Teen Rhett - Years Later 1 - Adult Rhett Abbott/Adult Female Reader
briefing: whilst working at his new job in Arizona, Rhett gets an alarming call he can't ignore. when he gets home the chaos that ensues is very overwhelming.
words: 8k
warnings: some panic/anxiety, crying, emotional distress over beloved pets, lots of chaotic Wesley energy, minor injury from a startled snake bite and Rhett smacking his head, domestic fluff, kissing, implied intimacy, very loved-up behavior, emotionally codependent snakes, and one deeply traumatized bathroom sink
author note: Enjoy a sequel to the Teen Love birds. IT'S A COMEDY :D
Spring 2026
Arizona still didn’t feel completely natural to Rhett. Not yet.
Some mornings, he still woke up expecting Wyoming cold against the windows instead of warm desert light creeping through the thin curtains in his apartment. Still reached automatically for heavier jackets he didn’t really need here. Still caught himself looking toward distant stretches of land, expecting green instead of dry gold and dusty brown.
But it didn’t feel temporary anymore either.
That was the strange part.
The farm wasn’t nearly as large as the Abbott ranch, but it sprawled enough to keep him busy from sunrise well into the evening. Fence lines stretched across dry land that shimmered in the afternoon heat. Dust coated the legs of his jeans before noon most days, settling into the creases of his boots no matter how often he knocked them clean against the porch steps.
Everything smelled different here.
The air was drier. Hotter. Thick with sunbaked dirt instead of rain and grass and Wyoming wind. The birds sounded different, too. Sharper somehow. Louder in the mornings outside the barn.
Even the rhythms of the place felt unfamiliar in ways he was still learning.
Which horses tested fences when they got bored.
Which dogs followed him around the property like he’d personally offended them by existing.
Which gates stuck in the heat.
Which section of fencing needed repairing every damn week, no matter how many times he fixed it.
And somewhere along the way, without really noticing it happen, Rhett had learned exactly what time the old property owner took lunch every afternoon.
The realization hit him sometimes in quiet moments.
Not hard.
Not painfully.
Just… strangely.
Because for a long time, Rhett had gotten used to things ending.
People leaving.
Dreams changing.
Places becoming memories before he’d even settled into them properly.
For years, permanence had felt almost dangerous to want.
But now—
Now he had work.
Routine.
You.
And slowly, piece by piece, Arizona had started attaching itself to those things too.
Not just a place he ended up.
A place he was beginning to build a life in.
—
By late morning, the Arizona heat settles heavily across the property, dry and stubborn beneath the bright sun overhead. Rhett stands near one of the fence lines with his sleeves rolled to his forearms, tightening loose wire against a weathered post while dust gathers across the toes of his boots.
Somewhere off near the barn, one of the dogs barks lazily before trotting across the yard toward the shade.
The property owner watches him from beside the barn doors, metal coffee mug in hand.
“You know,” the older man says, “most people your age spend half the day lookin’ for ways to avoid work.”
Rhett glances over briefly, squinting against the sun. “Maybe you just hire lazy people.”
That earns him a rough laugh.
“There it is,” the man says, pointing vaguely at him with the mug. “Wyoming as hell.”
Rhett shakes his head a little, crouching to grab his tools from the ground. “You keep sayin’ that. Still don’t know what it means.”
“It means you sound like somebody that should come with a horse and a Marlboro commercial.”
“You sayin’ I’m pretty?”
The older man snorts hard enough to cough. “Christ. Smartass.”
Rhett grins faintly to himself as he stands again.
The man rubs at one of his knees with a grimace before taking another sip from his mug. “Shouldn’t’ve had kids so late in life,” he mutters. “Body ain’t built for this anymore.”
Rhett hooks the fencing tool onto his belt. “Thought kids were supposed to keep you young.”
“That’s propaganda spread by people under thirty.”
That pulls another quiet laugh out of Rhett.
And that, more than anything else, is what the older man seems to like about him.
Rhett works hard. Doesn’t complain much. Doesn’t stand around talking when there’s work left unfinished.
But more than that, he doesn’t bullshit people.
What you see is what you get with him.
And after enough mornings spent working side by side beneath the Arizona sun, the easy rhythm between them settles naturally.
A few years ago, Rhett probably wouldn’t have joked back this easily.
Wouldn’t relax enough to let conversation stretch out while he worked.
Teenage Rhett always carries himself a little tense around people. Quiet in a guarded sort of way. Like he expects conversations to turn into something sharper if he lets them go on too long.
Adult Rhett is quieter, too.
But steadier now.
More settled into himself.
Comfortable enough to tease somebody back.
Comfortable enough to laugh without feeling like he has to hold it in.
The crunch of gravel pulls both their attention toward the driveway.
Rhett straightens from where he’s crouched near the fence line just as a dark SUV rolls slowly up beside the barn. A woman climbs out a second later, sunglasses pushed up into her hair as she shuts the door behind her.
She’s pretty.
Not in an intimidating sort of way.
Just… effortlessly put together.
Around Rhett’s age, maybe a little older. Confident in the easy way people usually are when they’ve lived somewhere their whole lives.
“Well,” the property owner mutters beside him, “there’s my youngest.”
“Thought you said your youngest was still a kid.”
“She’s thirty-five.”
Rhett snorts softly. “That ain’t a kid.”
“She is to me.”
The woman heads toward them, smiling easily as she gets closer. “Dad,” she says, leaning in to kiss the old man’s cheek before her attention shifts toward Rhett. “And you must be the Wyoming cowboy.”
Rhett shakes the hand she offers him. “Rhett.”
“Oh, I know,” she says with a small grin.
The owner rolls his eyes immediately. “Lord help me.”
She laughs at that before looking back at Rhett. “Dad talks about you constantly, y’know.”
“Mostly complains,” the older man mutters.
“Mostly says you make him look lazy.”
“That part’s true.”
She laughs again, and Rhett smiles politely before crouching back near the fencing tools at his feet.
She lingers anyway.
Not awkwardly.
Just interested.
Asking questions while Rhett works.
Where he’s from.
If Arizona’s been an adjustment.
Whether he misses Wyoming.
And every single answer somehow circles back to you without Rhett even realizing he’s doing it.
“My darlin’ likes it here more than I expected.”
“My girl keeps threatenin’ to make me start gardenin’.”
“She’s got these two little snakes that somehow run the whole house.”
The woman laughs harder at that than the comment probably deserves. “Snakes?”
“Unfortunately.”
“You don’t like them?”
Rhett glances up briefly as he tightens another section of fencing wire. “I didn’t say that.”
“You definitely implied it.”
He grins faintly. “My girl likes‘em. So now I got opinions on snake tanks and heating lamps somehow.”
The daughter smiles at him for a second too long.
Not inappropriate.
Not pushy.
Just clearly interested.
And maybe Rhett notices a little.
Maybe he doesn’t.
But either way, he redirects naturally every single time without seeming to think about it.
“My darlin’ would probably love this weather.”
“My girlfriend says Arizona sunsets look fake.”
“My girl’s still tryin’ to convince me cactus flowers are pretty.”
The property owner watches the whole thing quietly from beside the barn, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Finally, once his daughter wanders off toward the house to grab something from inside, the older man looks over at Rhett.
“Girl’s got you bad, huh?”
Rhett doesn’t even hesitate.
A small smile pulls at his mouth as he wipes his hands off against his jeans.
“Yeah,” he says simply. “She’s been my whole world since seventh grade. That was before I even knew.”
The old man’s expression softens slightly.
Rhett looks back down at the fencing wire in his hands as he continues quieter, more thoughtful this time.
“Lost her for a while,” he admits. “And I never plan to do anything to ever lose her again.”
The afternoon settles into an easy kind of quiet after that.
No broken fencing.
No horses getting loose.
No machinery deciding to die in the middle of the heat for once.
Just steady work beneath the Arizona sun.
By the time the worst of the afternoon heat starts easing off, Rhett and the property owner end up near the barn organizing tools back into place after finishing the last of the day’s smaller repairs.
The old radio hanging near the workbench crackles softly with some old country song neither of them are really listening to.
Rhett wipes his hands off on a rag before tossing it onto the edge of the bench beside him. His shoulders ache pleasantly from the day’s work, the kind of soreness that comes from actually accomplishing something instead of running himself ragged.
The property owner nudges a toolbox shut with his boot. “Y’know,” he says, “I keep waitin’ for you to complain about the heat.”
Rhett snorts softly. “Complaining won’t make it colder.”
“See? Wyoming as hell.”
“There you go again.”
The older man grins into his coffee mug. “Still true.”
Rhett shakes his head, smiling faintly to himself as he hooks a hammer back onto the wall rack.
It’s quiet after that.
Not awkward.
Not forced.
Just comfortable.
The kind of silence that settles naturally between people who’ve spent enough time working beside each other that conversation doesn’t always need filling.
Outside, wind drifts lazily through the dry grass near the fencing. One of the ranch dogs sleeps stretched beneath the shade of a truck nearby, barely twitching an ear when Rhett walks past.
It’s a good day.
Simple.
Easy.
Steady.
The kind Rhett never really trusts at first because he spent so much of his life waiting for something to go wrong eventually.
But lately, he’s been getting a little better at letting himself enjoy them while they’re happening.
His phone suddenly buzzes loudly against the workbench beside him.
Rhett glances down automatically.
Your name lights up across the screen.
Rhett’s expression softens automatically the second he sees your name across the screen.
Then he pauses.
That’s weird.
You seldom call him while he’s working.
Text sometimes, sure. Little things throughout the day. Pictures of the snakes doing something stupid. Wesley complaining about something dramatic. A reminder to pick something up on the way over.
But actual calls?
Not unless something matters.
The phone buzzes steadily against the workbench.
Rhett reaches for it instinctively, thumb hovering over the screen for a second.
He almost answers.
But the day’s been easy. Calm. Nothing feels urgent out here. And he knows you usually try hard not to interrupt him while he’s working unless you really need something.
So after another second of hesitation, he lets the call ring out.
The silence afterward feels wrong almost immediately.
Not dramatically wrong.
Just enough to make something uneasy settle low in his chest.
Rhett picks the rag back up from the workbench, trying to ignore it.
Beside him, the property owner takes another sip from his mug. “Girlfriend?”
Rhett nods once. “Yessir.”
“She usually call while you’re workin’?”
Rhett shakes his head lightly. “Almost never.”
The old man hums softly but doesn’t push.
Rhett hooks the rag through his belt loop and reaches for another tool just as his phone buzzes again.
His attention snaps down immediately this time.
Your name lights up the screen again.
Rhett’s shoulders tighten slightly before he can stop them.
Not panic.
Not yet.
But definitely concern.
He grabs the phone faster this time, eyes narrowing faintly at the repeated call.
The owner notices instantly.
“You alright?” he asks, voice quieter now.
Rhett doesn’t answer right away.
Just stares at the screen for another second too long.
Before Rhett can decide whether he’s overthinking it or not, the phone buzzes again.
Third call.
His stomach drops a little this time.
Because this is not like you.
You’re careful about his work hours. Almost overly careful sometimes. If he doesn’t answer a text right away while he’s working, you usually wait patiently until lunch or until he’s off for the day.
You don’t call three times in a row.
Rhett’s grip tightens slightly around the phone as he stares down at your name across the screen.
The easy feeling from a few minutes ago disappears completely.
