“Always on the move.” He chuckles. “What’s up, buddy?”
He’s always so chummy, always there for us. The uncle we could always count on if Dad couldn’t help us. It’s still hard for me to grasp the concept that he was the one who tried to rape Jensen.
My problem? I don’t want to believe it.
“I was wondering if we could…talk soon,” I tell him. “Maybe before Thanksgiving?”
“Rhett, tomorrow is Thanksgiving.”
Damn it. “Right.” There is no way I can bring Jensen to my dad’s house if Craig is there. One look at him sitting at the family dinner table, and she’ll feel like I set her up. “Maybe we could talk tomorrow then. At Dad’s house.”
Terrible idea. I don’t want to go there. But I need to talk to him.
I need to find out the truth.
“Ah, son. Turns out I can’t make it to your dad’s house. Got other plans.”
Relief floods me at his words and it takes everything I have to sound disappointed. “Seriously? With who?”
“Something else came up at the last minute. Opportunity to get out of town and do something fun for once during the holiday,” he says.
“Does this have to do with the woman that you broug
ht to Addie’s party?”
“Oh, another woman. One who owns a vacation house in Lake Tahoe.” He sounds terribly pleased with himself.
We make idle conversation for another minute and then I end the call, frustrated that I can’t figure out a way to talk to him. I slip inside the car to find Jensen scrolling through her phone, her head whipping up when I slam the door shut. “Everything okay?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her, my gaze straight ahead. “Everything’s going to be just fine.”
Jensen
I don’t know who Rhett talked to on the phone before he got back into the car, but whoever it must’ve been convinced him to give up on the “let’s plan a magical escape for Thanksgiving” idea. Instead, he reconfirmed that we’re going to his parents’ house for sure. I didn’t protest, though I probably should’ve. But I’m starting to realize that when I suggest to him that we should break up, or that I don’t want to see him anymore, he flat out doesn’t listen.
Well. That’s not quite true. He’s definitely listening, but he doesn’t like what he hears. What’s closer to the truth is that he doesn’t believe me. And why should he? I say that sort of stuff, and then reach out to him whenever I need help, which is more often than not. Plus, he knows I’m a liar.
When it comes to my feelings for Rhett, it’s not that I’m lying. More like I’m in denial. I don’t want to admit to him or myself how much I care about him. Because I do care for him.
I glance over at him to watch him drive. He’s gripping the steering wheel loosely, his dark eyes narrowed in concentration, his lips slightly pursed. His window is cracked, the cool air ruffling his thick hair, and I sigh at how handsome he is.
God. My feelings for Rhett are so overwhelming and confusing, sometimes they’re…
Terrifying.
“Do we need to bring anything for tomorrow?” I ask just to make conversation. Sitting quietly and dreaming what my future could be like with Rhett in it is pointless, right? Let’s focus on the here and now.
“No, Diane has everything covered. She caters the entire meal, remember? It’ll probably be the fanciest Thanksgiving meal you’ve ever had,” he says with a chuckle.
He has no idea how accurate his words are. Dad brought home a Thanksgiving meal once from Boston Market. That had felt pretty fancy to eleven-year-old me. Crap, even the slices of dry turkey and mashed potatoes with runny gravy meals the school cafeteria would dole out the day before Thanksgiving when I was in elementary school impressed me.
When I was younger, I was easily impressed, especially because I had nothing. Material items were a luxury, not the norm. I still am easily impressed, if I’m being truthful. Rhett’s world is dazzling. Even overwhelming. His family wants for nothing. They have no idea how lucky they are.
No. Idea.
“What time do we have to be there?” My voice is tight. My thoughts focused solely on Diane. How is she going to behave tomorrow? Will she ignore me yet again? Will I lose my temper and finally confront her? Admit who I really am? Wouldn’t that shock everyone around the celebratory dinner table?
Satisfaction hums through my blood at the image, and I’m so tempted…