.
"Thought I'd uncovered a conspiracy."
You leaned your head against his shoulder. Earle remaining comfortably draped across your chest.
The room settled again. Quiet. Easy.
The conversation finished. The concern gone.
For several moments, neither of you spoke.
Then, "Yeah well..."
You already knew from his tone. The argument wasn't actually over.
Rhett glanced down at Earle. Then back at you.
"He still bit me."
You groaned so loudly it made him grin.
"There it is."
"He did."
"It was one time."
"He remembers."
"Earle does not remember."
"He knows what he did."
The snake chose that exact moment to flick his tongue in Rhett's direction.
Rhett pointed immediately.
"See?"
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your head onto his shoulder.
The heartfelt conversation was over.
The grudge, apparently, would live forever.
"You know," you said, still smiling, "most people forgive things eventually."
Rhett folded his arms.
"Most people don't get bitten."
"Earle was scared."
"He committed a crime."
You laughed.
Rhett looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Earle, meanwhile, remained completely unaware that his reputation was being discussed.
The snake simply rested against your chest, content as could be.
"You are impossible."
"So I've been told."
"Repeatedly."
"By reliable sources?"
"By everybody."
Rhett nodded once.
"Fair."
You shook your head and carefully adjusted Earle.
"Well, I should probably put him away for the night."
Rhett glanced at the snake. The snake glanced back. Neither appeared interested in changing their opinion of the other.
"Probably."
You started to sit up.
"Unless..."
Immediately suspicious, you paused.
"Unless what?"
Rhett's mouth twitched.
"Nothing."
"Rhett."
"Just seems like Earle could stay a little longer."
You narrowed your eyes.
Five seconds ago, he'd been lobbying for the snake's removal.
Now, suddenly, he wanted Earle to stay.
"You're trying to get on his good side now."
"I am not."
"You absolutely are."
Rhett looked toward the ceiling. A sure sign he was guilty.
You laughed.
"There it is."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You never know what I'm talking about."
"Exactly."
Still smiling, you carefully lifted Earle and swung your legs off the bed.
"I'll be right back."
As you stood, Rhett reached out and gave your backside a quick, playful pat.
You yip and immediately pointed at him.
"Behave."
"I am behaving."
"You are not."
His grin said otherwise.
Shaking your head, you carried Earle toward the door. Behind you, Rhett settled back against the headboard, looking entirely too satisfied with himself. Some things, apparently, never changed.
A few minutes later, you pushed the bedroom door open again.
The room was exactly as you'd left it.Ā
Dim. Cool. Quiet.
Rhett was still sitting against the headboard, one arm draped across his stomach, looking far too comfortable for someone who had spent the last ten minutes arguing with a snake.
His eyes lifted immediately when you walked back in.
"There she is."
You smiled.
"There he is."
"The criminal secured?"
"Earle is safely in bed."
"Good."
You climbed onto the mattress and moved toward him.
Rhett's hands found your waist the second you settled across his lap.
Effortless. Automatic. Like he'd done it a thousand times before.
Maybe he had.
The room fell quiet again.
Not awkward. Never awkward. Just comfortable.
You reached up and ran your fingers through the still-damp hair at the back of his head.
Rhett's eyes drifted shut for a moment.
Content. Tired. Happy.
The tension from the workday seemed long gone now.
Replaced by the simple comfort of being here.
With you.
You smiled softly.
"I love you, Rhett."
His eyes opened again. The answering smile came immediately. Warm and a little crooked.
"I love you too, darlin'."
You leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.
Rhett's hand tightened slightly at your waist.
The kiss was unhurried. Gentle. The kind that said everything that mattered without needing a single word.
When you finally pulled back, neither of you moved very far.
Just enough to look at each other. Just enough to smile.
Outside, the Arizona evening settled around the house.
It makes me so happy how much reader and Wesley love their snakes!!
āA moment later, both pictures disappeared into his camera roll.
No announcement. No message. No reason to tell you. Just saved.ā
RHETT SAVED THE PICTURES!!!!!!! šš HE DOESNāT UNDERSTAND THE FASCINATION WITH THEM OR WHY THEY NEED CLOTHES BUT HE STILL SAVED THE PICTURES!!!! š„¹
āHome. Not technically his. The apartment he rented was on the other side of town. But this place felt more like home than that ever had.ā
This cowboy is such a sap, I love it!!š„¹
The fear rhett felt with Earle on his back had me laughing so hard!! So did his explanation of it
"Snake."
He pointed at Earle. Then at himself.
"On my back."
Lmao
"You know," you said, still smiling, "most people forgive things eventually."
Rhett folded his arms.
"Most people don't get bitten."
"Earle was scared."
"He committed a crime."
You laughed.
Rhett looked entirely too pleased with himself.
I love that rhett was happy he made the reader laugh and that he could enjoy it this time since he now knows theyāre on the same page about having kids āŗļø
"I love you, Rhett."
His eyes opened again. The answering smile came immediately. Warm and a little crooked.
"I love you too, darlin""
They mean everything to me Iām so happy that theyāre happy!!!! š„¹š„°
Just imagining trying to teach Cameron how to paddle board. Itās overcast and gray, youāre wearing one of those skin-tight wetsuits, and youāre standing right behind him. He starts to wobble and you carefully inch closer, pressing yourself against his broad back and sliding your hands around his waist. āRemember your core, Cam,ā you press your hands into his abdomen, fingers tracing over lines of muscle. āAll the way.ā Your hands go lower and his body tenses as he stabilizes himself on the board. āThere you go,ā you whisper, hands resting at his hips as he guides the two of you forward slowly.
Heās dying to move, dying to adjust his rock hard cock thatās very obviously bulging against his wetsuit, but he knows that if he does, heāll have you both in the water. So he keeps paddling, trying to focus on the lesson despite the fact that your hands are spreading heat across his skin and your breath against the back of his neck sends shivers down his spine. He concentrates on the way you feel behind him and imagines how youāll feel once youāre back on land and bent over in front of him.