Beside him, the property owner glances over before chuckling softly. “You might wanna answer the missus.”
Normally, Rhett would smile at that.
Probably roll his eyes a little.
Maybe mutter something sarcastic back.
This time, he doesn’t.
Because now he knows something’s wrong.
The phone starts ringing again almost immediately.
Fourth call.
Rhett answers before the first ring fully finishes.
“Hey, darlin’, I’m sorry, I’m at work—”
The words die in his throat instantly.
Because you’re sobbing.
Not quiet crying.
Not sniffling.
Full-body, panicked sobbing.
The kind that makes your breathing uneven and sharp between broken sounds. Rhett hears you trying to speak through it, hears you cough hard like you can’t catch your breath properly.
And just like that, everything around him disappears.
The heat.
The farm.
The conversation.
The old country music crackling softly from the barn radio.
None of it matters anymore.
Rhett straightens so fast the rag in his hand falls forgotten onto the dirt.
“Darlin’?” he says immediately, voice low and sharp with concern. “Hey. Hey, what’s goin’ on?”
On the other end of the phone, you try to answer, but another sob cuts the words apart before he can understand any of it.
You try to answer him immediately.
Rhett can hear you trying so hard to calm yourself down enough to explain, but the words keep breaking apart underneath the crying.
“I’m s-sorry, I n-need—”
Another sharp breath.
A cough.
A hiccuping sob that completely cuts you off.
Rhett’s chest tightens hard.
“Hey, hey, baby, slow down for me,” he says quickly, already moving away from the workbench without realizing he’s doing it. “What happened?”
On the other end of the line, your breathing stays uneven—wet, shaky breaths between panicked little attempts to talk.
Then finally, through another broken sob:
“Nat-a-lie and Err-rrr-l are in the pipes.”
Rhett stops walking.
A long pause stretches between them.
His eyebrows pull together immediately, confusion cutting through the panic for just a second because the sentence genuinely makes no sense to him.
Not because he’s dismissing you.
He literally cannot understand what you mean.
“What do you mean they’re in the pipes?” he asks carefully.
Before you can answer, Rhett hears sudden movement on the other end of the line.
Fast footsteps.
Shuffling.
Something knocking lightly against a counter.
Then Wesley’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Gimme.”
There’s a brief fumbling sound before the phone gets very obviously snatched out of your hands.
Immediate chaos.
“ARE YOU ON YOUR WAY?!” Wesley shouts into the phone. “WE DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”
Rhett pulls the phone back from his ear slightly, blinking hard.
Even with Wesley yelling at him, Rhett somehow stays the calmer one between them.
“Uh… no?” he says carefully. “I’m confused.”
“GET HOME NOW, RHETT!”
And then—
Click.
Dead silence fills the line.
Rhett slowly lowers the phone from his ear, staring at the dark screen for a second, like maybe it’ll somehow explain what the hell just happened.
Behind him, the property owner is very obviously trying not to laugh.
Not at you crying.
At the sheer chaos of whatever that phone call just was.
Rhett finally looks over at him with a helpless little smile. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what just happened.”
The older man snorts into his coffee mug before waving one hand dismissively toward the driveway. “Kid, sounds like your family needs you.”
Rhett pauses slightly at the word.
Family.
Something warm settles strangely in his chest at hearing it said that casually. Like it’s obvious. Like, there’s no question about whether those people belong to him.
Like he belongs to them, too.
He doesn’t say anything about it.
Just glances down briefly before looking back toward the truck.
The owner’s expression softens a little as he nods toward the driveway again. “Go on home.”
—
Rhett grabs his keys off the workbench and heads for his truck without wasting another second.
The old man calls a quick, “Drive safe,” after him, but Rhett’s already climbing into the driver’s seat, dust kicking up beneath his boots as he pulls the door shut behind him.
A second later, the truck rumbles to life.
Rhett backs out faster than usual, gravel crunching sharply beneath the tires before he turns out onto the road toward home.
Not recklessly.
Just urgently.
One hand stays tight around the steering wheel as the Arizona landscape blurs past outside the windows in dry stretches of gold and dirt.
His mind keeps replaying the phone call over and over.
Your sobbing.
Wesley yelling.
“Natalie and Earle are in the pipes.”
Rhett still has absolutely no idea what that actually means.
What pipes?
How?
Why?
None of it makes any sense.
But he understands one thing very clearly:
You were terrified.
That alone is enough to make him leave work without a second thought.
Rhett exhales slowly through his nose as he drives, jaw tight.
Honestly, he still thinks the snakes are weird as hell.
Tiny little things.
Always climbing somewhere they shouldn’t.
Always staring at him like they know something he doesn’t.
But he remembers walking into your room once and finding Earle wrapped lazily around Thistlebear while you laughed so hard you could barely breathe trying to explain why it was “cute.”
He remembers the way your whole face lights up when talking about them.
The little tanks.
The heating lamps.
The names.
You adore those damn snakes.
And because you adore them—
Rhett cares too.
—
By the time Rhett pulls into the driveway, his nerves are wound tight enough that he barely remembers shutting the truck off.
The house looks normal from the outside.
No smoke.
No broken windows.
No ambulance-worthy disaster.
Just your house sitting beneath the late afternoon Arizona sun, exactly the way it always does.
Which somehow makes the panic in your voice even more confusing.
Rhett climbs out quickly, keys already in his hand as he heads for the front porch.
Then he slows slightly at the door.
Because for the first time since getting here—
he doesn’t need to knock.
A few months earlier, Wesley had tossed him the spare key with almost no ceremony whatsoever.
“Congrats,” he’d said while digging through the junk drawer in the kitchen. “You live here emotionally now.”
You’d nearly choked on your drink laughing while Rhett turned pink all the way to his ears.
But then Wesley had pressed the key into Rhett’s hand anyway.
Easy.
Certain.
Like it was obvious.
And Rhett had kept it on his keyring ever since.
Now, standing on the porch with your panicked crying still echoing in his head, his thumb brushes across the worn metal before he slides the key into the lock.
A tiny moment.
Barely anything at all.
But it settles somewhere deep in his chest anyway.
Trust.
Belonging.
A place he’s expected to return to.
Rhett unlocks the door and steps inside—
And chaos immediately destroys the moment.
“COME ON!” Wesley shouts the literal second Rhett gets through the doorway.
Rhett barely manages to kick the door shut behind him before Wesley is dragging him through the house at full speed.
“No hello or nothin’?” Rhett mutters automatically, stumbling slightly as Wesley yanks him down the hallway.
“We are WAY past hello!”
There’s no explanation.
No attempt at one.
Just pure panic radiating off Wesley in frantic waves.
The entire house feels chaotic.
The drawers stand wide open in the kitchen like somebody’s been tearing through them looking for supplies, or tools, or something. Towels are scattered across the floor near the hallway bathroom. Something metallic clatters somewhere deeper in the house as Wesley practically hauls Rhett around the corner.
“You have GOT to fix this,” Wesley says quickly. “I don’t know what else to do! We can’t get in there!”
Rhett reaches the bathroom doorway and stops cold.
You’re standing in front of the sink.
Absolutely sobbing.
Both hands are wrapped desperately around the tiny brown tail of a snake disappearing somewhere down into the exposed drain pipe, like your entire life depends on not letting go.
Your face is blotchy and tear-streaked, your shoulders shaking with uneven breaths as you struggle to hold on carefully without hurting it.
Then you look up.
And the second you see Rhett, relief crashes across your face so hard it almost hurts to look at.
“Help me, please.”
The words come out broken and desperate.
And Rhett responds instantly.
No laughing.
No confusion.
No “what the hell.”
Just immediate calm.
“Okay.”
Rhett moves beside you immediately, crouching down in front of the sink without another question.
“Give me his tail.”
“This is Natalie,” you correct instantly through another shaky sob. “Earle is already all the way in there. I just don’t know how far.”
Rhett’s chest tightens hard at the sound of your voice.
Not because of the snakes.
Not really.
Because you are genuinely devastated.
Your hands are shaking. Tears keep spilling down your cheeks faster than you can wipe them away. You look terrified in a way Rhett almost never sees from you, and it kicks his pulse up immediately.
So he shoves everything else aside and drops straight into practical mode.
Calm.
Steady.
Focused.
“Okay,” he says quickly, carefully taking over holding Natalie’s tail. “Hey, baby, I have a toolbox in the back seat of my truck. Bring it in, darlin’.”
You don’t even hesitate.
You practically sprint out of the bathroom the second he says it.
The second you disappear down the hallway, Wesley starts pacing again.
Aggressively.
Hands in his hair.
Walking tight circles across the bathroom tile.
Talking so fast Rhett can barely keep up with half of it.
“I know better than to let the kids too close to the sink, I swear to God I do, but Earle likes the counter, and Natalie follows him everywhere, and I only turned around for like two seconds—”
Rhett keeps one careful hand wrapped around the tiny tail still disappearing into the pipe while trying very hard to process the fact that Wesley is talking about the snakes exactly like they’re actual toddlers.
“The kids.”
Jesus Christ.
“I really thought the drain stopper was all the way in,” Wesley continues, spiraling harder by the second. “I don’t even know how they got down there that fast—”
“Hey, Wes,” Rhett says carefully, trying to keep his voice level. “Come grab him for me.”
“This is Natalie!” Wesley snaps immediately, offended on the snake’s behalf as he rushes over.
Rhett blinks at him once before the stress finally cracks through his composure a little.
“Dude, I’m doin’ my best, okay?” he says, exasperated but genuinely trying. “They’re snakes.”
A loud clatter echoes down the hallway a second before you come sprinting back into the bathroom with the toolbox clutched in both hands.
“RHETT! HERE!”
You nearly trip over one of the towels on the floor trying to get to him fast enough, catching yourself against the doorframe at the last second before practically dropping to your knees beside him.
Your breathing is still uneven from crying.
Panic still radiates off you in frantic waves as you shove the toolbox toward him like it’s the most important thing in the world.
And something about that hits Rhett hard right in the chest.
Because you trust him to fix this.
You didn’t call animal control.
Didn’t call a plumber.
You called him.
Rhett swallows once before pulling the toolbox closer beside him. “Okay,” he says again, calmer than he feels. “Okay, darlin’, I got it.”
Rhett flips the toolbox open quickly, metal clinking sharply against the bathroom tile as he digs through it for the right wrench.
Behind him, Wesley is still holding onto Natalie’s tail with both hands like he’s afraid she’ll vanish completely if he loosens his grip for even a second.
“Don’t pull too hard,” Rhett says automatically as he grabs the wrench. “You don’t wanna hurt her.”
“I KNOW,” Wesley says immediately, horrified at the implication. “I’m not yanking my daughter out of a pipe like a cartoon character, Rhett.”
Rhett decides not to unpack the word daughter right now.
Instead, he shifts awkwardly beneath the sink, one knee pressed hard against the tile as he reaches up into the cramped cabinet space.
The metal joint beneath the drain is tighter than he expected.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, adjusting his grip on the wrench.
You hover anxiously right beside him the entire time.
Too worried to sit still.
Too worried to stop talking.
“Do you think they can breathe in there?”
“Are they scared?”
“Oh my God, what if Earle keeps going farther down?”
“They’re okay,” Rhett says steadily, even while sweat starts gathering at his temples from both the heat and the awkward angle he’s twisted into beneath the sink. “They’re okay, darlin’, I got it.”
Wesley is pacing again now, too, but only in tiny, frantic little movements because he refuses to let go of Natalie’s tail.
Rhett glances over briefly. “Wes, that’s a snake.”
“And?”
“And I don’t think she feels better just cuz y’here.”
Wesley gasps softly like Rhett’s insulted both of them.
“Wow.”
You make a tiny, stressed noise that’s dangerously close to another sob, and Rhett immediately refocuses.
“Hey,” he says quickly, gentler now. “Hey, we’re good. Just gotta loosen this.”
The wrench finally gives with a sharp metallic creak.
All three of you freeze.
Very carefully, Rhett shifts lower and starts loosening the pipe joint by hand now, movements slow and deliberate.
Trying not to scare the snakes.
Trying not to hurt them.
Trying not to make you panic worse than you already are.
The pipe loosens another inch.
Wesley holds his breath dramatically beside him.
You’re practically kneeling against Rhett’s shoulder at this point, trying to see inside the pipe.
“Can you see them?” you whisper urgently.
Rhett squints into the dark opening beneath the sink.
“…maybe,” he says carefully.
“That is NOT reassuring,” Wesley says immediately.
The pipe joint finally loosens enough for Rhett to carefully ease it apart.
A small rush of water drips onto the towel beneath the sink as he shifts the pipe lower, squinting into the dark opening.
Then—
“There he is.”
Relief hits all three of you instantly.
A tiny orange tail is barely visible, curled deeper inside the pipe.
“Oh my God,” you breathe, already tearing up all over again.
Wesley makes a noise somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.
Rhett’s entire expression softens immediately at finally spotting him.
“Hey buddy,” he whispers automatically, voice low and gentle as he carefully reaches farther into the loosened pipe. “There y’are.”
Slowly, carefully, he gets his fingers around the tiny body and starts easing Earle free inch by inch.
“Easy,” Rhett murmurs softly. “Easy…”
The little snake finally starts sliding out into his hand, orange scales glinting faintly beneath the bathroom light.
Rhett supports the body carefully as more of Earle emerges from the pipe—
Then the tiny head pops free.
And immediately chomps down on Rhett’s finger.
“AH—shit!”
Rhett jerks backward so fast he smacks the back of his head hard against the underside of the counter with a loud thunk before completely losing his balance and falling onto the bathroom floor.
Instant chaos.
“EARLE!” you gasp, immediately scooping the little orange snake carefully out of Rhett’s hands before he can go flying across the tile too.
Wesley yelps in horror somewhere beside the sink.
Rhett sits halfway up, one hand clutching the back of his head while the other shakes sharply where Earle bit him.
“What happened?” you ask immediately, still cradling Earle protectively against your chest.
Rhett stares at his hand like he’s personally betrayed.
“The fuckin’ thing bit me!”
“HE WAS SCARED!” Wesley shouts instantly.
Rhett looks genuinely offended by that. “I was rescuin’ him!”
Earle immediately starts curling himself loosely around your forearm the second he’s safely in your hands again, tiny body winding instinctively against your skin, tongue flittering, while you hold him close to your chest.
But the moment you know he’s okay, your attention snaps right back to Rhett.
You drop to your knees beside him quickly, still clutching Earle with one arm while your free hand moves immediately to the back of Rhett’s head, where he hit the counter.
Your touch turns gentle instantly.
Concern replacing panic.
“Are you okay?” you ask softly.
Rhett rubs at his bitten hand with a deeply annoyed expression before looking up at you.
“Y’askin’ me or the snake?”
A small laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
Wet and shaky from crying still—but real.
And the second Rhett hears it, something in the room finally starts settling.
Your breathing evens out little by little.
The panic loosens its grip.
The worst of the crisis starts draining out of the bathroom all at once.
Because Earle is safe.
And now, finally—
You’re smiling again.
Rhett exhales slowly and pushes himself back upright with a quiet grunt, still rubbing the back of his head once before looking back toward the sink.
“Alright,” he mutters. “Now we gotta get the other one out.”
“Natalie,” Wesley corrects immediately.
Rhett gives him a flat look. “I know.”
He absolutely does not.
Still, despite getting bitten, smacking his head, and surviving what feels like twenty straight minutes of snake-related emotional warfare, Rhett scoots back toward the cabinet again.
You stay close beside him now, Earle still loosely wrapped around your arm, while he flicks his tongue lazily like none of this has traumatized the entire household.
Rhett points toward the loosened pipe still hanging beneath the sink. “Okay, Wesley. Let go of her tail.”
Wesley gasps softly. “What if she disappears farther in there?”
“She won’t,” Rhett says patiently. “There’s nowhere else for her to go now. She’ll slide right down.”
Wesley looks deeply unconvinced by this information.
Rhett sighs. “Wesley.”
“Okay, okay.”
Very slowly, like he’s releasing a hostage negotiator into danger, Wesley loosens his grip on Natalie’s tail.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then suddenly the little brown snake starts sliding smoothly down through the last remaining section of pipe before slipping free into open air.
“There she is,” Rhett says immediately.
Wesley scoops Natalie up with both hands so fast you’d think she’d been falling off a cliff instead of calmly exiting plumbing.
“Oh my God,” he breathes dramatically, clutching the snake against his chest now. “My babies.”
Wesley immediately reaches over and takes Earle from your arm, too, cradling both snakes dramatically against his chest like he just rescued them from a natural disaster.
Which, honestly, to him, he probably did.
“You two,” he says sternly to the snakes, “are GROUNDED.”
Rhett slowly blinks up at him from the bathroom floor.
Wesley points accusingly at Earle with one finger while still holding Natalie securely in his other hand. “No outside time for two days. EITHER OF YOU.”
Rhett stares at him for a long second, trying very hard to figure out what the hell is happening in this house. Because Wesley is fully scolding the snakes like misbehaving toddlers. And somehow the snakes look equally unbothered by it.
You sniffle softly beside Rhett, still emotional but visibly calmer now that both snakes are safe.
Wesley continues carrying them protectively toward the hallway. “You scared your mother HALF to death,” he informs them seriously as he disappears out of the bathroom.
Silence settles for a second afterward.
Rhett watches him go with the strangest mix of disbelief and reluctant fondness pulling at his expression.
This house is ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
And somehow—
he fits here perfectly.
The bathroom finally goes quiet after Wesley disappears down the hallway, still lecturing the snakes under his breath.
For the first time since Rhett walked through the front door, the panic drains fully out of the room.
Rhett stays sitting on the floor, elbows braced behind him against the tile while he exhales slowly through his nose.
You’re still kneeling beside him.
Close.
Close enough that he can still see tear tracks faintly shining on your cheeks beneath the bathroom light.
Your eyes are watery still, lashes damp from crying so hard earlier.
But now, when you look at him, there’s no panic left in them.
Just affection.
So much affection it almost catches him off guard.
“Thanks for coming,” you say softly.
Rhett blushes immediately.
It hits him so fast it’s almost embarrassing.
Pink creeps across his cheeks as a small, crooked smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Any time.”
And then his eyes drop.
Just for a second.
To your lips.
Before lifting back to your eyes again.
You close the distance first.
Softly.
The panic from earlier is still lingering around the edges of you a little—tear tracks still faint on your cheeks, breathing not completely steady yet—but now all of that emotion settles into something warmer.
Relief.
Affection.
You kiss him gently, and Rhett melts into it immediately.
One of his hands slides instinctively to your waist while the other braces against the floor behind him for balance, and he lets out the quietest little breath against your mouth like he didn’t realize how tense he still was until right now.
You smile faintly into the kiss.
“My hero.”
Rhett actually chuckles at that, soft and embarrassed all at once, the sound warm against your lips.
“Don’t start,” he murmurs, even while he’s smiling.
You kiss him again before he can say anything else.
And somewhere in the middle of it, you shift closer naturally, carefully climbing into his lap without breaking the kiss.
Nothing awkward about it. Nothing hesitant.
Just easy.
Comfortable in the way only years of loving somebody can be.
Rhett’s hands settle automatically at your waist the second you’re there, holding you close while he tilts his head to kiss you deeper this time, smiling a little every time you steal another soft kiss before he’s fully done with the last one.
A soft knock-tap sounds against the bathroom doorframe.
Neither of you reacts at first.
Rhett’s still kissing you slowly, hands warm against your waist while you smile faintly into his mouth.
Then Wesley’s voice cuts through the room with perfect timing.
“Hey, I really need this sink fixed, can thank-you sex wait til later?”
The casualness of it is what kills the moment completely.
Not scandalized.
Not awkward.
Just genuinely practical.
Rhett freezes beneath you.
You pull back first, immediately laughing as Rhett closes his eyes briefly like he’s physically suffering.
Rhett finally opens his eyes again, still leaning back against the bathroom cabinet with an expression that can only be described as long-suffering.
“I really hate that he does that.”
There’s no actual anger in it.
Just genuine suffering.
You laugh softly again, still smiling as you lean down and press a quick kiss to his cheek.
“I’ll talk to him,” you promise.
Rhett snorts quietly like he already knows that conversation won’t accomplish much.
“But,” you add, unable to stop grinning a little, “he may keep doing it.”
Rhett stares at you for a second.
And you can physically see the realization settling in.
Oh.
Oh no.
This is just Wesley forever.
Rhett groans quietly under his breath.
And notably does not sit up right away.
Because he was very, very into kissing you.
You smile at him for another second before finally pushing yourself up from the bathroom floor.
Rhett watches you stand, still leaning back against the cabinet with that same fond, slightly overwhelmed expression lingering across his face.
“Do you need help puttin’ the sink back together, rabbit?” you ask casually.
The nickname slips out so naturally that neither of you really thinks about it.
Not yet, anyway.
Wesley, thankfully, is still occupied somewhere down the hallway talking to the snakes like they understand English.
Rhett’s mouth twitches into another soft smile at the sound of it. He reaches out automatically, catching your wrist gently just long enough to pull you back in for one quick kiss.
“I’m good, darlin’,” he murmurs against your lips. “Give me a few, an’ I’ll have it fixed.”
You nod, smiling.
“Okie.”
As you turn to head toward the hallway, Rhett gives your butt a quick, playful swat on the way past.
You yelp immediately, spinning around with an offended gasp that’s completely ruined by the grin spreading across your face.
Rhett just smirks at you from the floor, entirely too pleased with himself.
And somehow, after all the chaos and crying and sink dismantling, the tiny moment feels strangely domestic.
Easy.
Like this kind of playful affection has already settled comfortably into the shape of your relationship.
By the time you disappear into the living room, the house finally settles into something quieter.
Wesley’s voice drifts faintly down the hallway every few seconds, still lecturing the snakes dramatically about “reckless behavior,” but the panic from earlier is gone now.
Rhett exhales softly through his nose before scooting back toward the sink cabinet.
The loosened pipes still hang crooked beneath it, tools scattered across the bathroom floor beside his knees. He reaches for the wrench again, adjusting the metal joint carefully back into place.
The work is slower now.
Unhurried.
The adrenaline’s worn off enough that he can actually focus on what he’s doing instead of trying to rescue tiny reptiles from plumbing.
A faint smile keeps tugging at the corner of his mouth anyway.
Mostly because every time he closes his eyes for half a second, he keeps hearing you say:
“My hero.”
Rhett shakes his head to himself, cheeks warming all over again as he tightens the pipe back into place.
Outside the bathroom, he can hear you laughing softly at something Wesley says.
The sound settles warmly in his chest.
A few years ago, Rhett never really pictured himself here.
Fixing somebody’s sink while his girlfriend laughs down the hallway.
Tools spread across the floor.
A ridiculous snake emergency becoming part of a completely normal afternoon.
But now that he’s here—
he likes it.
Likes the feeling of being useful to you.
Likes being the person you call when something goes wrong.
Likes that this house already feels familiar enough for him to move through it without thinking anymore.
Carefully, he wipes his hands off on the towel beside him before testing the repaired pipe one last time.
No leaks.
“Hell yeah,” he mutters quietly to himself.
By the time he steps out into the hallway, the house feels completely different from the way it did when he arrived.
Calm now.
Warm.
He follows the sound of your voice into the living room, finding you curled into the corner of the couch while Wesley sits cross-legged near you, both snakes safely contained in their enclosure nearby now.
“You cannot keep calling them grounded,” you’re telling him through quiet laughter.
“Yes, I can,” Wesley argues immediately. “They need structure.”
“They’re snakes.”
“And yet they committed actual crimes.”
Rhett snorts softly as he walks into the room.
Both of you look over immediately.
Wesley’s expression suddenly shifts like he remembers something important.
“Oh—hey.” He sits up straighter, gesturing vaguely toward Rhett. “I’m never trying to make things uncomfortable.”
Rhett pauses mid-step, immediately suspicious.
Wesley continues before anybody can stop him.
“I know I’m weird sometimes—”
“Sometimes?” you mumble. Wesley puts his hand in your face to hush you.
“—but I am just trying to welcome you into the family.”
The room goes quieter for a second after that.
Not awkward quiet.
Just enough for the words to settle.
Because Wesley says it so casually.
Like it’s already decided.
Like, there’s no question about whether Rhett belongs here anymore.
And that word shows up again:
Family.
And Rhett feels that one land just as hard as the first time.
“Hey, rabbit! So, it’s like done done?” You push yourself up from the couch almost immediately once Rhett confirms the sink is fixed, smiling as you walk over to him.
“Yeah,” Rhett says, smiling a little as you stop in front of him. “Should be good now.”
Wesley’s face scrunches almost instantly from the couch.
“Rabbit?” he repeats. “What kinda pet name is that?”
You blink at him, genuinely confused by the question.
“…that’s his name.”
Rhett lets out a quiet laugh through his nose while Wesley stares between both of you like he’s trying to solve a math problem.
“What?”
You look back at Rhett like the explanation is obvious. “Rhett Abbott. R. Abbott.”
Rhett’s eyebrows lift slightly.
“…Rabbit,” he says slowly.
“Rabbit,” you confirm.
Wesley points at you immediately. “That is NOT where I thought this was going.”
You ignore him completely.
“When we were kids, you were in my phone as ‘R dot Abbott,’” you explain to Rhett. “Then one day, before high school, I realized it spelled rabbit if you said it fast.”
Rhett’s ears are already starting to turn pink.
“And I thought it was cute,” you continue, smiling a little. “So I added a rabbit emoji next to your contact.”
Rhett looks genuinely stunned by this information.
You laugh softly at his expression. “Then after we started dating, I just took the space out and made it rabbit instead.”
For a second, Rhett just stares at you.
And something soft settles across his whole face all at once.
Because suddenly, he realizes this wasn’t some random nickname you started using recently.
You’ve been carrying this affection for him around since before high school.
Since before first kisses.
Before dating.
Before everything.
Rhett steps closer automatically, eyes fixed on you with this quiet, overwhelmed sort of fondness.
“I didn’t know that’s why you started callin’ me rabbit,” he admits softly.
The pink in his ears deepens when you smile at him.
Your smile falters just slightly under the way he’s looking at you now.
Not upset.
Just… emotional enough that it suddenly makes you self-conscious.
“Is that okay?” you ask a little quieter.
Rhett’s expression softens immediately.
Before you can start overthinking yourself any further, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.
“I think it’s super cute.”
There’s no teasing in it.
No joking.
He means it completely.
And somehow that makes your chest feel warm all over again.
Rhett stays close afterward, a soft kiss brushing your shoulder lightly as he smiles to himself, still very obviously processing the fact that you’ve apparently been calling him Rabbit in your head since you were kids.
A dramatic sigh echoes from the couch.
“I’m so alone.”
You don’t even look away from Rhett as Wesley slumps farther into the cushions like the most persecuted man alive.
“Oh my God,” you mumble, laughing softly.
Wesley gestures vaguely between the two of you. “You’re standing there being emotionally in love at each other again.”
“That’s kinda how relationships work,” Rhett says dryly.
Wesley ignores him completely. “Meanwhile, I’m over here raising children alone.”
“The snakes are in a tank,” you remind him.
“They need emotional support. It was a very taxing day.”
You finally step away from Rhett enough to point toward the hallway. “Can you go hang out with Dani?”
Wesley gasps like you’ve deeply offended him. “Wow. Exiled from my own home.”
“You’ll survive.”
He narrows his eyes thoughtfully for a second. “Can I get one more joke in?”
You just stare at him. Completely silent.
Wesley sighs dramatically so hard his whole body moves with it.
“Ohh kaaayyyy. Fiiine.”
He pushes himself up off the couch and walks past Rhett, bumping a playful elbow against his arm on the way by.
“Congrats on the thank you sex, by the way.”
“Wes.”
“I’m leaving!” Wesley calls immediately, already disappearing toward the front door, laughing at his own jokes.
The front door swings shut a second later.
Silence settles over the house almost immediately once Wesley’s voice disappears outside with it.
And the energy changes instantly.
Quieter now.
Warmer.
Rhett barely has time to look back toward you before your hand catches the front of his shirt collar and pulls him closer.
His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise as he stumbles the half step toward you.
“Oh,” he says softly, smiling almost immediately once he realizes what you’re doing. “Hi, darlin’.”
You’re close enough now that your noses almost brush.
Close enough that he can feel your breath against his mouth when you smile.
“You saved my babies,” you murmur.
Rhett’s hands settle automatically at your waist again, thumbs brushing lightly against your sides.
“Well,” he says quietly, “somebody had to save‘em from the world’s most dangerous sink.”
You laugh softly under your breath before leaning even closer.
“That requires a reward.”
Rhett just stares at you for a second.
Actually stares.
Like his brain completely stops working the moment the words leave your mouth.
You watch the realization hit him in real time, slow and obvious across his face, and it makes you laugh softly under your breath.
Because somehow, after all these years, you still do this to him.
Still completely undo him.
“Reward,” he repeats blankly.
You smile and lean in, kissing him again before he can recover enough to say anything smarter than that.
One of your hands slips between you, fingers hooking casually into his belt as you kiss him slowly.
Rhett makes the quietest startled sound against your mouth.
Not scandalized.
Just thoroughly overwhelmed by you.
His hands tighten automatically at your waist, and before you can even finish unbuckling the belt, he scoops you up effortlessly into his arms.
You laugh immediately, arms sliding around his shoulders as he holds you close against his chest.
“Oh, now your brain works again?” you tease softly.
“Barely,” Rhett admits honestly, smiling against your cheek before kissing you again.
There’s nothing rushed about the moment.
Nothing aggressive.
Just warmth.
Affection.
Comfort.
Wanted in the safest, happiest sort of way.
Rhett carries you down the hallway like it’s the most natural thing in the world, smiling every time your laughter breaks softly into another kiss.
The bedroom door nudges shut softly behind them a few minutes later.
The house is quiet now.
No panicked yelling.
No pipes clanking apart beneath a sink.
No Wesley dramatically disciplining snakes from the other room.
Just warmth.
Rhett settles onto the bed with you still half-curled against him, smiling when you immediately tuck yourself closer like that’s where you naturally belong now.
Because it is.
You steal another kiss from him, softer this time, smiling against his mouth when he lets out a quiet laugh under his breath.
“What?” you murmur.
“Nothin’,” Rhett says, even though the fondness written all over his face says otherwise.
Your fingers drift lazily through the hair at the back of his neck while he keeps one arm wrapped securely around your waist, thumb brushing absently against your side beneath your shirt.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Outside the bedroom window, the last bit of Arizona sunlight stretches warm and gold across the floorboards.
And laying here with you tangled against him, Rhett realizes something quietly important.
A few years ago, he thought loving you meant losing you eventually.
Thought happiness was temporary by nature.
Something you held carefully until life took it back.
But now—
Now love looks like this.
Snake emergencies.
Wesley yelling through the house.
Repairing sinks.
Inside jokes carried since middle school.
Being handed a house key without hesitation.
Getting interrupted halfway through kissing because somebody needs plumbing fixed.
Domestic.
Ridiculous.
Warm.
Home.
After you and Rhett finish, you yawn softly against his shoulder, and Rhett smiles before pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.
The house around him feels lived in now.
Not just yours.
Not just Wesley’s.
His when he’s here, too.
And maybe that’s the real reason his chest still feels so full tonight.
Not because he rescued two tiny snakes from a pipe.
But because somewhere along the way, without even noticing exactly when it happened—
Teen Rhett: Ten Years Later, FINALE - Rhett Abbott/Female Reader
briefing: grief is a terrible thing. regret hurts so much. but when a meddling best friend takes charge, an interesting turn of fate arises.
words: 9.4k
warnings: past emotional/psychological abuse and strained family dynamics(referenced), grief and loss, heavy angst and unresolved feelings, emotional breakdowns, mentions of depression and regret, complicated relationships, and a lot of yearning before things finally soften
Author note: This concludes the MAIN storyline of the Teen Rhett series. This is such a bittersweet moment. and a lovely story. PLEASE REBLOG AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!
April 2026
Morning comes slowly.
Not sharp, not bright—just a soft spill of light through the windows, stretching across the floor in long, quiet lines. It filters through the curtains in that in-between way, where it’s hard to tell if it’s early or already edging toward late morning. Time moves differently here. Softer. Looser.
The house is still.
Not empty—just quiet in a way that settles deep into the walls. No rush. No noise. Just the low hum of something running in the background, the occasional shift of wood, the kind of silence most people would call peaceful.
But it doesn’t feel peaceful.
Not really.
It feels… heavy.
Like something sitting just beneath the surface, not loud enough to interrupt your day—but constant enough that it never really leaves.
You move through the space like you always do. Familiar paths. Familiar motions. Coffee made without thinking. Phone checked without really seeing anything. The rhythm of a life you’ve built—steady, functional, safe.
You and Wesley have made something here.
It’s real. It’s solid.
Shared mornings. Shared groceries. Half-finished conversations that pick back up hours later without effort. The kind of comfort that comes from knowing someone will be there when you walk into a room.
It’s good.
It’s safe.
And you exist inside it easily enough.
You work. You eat. You sleep. You answer emails. You remember appointments. You laugh when Wesley says something ridiculous from the other room.
You function.
Perfectly.
But something in you never quite… settled.
Not after this last Wabang visit.
It lingers in small ways. In pauses that stretch a second too long. In the way your chest tightens at nothing in particular. In how quiet moments don’t feel restful—they feel like something’s missing.
Like something was left unfinished.
Like you walked away from something that never actually ended.
You don’t say it out loud. You don’t really let yourself think it all the way through.
But it’s there.
Always there.
You drift toward the couch without thinking, drawn more by habit than intention. The space is lived-in—blanket tossed over the arm, a mug left from the night before, sunlight catching dust in the air.
And there—
Tucked into the corner like it’s always been there—
Your thistlebear.
Soft. Worn in the way things get when they’ve been held more than displayed. One ear is slightly bent. The stitching is still intact.
You don’t even remember reaching for it.
But your hand does anyway.
Fingers brushing over familiar fabric, grounding without asking.
You keep it close. Always have.
Not on purpose. Not as some conscious choice.
It just… never ended up anywhere else.
And somehow, without ever saying it out loud—
It stayed.
Right within reach.
By the time you step outside, the air’s warmer.
Not hot yet—just that early shift into spring where the sun lingers a little longer, the ground softens, everything starting to wake up again. The backyard smells like turned dirt and something faintly green, like life trying to come back.
Wesley’s already out there.
Kneeling in one of the garden beds, sleeves pushed up, hands deep in the soil like he’s been at it for a while. There’s a small pile of weeds off to the side, a bag of fresh soil split open, tools scattered in a way that somehow still makes sense to him.
“You’re late,” he calls without looking up.
You snort quietly, stepping down into the grass. “It’s like… nine.”
“It’s almost eleven,” he corrects, glancing at his phone before tossing it back onto the table. “Prime gardening hours. You’re missing it.”
“Devastating,” you mutter, grabbing a pair of gloves—but you don’t put them on. You never do.
You settle beside him, knees sinking into the dirt, and start sorting through the seed packets spread out between you. Tomatoes, peppers, herbs—little paper envelopes of intention. Of something growing, if you do it right.
It’s quiet for a bit.
Just the sound of soil shifting, the soft tear of a packet opening, Wesley humming something under his breath that you don’t recognize.
It’s… nice.
Grounded. Real. Something you can do with your hands.
You push your fingers into the dirt, letting it pack under your nails, brushing loose soil aside to make a shallow line for planting. Wesley hands you a packet without asking, and you take it just as automatically.
This part of your life works.
It’s simple. Predictable. Safe.
Wesley breaks the silence like he always does—easy, casual, like it doesn’t matter.
“You heard from anyone back home lately?”
Your response comes before you even think about it.
Flat. Immediate.
“There’s not one person I’d want to talk to.”
Wesley huffs out a quiet breath—not quite a laugh, not quite surprised. He keeps working, but there’s a shift in him now. More deliberate.
“Not even that sexy cowboy you fucked,” he says in one breath, tone light but pointed, “that you have a clear history with, history you never told me about?”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. Just reflex.
“Rhett doesn’t want anything to do with me,” you say, brushing dirt off your hands like that’s the end of it. “If he did, he wouldn’t have left me that day and would’ve given me his number.”
The words land heavier than you meant them to.
You don’t look at him.
You focus on the seeds instead, pressing them into the line you made, covering them too quickly, as if you can bury the conversation with them.
Wesley doesn’t respond right away.
You can feel him looking at you, though. Studying.
Not judging—just… seeing more than you want him to.
Finally, quieter now:
“Are you mad at him… or yourself?”
Your hands stop.
Just for a second.
The dirt shifts under your fingers as you press down harder than you need to, smoothing the soil flat like that’ll even it out.
You don’t answer. You don’t even try.
Because you don’t actually know—and that’s worse than anything you could say.
So instead, you push yourself up, brushing your hands off against your jeans.
“I’m gonna go inside,” you mutter, already stepping away before he can respond.
Wesley doesn’t stop you.
Doesn’t call after you.
He just watches you go.
You don’t make it far.
The shift from outside to inside hits you the second the door closes behind you—like the air’s heavier in here, thicker somehow. Quiet in a way that presses in instead of settling.
You head down the hall without really thinking about it, steps slower than they should be. Everything feels a little… off. Like your body’s still trying to catch up to something your mind doesn’t want to look at.
Your room is dim when you step in. Curtains half-drawn, light slipping through in soft, uneven strips across the bed.
You don’t bother turning anything on.
You just… lie down.
“Just for a minute.”
That’s what you tell yourself, even as you sink into the mattress, one arm coming up to shield your eyes from the light.
But your hand shifts almost immediately.
Instinct.
Familiar.
It finds the thistlebear without you having to look. You tossed it onto your bed before heading out to the garden.
You pull it in close, curling slightly around it, tucking it against your chest like you’ve done a thousand times without ever really thinking about it. The fabric is still soft in that worn-in way, grounded in a way nothing else quite is.
Your body settles.
Not because you’re tired.
Not really.
This isn’t physical exhaustion.
It’s something deeper. Heavier.
Two years’ worth of thoughts you never let finish. Conversations you never had. Feelings you kept neatly boxed up, labeled later, not now, don’t touch that.
It all sits there at once.
And your brain just… shuts off.
You’re out almost instantly.
No drifting. No slow fade.
Just—gone.
—
Wesley notices.
At first, he gives you a few minutes. Figures you needed space, needed to cool off after the garden. He stays outside longer than he normally would, finishing what he started, hands moving on autopilot while his mind stays somewhere else entirely.
Eventually, though—
You don’t come back out.
And that’s what gets him.
He wipes his hands off on his jeans, heading inside with a small frown pulling at his mouth, already half-aware that he pushed too far.
Your door is still open.
He leans against the frame for a second before stepping in, quieter now.
You’re already asleep.
Curled in on yourself, face half-buried in the pillow, arms wrapped tight around the bear like you didn’t even give yourself a second to think before grabbing it.
Wesley exhales softly.
“…well… shit.”
It’s not dramatic. Not loud.
Just… regret.
He steps closer, careful not to wake you, and takes in the way you’re holding it. How fast you must’ve gone down. How hard you must’ve crashed to drop like that in the middle of the day.
He knows why.
He knows exactly what he poked at.
And for a second, it sits heavily on him.
Because yeah—he cares.
More than he lets on most of the time.
But he also knows…
This isn’t something you’re ever going to fix by ignoring it.
He reaches down, gently pulling the blanket up over you, tucking it around your shoulders in a way that doesn’t disturb you. His hand lingers there for a second, resting lightly.
Then he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, voice low, careful not to wake you. “…I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
You don’t stir.
Don’t react.
Just breathe slow and steady, like your body finally found a way to shut everything out for a little while.
Wesley straightens, watching you for a moment longer before stepping back.
There’s something thoughtful in his expression now.
Something quieter.
More… resolved.
He turns and leaves the room just as softly as he came in.
The door stays open.
And you sleep—
completely unaware that something has already started shifting around you.
The next few days pass quietly.
Not in a noticeable way at first—nothing sharp enough to call out, nothing obvious enough to question. Just small shifts. Slight changes in rhythm that don’t quite interrupt anything, but don’t sit the same either.
Wesley is… different.
Not dramatically. Not in a way anyone else would probably clock.
But you do.
You catch it in passing moments.
He’s on his phone more.
Not just scrolling—focused. Typing, reading, pausing like he’s waiting on responses. The screen angled away without him thinking about it, like it’s just instinct.
A couple of times, he steps outside to take calls.
That’s new.
He never really does that. Normally, he’ll just answer wherever he is, talk openly, pace the kitchen or the living room while he chats. But now—
He steps out onto the porch.
Closes the door halfway.
Keeps his voice low.
You don’t hear what he’s saying.
You don’t ask.
At first, you figure it’s nothing.
Work. Friends. Something that doesn’t involve you.
But then—
He starts asking questions.
Little ones, at first.
Offhand.
“What was that place you used to work in high school?”
“Your grandma lived where again?”
“That rodeo thing—what was it called?”
You answer without thinking.
Because none of it feels important enough not to.
But there’s a pattern to it.
A thread you can’t quite grab onto.
And every now and then, you catch him watching you a little longer than usual. Not in a weird way. Not suspicious.
Just… thinking.
Like he’s putting pieces together, you don’t even realize you’re handing him.
There are moments he disappears, too.
Quick trips.
“Running out for a bit,” tossed over his shoulder as he grabbed his keys.
Gone longer than expected sometimes.
Back with no real explanation—but not in a way that feels secretive. Just… vague.
Normal enough.
Everything stays normal enough.
And that’s what makes it easy not to push.
Because you could ask.
You could press. Call it out. Ask what he’s doing, who he’s talking to, and why he’s suddenly so interested in your past.
But—
You don’t.
You’re tired. Not the kind of tired sleep fixes.
The kind that makes everything feel like too much effort. Even curiosity.
Even confrontation.
So you let it sit.
Let the questions pass through you without sticking.
Let his behavior exist in the background, just another thing you don’t have the energy to pick apart.
You notice.
Of course you notice.
But you don’t follow it.
You don’t dig.
You don’t want to.
Because something in you already feels fragile enough—
and whatever he’s doing…
feels like it might lead somewhere you’re not ready to look at yet.
So you let it go.
For now.
And somewhere just out of reach—
something keeps quietly shifting without you realizing how close it’s getting.
The house is quiet again.
Not the soft, early-morning quiet from before—this one feels flatter. More hollow. Like everything’s been muted just enough that nothing fully lands.
You’re at the table with your laptop open, a half-finished cup of coffee sitting just out of reach. Your inbox is full. Threads stacked on threads, deadlines tucked into subject lines, little red notifications that should probably feel more urgent than they do.
You’re doing everything you’re supposed to be doing.
It just… doesn’t feel like anything.
Your eyes skim over words without really absorbing them. Fingers moving on autopilot. You reread the same sentence twice before realizing you’ve already responded to it.
Functioning.
That’s what this is.
Just… functioning.
Wesley’s in the room with you, somewhere off to the side. Not interrupting. Just present. The quiet kind of company you’ve gotten used to—comfortable enough that you don’t feel the need to fill the space.
For a while, neither of you says anything.
Then—
Casual. Almost absent-minded:
“Remind me,” he says, not looking up from whatever he’s doing, “what got you out of Wabang?”
Your fingers pause on the keyboard.
Just for a second.
It shouldn’t hit like that.
It’s a simple question. You’ve answered it before. It’s not new. It’s not deep.
But something about the way he says it—
or maybe just the fact that you’re already… worn thin—
makes it land heavier than it should.
You lean back slightly in your chair, rubbing at your temple before answering.
“My grandmother,” you say, voice even at first. “She told me when I turned eighteen, I could come live with her. Oklahoma.”
Wesley hums quietly.
You keep going, because stopping would make it worse.
“So when I turned eighteen, I left.” A small breath. “Took a bus out of Cheyenne. Took like… two days or so to get there.”
You try to make it sound neutral.
Like it’s just a fact.
Like it didn’t matter.
Wesley’s quiet for a beat.
Then—
“How’d you get to Cheyenne?”
Your chest tightens.
There it is—the part you don’t like touching.
You stare at your screen for a second longer, like maybe you can just… not answer. Let it sit. Let it pass.
But he’s waiting.
And for some reason, you don’t stop it this time.
“…Rhett,” you say.
The name sits in the air heavier than anything else you’ve said all morning.
You swallow, fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table.
“I asked him to take me.”
Your voice shifts.
Subtle, but there.
You’re not just answering anymore.
You’re remembering.
“He drove me,” you continue, quieter now. “Sat with me at the station.”
You blink hard, like that might keep the rest of it from coming.
It doesn’t.
“I watched him—” your voice catches, and you have to stop for a second, breath stuttering as it hits you all at once, “—I watched him just… disappear.”
The room feels smaller.
Closer.
Like it’s pressing in from all sides.
“And I’ve had to deal with that ever since,” you add, words coming faster now, uneven. “Breaking up with my first love, my oldest and best friend… and hurting the greatest person I’d ever known just because my life sucked.”
Your hands are shaking a little now.
You don’t look at Wesley.
You can’t.
Because if you do, you might stop—and you’ve already gone too far to pull it back.
“What would’ve made you stay?” he asks gently.
And that—
That breaks something open.
You let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but it isn’t.
“I never would’ve stayed in Wabang,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “I hate that place.”
Another breath.
Unsteady.
“But—” your voice drops, quieter now, more honest than you’ve been in a long time, “Rhett was the only thing keeping me alive at that point in my life.”
Silence.
You finally look at him.
Eyes glassy.
“I loved him,” you say.
There’s no hesitation in it. No softening.
Just truth.
“And I think I always will.”
The words hang there.
Heavy. Final.
Unavoidable.
“He didn’t want me to leave,” you continue, voice breaking now, emotion bleeding through no matter how hard you try to steady it. “But he understood why I did.”
Your breath hitches.
And then it spills—
the part you’ve been holding back the longest.
“But I never should have.”
The admission hits like a punch.
Like saying it out loud makes it real in a way it never fully was before.
Your hands come up to your face for a second, dragging down like you can physically wipe it away.
“I should’ve found a way to stay in touch,” you say, quieter now, but no less raw. “I should’ve—something. Anything.”
Your voice cracks again.
“I just needed him in my life back then,” you whisper. “ God, I need him in my life.”
There’s a pause.
A breath.
And then—
“I hate what me leaving like that did to him…”
That’s the last piece.
The one that lingers.
The one that hurts the most.
You don’t say anything else after that.
You don’t have anything left to say.
Wesley doesn’t interrupt.
Doesn’t try to fix it.
He just moves closer, slow and careful, like approaching something fragile.
His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into him without pressure, just enough to ground you.
You don’t fight it. You don’t pull away.
You just let yourself be held.
And for a moment—
you finally stop holding it in.
Because…
This is it.
The point you’ve been circling around for two years.
The thing underneath everything else.
Not your father.
Not Wabang.
Not the life you left behind.
It’s him.
It’s always been him.
And now—
you’ve said it out loud.
There’s no putting it back.
Wesley doesn’t let go right away.
He stays there with you for a minute—hand steady on your shoulder, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like he’s trying to ground you without making a big deal out of it. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t fill the silence.
When you finally pull back, it’s quiet.
No dramatic shift. No sudden clarity.
Just… emptied out.
Like everything you’d been holding finally spilled, and now there’s nothing left to keep you upright.
Wesley studies your face for a second, softer now. Careful.
Then, gently—like he’s testing the ground again:
“Hey,” he says, nudging your shoulder lightly. “We could, uh… watch something. Put on Severance. Distract you a little.”
It’s offered casually.
Like it’s no big thing.
Like it might help.
You don’t even hesitate.
“Go ahead,” you say, voice flat again—but thinner now. “I’m not really in the mood.”
He nods.
Doesn’t push.
Doesn’t try again.
Just gives your shoulder a small squeeze before stepping back, letting you go.
You don’t look at him as you stand.
You don’t say anything else.
You just… walk away.
Down the hall.
Back into your room.
—
The door doesn’t close all the way behind you this time.
It stays cracked, light from the hallway cutting a thin line across the floor.
You don’t turn anything on.
You don’t change.
You just sit on the edge of the bed for a second, staring at nothing.
Then slowly, you lie back.
Eyes on the ceiling.
The quiet feels louder in here.
Heavier.
There’s no distraction now. No conversation. No movement to hide inside.
Just you.
And the thing you finally said out loud.
You stare up, breathing shallow, like if you breathe too deep it might pull everything back up again.
You’d thought about therapy.
More than once.
Told yourself it might help to go back. That maybe you needed it. That maybe there was something deeper you weren’t addressing. You’d made so much progress before you slowly stopped going a year before your dad died.
But lying here now, you know.
It’s not confusion.
It’s not something buried or unclear.
It’s simple.
It’s been simple the whole time.
It was never sadness over your father.
It’s not grief, not really—not the kind that’s been sitting in your chest all this time.
And it’s not Wabang.
Not the town. Not the memories. Not the life you left behind.
It’s him.
It’s Rhett.
The name sits in your head like it always has—heavy, familiar, impossible to ignore now that you’ve stopped pretending you could.
You swallow hard, eyes burning as you blink up at the ceiling.
Because it’s not just missing him.
It’s what comes with it.
The what if.
The version of your life you never got to see.
What it would’ve looked like if you’d stayed.
If you’d tried harder.
If you’d found a way to keep him.
If you’d just… done something differently.
You never got to find out.
And now, you’re stuck with that.
That empty space where something real could’ve been.
Your hand shifts slightly on the bed, fingers brushing against something soft.
You don’t have to look.
You already know.
The thistlebear.
Still there. Always there.
You pull it closer without thinking, pressing it against your chest as your eyes finally slip shut.
Your throat tightens.
And the thought comes, quiet but sharp enough to cut through everything else:
You don’t just miss him.
Not in some distant, vague way.
Not like a memory that faded over time.
You miss Rhett specifically.
The way he talked.
The way he looked at you.
The way he held you like you were something steady.
The way he stayed—
until you didn’t.
Your breath catches.
And for the first time in a long time—
you let yourself feel it fully.
No deflection.
No pushing it away.
Just the truth, sitting heavy in your chest:
You miss Rhett Abbott.
And you don’t know what to do with that.
But the house goes quiet around you.
And you stay there—
curled into something that still reminds you of him—
feeling the full weight of everything you never got to have.
This is it. Your new lowest point.
Nothing left to avoid. Nothing left to hide behind.
Just the truth, and how much it still hurts.
—
Two days pass. Not in any meaningful way.
They just… happen.
You move through them the same way you’ve been moving through everything else—quiet, automatic, untouched by anything that might actually shift how you feel. Work gets done. Meals get made. Conversations happen in short, easy fragments that don’t go anywhere deep enough to matter.
Wesley is around. Present.
Normal, for the most part.
If anything, he’s lighter—like he’s made some kind of decision you’re not aware of. But you don’t question it. You don’t have the energy to pull at threads anymore.
So you let it be.
—
It’s late morning again. Some days later. You’ve officially lost track of time.
The kitchen is warm, sunlight stretching across the counters, catching in the sink where you’ve got your hands under running water. Something simple—rinsing produce, wiping something down, moving through another small task without really thinking about it.
Your mind is somewhere else.
Not focused. Not spiraling.
Just… distant.
You dry your hands absently on a towel, turning back toward the counter—
Knock.
The sound cuts clean through the quiet.
Sharp enough to make you pause.
You glance toward the hallway, frowning slightly.
“Wes?” you call, not moving yet. “Can you get that?”
No answer.
You wait a second.
Nothing.
You huff quietly under your breath, tossing the towel onto the counter.
“He probably went to the store,” you mutter to yourself, already heading toward the door.
Your footsteps are slow. Unhurried. There’s no reason to think anything of it—just someone at the door, middle of the day, normal as anything else.
You reach the handle, hand resting on it for a brief second before pulling it open.
And for a moment, everything still feels completely ordinary.
The door swings open—
—and Wesley is standing there.
Not inside. Not halfway down the hall.
Right there on the other side of the threshold, like he’s been waiting.
Leaning casually against the frame, one shoulder braced like this is the most normal thing in the world. Like, he didn’t just ignore you calling his name two seconds ago.
You blink at him.
“…what are you doing?” you ask, a small laugh slipping out before you can stop it. Confused more than anything.
He just grins. Too easy. Too relaxed.
“What?” he says, tone light, teasing in that familiar way that usually means he’s about to say something dumb. “I can’t come home and say hi?”
You narrow your eyes slightly, leaning into the door a bit, studying him now.
“I thought you were already home,” you point out. “I literally just called for you.”
“Did you?” he says, not even trying to sound convincing. “Must’ve missed it. Because I’m right here!”
There’s something off. Not wrong—just… different. A kind of energy you can’t quite place.
He’s a little too composed. A little too aware of himself. Like he’s holding onto something just out of sight and trying not to give it away.
You tilt your head, squinting at him, light smile still on your face.
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m always weird,” he shoots back immediately, pushing off the frame just enough to shift his weight.
You snort softly despite yourself.
“Yeah, but this is like—” you gesture vaguely, searching for the word, “—planned weird.”
He opens his mouth to respond, and then, a second sound.
Behind him. A quiet shift of movement. A low, barely-there exhale.
You freeze.
Because the voice that follows—
is male.
And for a split second, your brain doesn’t recognize it.
It’s not loud. Not clear enough to fully place.
But it’s there.
And something about it, something deep and immediate, makes your stomach drop.
You straighten slowly, your eyes flicking past Wesley’s shoulder.
“…who is that?” you ask, voice quieter now. Sharper.
Wesley doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you.
Still smiling. But softer now.
Almost… anticipatory.
And in that tiny space of silence, everything shifts.
The air tightens.
Your chest pulls tight with it.
Because suddenly, this doesn’t feel normal anymore.
It feels like something is about to happen.
Wesley doesn’t break eye contact with you.
Not right away.
He just… watches you for a second, like he’s waiting for something to click into place. Like he knows exactly what’s about to happen, and you’re the only one not caught up yet.
Then he shifts, just slightly.
“Okay,” he says, softer now. “Don’t be mad at me.”
Your brows pull together.
“…why would I be?” you ask, your voice even quieter than before, something uneasy starting to creep in.
Wesley exhales through a small smile, glancing over his shoulder for just a second before looking back at you.
“I didn’t go to the store.”
You blink.
“What?”
“I, uh…” he rocks back on his heels a little, like he’s bracing himself. “I went to the airport.”
That doesn’t help. If anything, it makes less sense.
“…why would you go to an airport?” you ask, almost under your breath now, your chest tightening for reasons you can’t quite explain yet.
Wesley doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
Instead, he reaches back, out of your line of sight—
and grabs someone.
Pulls them forward.
It happens fast. Too fast for your brain to catch up.
There’s a brief shift of movement, a figure stepping into frame, adjusting slightly like they weren’t expecting to be yanked that hard—
And then—
You see him.
Rhett.
Rhett Abbott.
Everything stops. Not in a dramatic way.
Not in a loud, overwhelming rush.
Just—stops.
Your brain doesn’t process it. Doesn’t try to question it or make sense of it or even confirm that it’s real.
Your body moves first. You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.
You just—
go.
You cross the space between you in a single, breathless step, arms wrapping around him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Like you never stopped. Like you’ve done it a thousand times before.
Rhett catches you instantly. No delay. No surprise strong enough to slow him down.
His arms come around you just as fast—tight, solid, like he was already ready for it. Like he’s been waiting for it.
You bury your face into his shoulder before you even realize you’re crying.
It hits you all at once. Not slow. Not controlled.
Hot and immediate, your fingers gripping at the back of his shirt like if you let go, he might disappear again.
He doesn’t say anything right away.
He just holds you. Just as tight.
One hand pressing into your back, the other coming up instinctively to cradle the back of your head, pulling you closer like there’s no version of this where he lets you go first.
His breath stutters once against your hair.
Then steadies.
And he just stays there.
Holding you like he remembers exactly how.
Like he never forgot.
Like it’s the easiest thing in the world to fall right back into.
And in that moment, there’s no distance.
No time passed.
No second goodbye.
Just this. Just him. Just you.
Instinct. Muscle memory. Home.
You don’t realize how tight you’re holding onto him until your lungs start to burn.
Until breathing becomes something you actually have to think about.
Your grip loosens just enough for you to pull back—slow, reluctant, like your body doesn’t fully trust that he’ll still be there if you create even a little space.
But he is.
Right there.
Hands still on you. Warm. Solid. Real.
You stare at him, eyes scanning his face like you’re trying to memorize it all over again—every line, every shift, every tiny change time might’ve made.
“…what are you doing here?” you ask, voice unsteady, still catching on the edges of everything you haven’t processed yet.
Rhett doesn’t answer right away.
His hands stay where they are—one now at your waist, one still resting lightly at your back—but there’s a hesitation in him now. A flicker of something uncertain passes across his face.
Like he doesn’t know where to start. Like he’s not sure what you’re going to say next.
The silence stretches just a second too long.
And something in your chest twists.
The question changes before you can stop it.
“…why didn’t you give me your number?”
It’s quieter. Sharper.
Less confusion—more hurt.
Rhett’s expression shifts instantly.
The hesitation disappears.
“Why didn’t you come after me?” he shoots back, just as quick, just as raw.
No pause. No filter.
Just truth.
It lands hard.
Right between you.
And for a second, neither of you says anything.
Because there it is. The same thing. The same mistake. The same missed moment that stretched into years.
You both just… stand there. Looking at each other.
Realizing at the exact same time:
You were both waiting.
And neither of you moved.
—
“Oh-kaaaay—”
Wesley’s voice cuts in, firm but not harsh.
“—both of you are idiots.”
You don’t even react to that.
Don’t look away from Rhett. Don’t step back.
Wesley steps closer anyway, inserting himself just enough into the space between you to shift the moment without breaking it.
He looks at Rhett, brows raised like he’s already over this entire situation.
“Tell her.”
Rhett exhales.
It’s subtle—but you feel it.
A small drop in his shoulders. A quiet release of something he’s been holding in.
And when he looks back at you, there’s something different there now.
Less guarded. More… exposed. Nervous, even.
Like whatever he’s about to say actually matters.
Like he doesn’t get another shot at it if he gets it wrong.
His hands tighten slightly at your waist, grounding himself more than you.
Then he takes a breath.
And finally—
starts to speak.
But It didn’t start here.
It started months ago.
Wesley had already been to Wabang once before.
He knew nothing of the roads. He did know how the town felt—too quiet in the wrong ways, too open in others. Knew what it meant to you without you ever really having to say it.
So when he drove back in, it wasn’t too unfamiliar. Just… unfinished.
He didn’t have to ask around long.
A name like Rhett Abbott didn’t exactly hide.
Still—he asked anyway to a local law enforcement officer. Didn’t see the name on his badge, but still hoped for the best.
“Do you know where I would find a Rhett Abbott?”
A pause. The officer glanced Wesley up and down briefly, then gave a quick nod. A point.
“Out that way. Towards Abbott Ranch. You really can’t miss it.”
The drive out felt like it took ages. Wesley didn’t know the way, just really hoped he landed on the right farm.
There were long stretches of land. Fences cutting across fields. Dust trailing behind him as the town disappeared in the rearview.
Rhett wasn’t expecting him.
That much was obvious the second he stepped out onto the porch—wiping his hands on his jeans, squinting into the sun as the car pulled up.
A stunned pause.
Then—recognition.
“…W-Wesley?”
Confusion follows just as fast, brows pulling together as he steps down off the porch.
“…what the hell r’you doin’ here?”
Wesley shuts the car door like this is normal.
Like he didn’t just travel halfway across the country on a mission he didn’t bother explaining to anyone.
“You know exactly why I’m here.”
Rhett’s expression tightens slightly at that. Not defensive—just… bracing.
“…she okay?”
There it is. Straight to the point.
Wesley exhales through his nose.
“Define okay.”
Silence drops between them immediately.
Heavy. Familiar.
Rhett looks away for half a second—jaw tightening, something unsettled moving under the surface before he looks back.
Wesley doesn’t give him time to sit in it.
“She’s miserable.”
A gesture to Rhett.
“You look like you’re miserable.”
Another gesture to himself.
“I’m tired of watching it.”
Rhett doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push back. Doesn’t pretend that’s not exactly what’s been happening.
He just… takes it.
Because he knows it’s true.
A long breath leaves him, slow and controlled, like he’s been holding it in for a while.
“…I haven’t stopped thinking about her,” he admits.
Quiet. Honest in a way that doesn’t need dressing up.
“Not for a second.”
Wesley watches him carefully. Measuring. Making sure this isn’t just nostalgia talking.
It’s not.
“Cool,” Wesley says, nodding once. “Then come fix it.”
Rhett blinks, brows nearly touching in confusion.
“…what?”
“Move.”
Simple. Direct.
“There are ranches in Arizona. Jobs. Land. You don’t have to stay here.” Wesley gestures vaguely around them. “You can start over somewhere that isn’t tied to all this, where you two can be happy together.”
Rhett lets out a short breath, something between disbelief and disbelief that this conversation is even happening.
“…you’re tellin’ me to just pack up and follow her across the country?”
“I’m telling you to stop sitting here acting like you don’t have choices.”
That lands. But it doesn’t settle everything.
Rhett shakes his head slightly, running a hand over the back of his neck.
“Nah…she doesn’t want me there.”
That’s the hesitation. Not fear of leaving. Fear of you.
“You don’t know that,” Wesley says, quieter now.
Rhett exhales, looking off toward the fields for a second.
“…she left me. Twice.”
The words sit heavy.
“I’m not gonna show up somewhere I’m not wanted.”
There it is. The line he won’t cross.
Wesley studies him for a long second. Then steps closer—just enough to shift the weight of the moment.
“She didn’t leave because she didn’t want you.”
Wesley sighed and lightly nudged his shoulder with his fist.
“She left because her life was a mess and she didn’t know how to keep you in it without hurting you.”
Rhett doesn’t respond right away. But something shifts in his expression. Something quieter. Something that looks a lot like… recognition.
Wesley presses just a little more.
“And yeah—you could sit here and respect that forever.”
He takes a small breath.
“Or you could actually do something about it.”
Silence stretches again. Longer this time.
Wesley’s voice softens, just slightly.
“And look, I don’t hate you.”
Rhett glances back at him at that, one brow raised.
“So you being around shouldn’t be a problem.”
Wesley pauses.
“And she needs you, too.”
That’s the one that sticks.
Rhett looks past him again. Out at the land. At everything he’s been standing in. Everything that’s stayed exactly the same.
Then back.
A long breath. Something settling. Locking into place.
“…I let her go once,” he says quietly.
A pause to correct himself.
“…twice.”
His jaw sets—not hard, not angry—just certain.
“I ain’t lettin’ her slip away again.”
And just like that, the decision is made.
Everything after that… moves.
And now—standing in your doorway—
you’re finally seeing what that choice looks like.
The room feels different when it settles back after Rhett and Wesley’s story.
Like everything shifted while you weren’t looking.
You’re still standing there, still close to him, still trying to catch your breath—but now there’s context wrapped around it. Something you didn’t have a second ago.
You replay it in your head without meaning to.
He did try.
Not the way you expected. Not the way you would’ve recognized.
But he did.
And suddenly, all those empty spaces you filled in yourself, all those assumptions you sat with for two years, don’t fit the same anymore.
Your eyes stay on him, searching, softer now but heavier in a different way.
“…you moved?” you ask quietly, like you’re still trying to catch up to it.
Rhett shifts closer when you don’t pull away. Careful. Like he’s still not entirely sure where the line is. But he steps in anyway.
“Yeah,” he says, voice lower now, steadier but still edged with something vulnerable. “Didn’t know if you’d want me to—but…” he trails off slightly, then looks at you fully. “Couldn’t stay there.”
Rhett pauses, then continues, quieter—something deeper underneath it:
“I watched you leave once…”
Your breath catches. He doesn’t look away.
“…I ain’t doin’ that again.”
And that—
That’s it.
That’s the thing that finally breaks whatever you were still holding together.
It hits straight through everything you’ve been carrying. Every version of that moment. Every time you replayed it differently. Every “what if” that never had an answer.
You feel it before you even react to it. Your chest tightens, your throat closing up as something sharp and overwhelming pushes up all at once.
And this time, you don’t try to hold it back.
Not even a little.
You step into him like it’s the only place that makes sense. Like it always has.
“I didn’t know how to come back,” you say, voice breaking as soon as the words leave you. “I didn’t—I didn’t know if I was allowed to after everything.”
Rhett’s hands come up instinctively, steadying you, grounding you.
“I didn’t know if I was supposed to go after you,” he admits, just as quietly. “Didn’t know if that’s what you wanted.”
There’s no edge to it. No blame.
Just… truth. Simple and honest in a way neither of you ever let it be before.
“I never stopped loving you,” you say, the words coming out easier now that they’re finally free. “Not once. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”
Rhett’s expression shifts—something soft breaking open behind his eyes.
“Me neither,” he says.
And there it is. No confusion. No guessing. No silence stretching things into something they were never meant to be.
Just two people who never stopped, finally saying it out loud.
You don’t think about it this time. You don’t hesitate. You just close the space between you and kiss him.
It’s not rushed. Not desperate. There’s no frantic edge to it, no need to prove anything or make up for lost time all at once.
It’s steady. Certain.
Your hands settle against him like they remember exactly where they’re supposed to go. His grip on you tightens just enough to keep you there—not pulling, not forcing—just holding.
Like he’s not taking any chances this time. And you don’t pull away. Because this doesn’t feel like something starting.
It doesn’t feel new. It feels like something you left mid-sentence finally being finished.
Not a beginning. A return.
The kiss lingers for a second longer before you pull back.
Not far. Just enough to breathe.
Rhett’s still close—hands still at your waist, forehead almost brushing yours like neither of you is ready to create real distance yet.
And for a moment, it’s quiet again.
Not heavy like before. Not tense.
Just… full.
“Okay, great.”
Wesley’s voice cuts in, dry and entirely unimpressed.
“Love that for you guys.”
You let out a breath that almost turns into a laugh, pulling back just a little more as reality starts to settle back in around you.
Wesley’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, watching the two of you like he’s been waiting for this exact outcome the whole time.
Which… he has.
There’s something soft in his expression, though. Subtle. Easy to miss if you’re not looking for it.
Satisfied. Like something he’s been working toward finally landed where it was supposed to.
But of course, he doesn’t let it stay there long.
“Let’s just—quick note,” he continues, pushing off the wall and stepping further into the room. “Don’t fuck this up.”
You snort, wiping at your face with the back of your hand.
“Wesley—”
“And,” he adds, holding up a finger like he’s not done yet, “do not get pregnant. I do not want to listen to a screaming baby every night.”
You let out an actual laugh at that, shaking your head. “Oh my god.”
He shrugs, already turning away like he’s said what he needed to say. “I’m serious. Boundaries.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you call after him.
“Correct,” he shoots back over his shoulder, already damn near sashaying down the hall. “And I’m right.”
You glance back at Rhett, a small, disbelieving smile still sitting on your face.
“…that’s the gayest he’s ever been,” you mutter.
Rhett huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly, but his hand doesn’t leave you. Doesn’t even loosen.
Wesley disappears into the other room like this is just another normal day.
Like he didn’t just orchestrate the most emotionally charged moment of your life.
But the truth of it sits there anyway.
In the way he doesn’t look back. In the way he doesn’t hover. In the way he lets you have this without trying to control what happens next.
He didn’t just stumble into this.
He planned it. Every piece of it.
All the questions. The weird behavior. The disappearing acts.
The airport.
Rhett.
All of it.
He gave you both something you never managed to give yourselves.
A second chance.
And for the first time—
it actually feels like you might not waste it.
—
The quiet settles again after Wesley disappears down the hall.
Not heavy like before.
Just… softer now. Easier.
You’re still standing close to Rhett, your hand caught loosely in his, your forehead brushing his for a second longer than necessary—like neither of you is quite ready to step away from it yet.
But something in the moment shifts.
Not breaking—just easing. The intensity that had everything pulled tight starts to loosen, just a little.
You let out a small breath, your thumb brushing absently against his hand where you’re still holding on.
Then, without really thinking about it, you tug him gently.
“C’mon,” you murmur, voice quieter now, softer.
Not rushed. Not pulling him anywhere specific.
Just… bringing him with you.
Inside.
Rhett follows easily.
No resistance. No hesitation. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world to let you lead him somewhere again.
His hand stays in yours as you step further into the house, the door left open behind you for a second before he reaches back and pushes it shut without looking.
The sound clicks softly into place.
And just like that, he’s in your space.
Your life.
Rhett slows as he steps in.
Not stopping completely—but enough that you feel the shift through your hand.
His grip stays loose, steady. Grounded.
But his attention moves.
You can see it in the way his eyes track across the room.
Taking it in piece by piece.
The layout. The furniture.
The little things that make it yours—things that don’t mean anything to anyone else but say everything about how you live now.
A blanket thrown over the back of the couch. A mug left out from earlier. Books stacked unevenly on the table. The small, quiet evidence of a life built in a place that isn’t Wabang.
That isn’t him. Not yet.
There’s no judgment in it. No discomfort.
Just… curiosity.
And something softer underneath that. Something quieter.
Like he’s trying to understand it. Trying to see where he fits into it.
Or if he does at all.
His thumb brushes lightly against yours without him thinking about it.
Still there. Still holding on.
And for the first time, he’s seeing you not as you were.
But as you are now.
Rhett’s hand goes still in yours.
It’s subtle at first. Just a slight pause in his step—barely enough to register until the space between you shifts.
You take another step forward before you feel it.
The absence.
You glance back—
—and he’s not beside you anymore.
He’s stopped.
Completely.
Standing just inside the room, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on something ahead of him.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.
Just… stares.
Your gaze follows his.
To the couch.
And there—
like it’s the most normal thing in the world—
sits the thistlebear.
Tucked into the corner, exactly where it always ends up.
Worn soft. Familiar. Yours.
And loosely wrapped around it:
An orange corn snake.
Curled easily. Relaxed. Loosely wrapped around the bear like it belongs there just as much as anything else in the room.
The scene is calm. Unremarkable.
Completely ordinary in this house.
Rhett does not process it that way.
He stands there like his brain just… stalled out.
Trying to make sense of two things that absolutely should not be existing in the same space.
The bear.
And the snake.
Together.
The silence stretches just long enough to feel awkward.
Rhett doesn’t move.
Doesn’t step back. Doesn’t step forward.
Just stands there, eyes locked on the couch like if he looks away, it might move.
Then, carefully—
“…uh.”
You turn immediately.
Wesley does too, leaning halfway back into the room like he’s been waiting for something to go wrong.
“What?” you ask, following Rhett’s line of sight for half a second before looking back at him.
Rhett doesn’t take his eyes off the couch.
He just lifts his hand slightly—barely a gesture, more of a point without committing to it.
“…there’s a snake.”
You glance over. And then back.
“Oh,” you say, completely unfazed. “That’s Earle.”
Rhett’s head turns slowly toward you. Like his brain is trying to catch up to a sentence that did not make anything better.
“…who… the fuck… is Earle?”
“Natalie’s brother????” Wesley answers immediately, like that should clear everything up.
He steps fully into the room now, pointing lazily toward the side table like this is a completely normal continuation of the conversation.
“And that’s Natalie.”
Rhett’s gaze follows.
To the side table, where a second snake sits.
Balled up. Still. Tongue flittering occasionally. Brown this time. Tucked neatly into itself like it’s just… existing.
Rhett blinks. Once. Twice.
“…there are two of them.”
Rhett doesn’t say anything else right away.
He just… looks.
Couch—snake—bear.
Back again.
Then over to the table—second snake.
And back.
It’s slow. Deliberate. Like his brain is trying to file this under something that makes sense, but comes up completely empty.
He doesn’t react the way most people would.
No jumping back. No loud panic.
Just—
a blink. Another. A quiet kind of stillness that reads less like fear and more like his entire system buffering.
His eyes land on the bear again.
And this time—
it’s different.
You can see the recognition hit.
Subtle, but there.
His gaze softens just a fraction, something familiar slipping in under the confusion.
He knows it.
Of course he does.
He’d recognize it anywhere.
The stitching. The shape. The way one ear sits just slightly off.
She still has it…
The thought comes easy. Immediate.
She kept it.
All this time.
Then his focus shifts again.
Back to the snake.
Wrapped around it like it belongs there.
And his brain tries—really tries—to make sense of that.
She lets that thing near something I gave her…
There’s a pause in him. A quiet recalculation.
…she must really love it.
And then, quieter still. Not something he says. Not something he’d even admit out loud.
Just something that settles in the background of everything else:
She never let me go either.
You’ve been watching him this whole time.
At first, because it was funny.
Then, because it wasn’t.
Not exactly.
You can see it now.
The way his shoulders hold just a little too tight.
The way his stance hasn’t fully relaxed.
The way his eyes keep flicking between things like he’s trying to orient himself in a space that doesn’t quite match anything he expected.
It’s not fear.
Not really.
It’s something softer. Something quieter.
Like he’s just… slightly out of place.
Like he stepped into a version of your life that kept moving without him—
and he’s trying to figure out where he fits into it now.
You don’t say anything right away. You just watch him for another second—really watch him.
And then you step back into him.
Close enough that it’s natural. Easy.
Your arms slide around him gently, settling at his sides like they’ve done this a thousand times before, like your body already knows exactly where it wants to be.
He stiffens just slightly at the contact—
not pulling away, not startled—
just… adjusting.
You tilt your head up at him, a small, knowing smile pulling at your mouth.
“They’re harmless,” you say softly. “Promise.”
But it’s not really about the snakes.
Not fully.
It’s in the way your arms stay where they are.
In the way, you don’t hesitate to touch him.
In the way your voice softens just enough that it implies you’re safe here and you belong here too.
Rhett lets out a slow breath.
You feel it more than you hear it—something in him loosening, just a fraction.
One of his hands comes up, settling carefully at your back. Not tight. Not pulling.
Just… there. Grounding.
He glances back toward the couch one more time, like he needs to confirm it’s still happening.
“…you got snakes now,” he mutters, tone somewhere between disbelief and quiet acceptance.
You shrug lightly against him.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
A soft snort comes from across the room.
Wesley, of course.
“Yeah, Rhett,” he calls lazily. “They’ve been here longer than you have.”
Rhett huffs out something that almost resembles a laugh, shaking his head slightly.
And just like that, the edge of the moment softens.
Not gone. Just… eased.
The tension that had everything pulled tight a second ago slips away, replaced by something lighter. Familiar in a different way. Easier to breathe in.
You stay close. He doesn’t move away.
And for the first time since he walked through that door—
he’s not just standing in the middle of a memory.
Not just the past you left behind.
Not just the reunion that crashed into your life out of nowhere.
He’s here.
In your space.
In your life.
And somehow—
it already feels like he fits.
—
Time passes without either of you really noticing when it starts.
The afternoon fades into evening in that slow, quiet way—light softening through the windows, shadows stretching longer across the floor, the warmth of the day settling into something cooler, calmer.
Nothing big happens.
No more heavy conversations. No more breaking things open.
Just… time.
Talking a little. Not about anything important. Small things. Easy things. Enough to fill the space without overwhelming it.
At some point, Wesley disappears into the house for good—music faintly playing from somewhere down the hall, the occasional thud of him moving around, giving you both space without making it obvious.
And before you realize it, you and Rhett end up outside.
The porch is quiet.
The air’s cooled off, carrying that soft edge of night settling in. Crickets hum somewhere out in the distance, wind moving lightly through the trees, everything around you still in that steady, unhurried way.
You sit side by side. Close. But not touching.
Not yet. There’s no urgency to it. No need to fill the silence right away.
You just… exist there together. Breathing the same air. Letting it be enough.
Your hand rests beside you on the wood, fingers brushing faintly against the grain as you shift slightly.
It drifts. Not intentional. Not planned. Just… moving. Until it finds his.
Rhett’s hand stills the second yours touches it.
Then, without hesitation, his fingers lace through yours.
Easy. Certain. Like it’s always been that simple.
Neither of you speaks right away.
There’s no rush.
No pressure to say something profound or fix anything that’s already been settled.
The quiet holds.
Comfortable now. Real.
Then, after a moment—
Rhett shifts just enough to look at you.
His voice is low when he speaks.
Steady.
“I ain’t leavin’ again.”
The words land without weight this time.
Not heavy. Not desperate.
Just… true.
You turn your head toward him. And there’s no hesitation.
No second-guessing. No fear creeping in to complicate it.
“…then don’t.”
Simple. Certain. Enough.
His fingers tighten around yours, just slightly.
You lean into him without thinking, your shoulder settling against his, your head brushing lightly against him as everything finally—finally—feels like it’s landed somewhere solid.
Inside, something crashes.
Wesley’s voice follows immediately after, loud and dramatic from somewhere in the house.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME—”
You both laugh. Soft. Easy.
And it doesn’t break the moment.
If anything, it settles it deeper. Because this—
this quiet, this closeness, this life starting to fold together around you—
it doesn’t feel fragile. It feels like something that might actually hold.
The laughter fades, but the quiet doesn’t break.
It settles again, easy and familiar, like it knows how to hold the moment without interrupting it.
You stay where you are, leaned into him, your hand still laced with his. Neither of you moves to pull away. There’s no reason to.
The night deepens around you, the sound of crickets steady, the air cooler now against your skin. The porch creaks softly under the shift of your weight, a small reminder that you’re here. That this is real.
Rhett’s thumb brushes once over your hand, absent and grounding all at once. You don’t look at him. You don’t need to.
Because for the first time in a long time, there’s nothing chasing at the edges of your thoughts. No version of something that could’ve been. No question waiting for an answer that never came.
No distance left to close. No moment left unfinished.
Just this. Sitting side by side.
Not holding onto something slipping away. Not reaching for something you missed. Not wondering what it would’ve been like if things had gone differently.
dededos
prguitarman
romaincrisis
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
stormborns
dailybridgerton
