RHETT
It's not fun to go through life constantly feeling like everything you do will have catastrophic consequences.
Even when I'm thrust into a situation where everyone is happy and celebrating, even when the normal thing to do is plaster a smile and join in on the enthusiasm surrounding me, my mind still finds a way of ruining it all for me. It's a humiliating reminder I always have to be on the lookout for anything that can shatter the illusion of happiness I've created for myself, regardless of whether those threats are real and tangible or not.
I stand there at a party hosted by someone I barely know just because it's being held at the co-ed frat house (I don't think I've ever said more than five words to Keane Mahoney during the three years we've played hockey together), awkwardly cheering for Jeff as he attempts to do a keg stand just for the fun of it. Just because he can.
At least he's past his 'must impress Paige de Haan' phase, much to everyone's relief, especially since she's been acting all shy and giggly around Keane—the most out of character I've ever seen her behave around anyone.
On my hand, there's a red solo cup filled to the brim with orange juice that I had to pour myself, not trusting anyone from the team to do it for me, while everyone around me binge drinks. My father's stunt in rehab is a secret well kept, one I've been protecting with my life, and we all know I can't afford the luxury of screwing up the family's reputation by getting wasted in public.
If it were to come out that I made a fool out of myself for drinking too much, there would be prying, and, when the right (wrong) people want to find out the dirt on someone else, they'll stop at nothing to get the inside scoop. Simply blaming college culture for my drinking and public indecency habits won't do, no; since I'm a legacy player, they'd look into my past, my surroundings, and that includes my father. He doesn't need the added stress of the press and gossip magazines and websites digging into his personal business.
As such, I find my shoulders and knees buckling with the added weight of yet another responsibility that shouldn't be mine to carry, but I do what I have to do to keep this family happy. I do what I have to do to protect my father's reputation and, by association, my own. The better I behave, the lower the odds of anyone suspecting anything, and the higher the likelihood of my own success.
I know Brie can sense there's something different.
Maybe it's me projecting, maybe she just knows me that well, but I feel like we've returned to that stage in our relationship where we don't have to speak to convey our thoughts and feelings and can just trust each other to instinctively know these things.
I'm not a great communicator. It's a fatal flaw, one that has greatly contributed to Andy being offered both the captain position and a drafting opportunity over me (neither of which I hold against him), and it's also something that hasn't done anything to help improve my reputation or leave a good impression on people. Most of the time, people assume I'm arrogant and self-absorbed.
They're not entirely wrong per se, but it's the explanation behind my posture that is wrong, and I can't run the risk of coming off as rude and unlikable. No one likes a bully, anyway, and there's only so much charm a so-called 'bad boy' can have outside of fiction or a façade.
At first, when we arrived at the party and were immediately ushered inside the house by a crowd who had already had one too many drinks, she attempted asking whether I wanted to stay or leave and go do something else. She tried asking if I was okay, if there was anything she could do to make it better.
When it became clear it was something I had to do by myself, for myself, and that I'd rather power through a party I don't actually want to attend instead of giving in to my anxious thoughts and depriving myself from a proper college experience, she went quiet.
Mostly.
She doesn't leave my side unless strictly necessary, something I appreciate more than she knows, even though I have to repeatedly reassure her I'm more than okay with it every time I notice the gears in her head kick into motion as the overthinking tendencies begin to set in. I remind her she's not suffocating me or annoying me with her presence; if I didn't want her around, I wouldn't have asked her to join me.
If thoughts could kill, that douchebag ex-boyfriend of hers would be buried six feet underground by now. How could anyone break her this badly, fuck things up even harder than I did . . . it's all beyond me. He didn't know how good he had it until he decided to break her heart and her spirit, until the day he let her go, and, now that he has lost her for good, he won't rest until he ruins her happiness all over again.
I know guys like him. I know how they think, how they operate, how they treat women—I know it because that used to be me.
I'm not necessarily saying I'm a major improvement from all the pieces of shit Brie has dated since we came to college, especially after what I did to her, especially after what happened with Magnolia—both of which continue to haunt me to this very day, even when I least expect them. When those reminders appear, they don't fade into view; they come speeding at full strength like a wrecking ball.
There's a reason I've had to prove myself to everyone around me, including to my family and to Brie, and I know the pain I've left behind, but I would never do the things I've seen and heard those guys do and say. I don't partake in locker room talk, I call out nasty behavior when I witness it, and adopt a firm stance in defending and protecting women—not just those I have some connection with. It's the bare minimum of male decency, but it's more than what other guys have shown.
"I know this is the worst timing ever, but I think we need to talk," Brie reveals, returning to my side with a refill of her odd drink concoction (a mix of Sprite and Coke).
Her free arm wraps around my torso, hip pressed against mine, and a wave of radiant warmth spreads across my chest. My heart rate instantly spikes thanks to the adrenaline rush caused by the sudden physical contact and from that dreaded phrase. We need to talk. Why don't people ever just get straight to the point?
The moment when I have to mechanically remind myself to keep breathing is when I realize how humiliating it must be to be seen with me in public. I've had nothing alcoholic to drink, yet I'm looking like a bigger fool than fucking Jeff Jefferson. I can't even act like I'm fine, let alone practice what I preach.
"I know you're going through a lot right now and this won't help, so I'll just cut to the chase and let it out," she continues. Once she takes a deep breath, exhaling profoundly through her mouth, it's hard to tell which of us is the least prepared for this conversation, whatever it is about. I won't be surprised to find out she's been practicing her speech for days on end, as it's the typical Brie move. "Dante and Flint know about you and me, but I've sworn them to secrecy."
I gulp. "When you say they know . . ."
"It means they know. They know it's a fake relationship."
If my heart was racing before she said that, it has fully flatlined now.
Dante and Flint Sheridan have never shied away from making their feelings for me known and the only time we've ever gotten along was back when we were younger and they tolerated my presence for Brie's sake. I might have taught them to play hockey to the best of my ability, even though they've always preferred football, and, in return, they pretended to like me. After I unceremoniously broke Brie's heart, all bets were off, and they were no longer obliged to fake that tolerance.
Now that they know about us faking being together, I can only imagine what has been said about me behind my back. Brie might have tried to defend me (she's telling me she did, and I believe her), but I know those words will fall on deaf ears when they've already made up their minds about the type of person that I am. They don't need further explanations or context.
Nausea hits me so hard I'm overcome by a wave of lightheadedness that knocks me off balance. I stumble to the side like I'm actually drunk, slipping out of Brie's grip, and the wasps buzzing in my ears easily drown out every other sound around me. Her lips are still moving as she attempts to regain my attention, but it's the first time I've succeeded at keeping her far from reach.
If they know the truth, if they're displeased by it and don't trust me and my intentions, as genuine as they are, it means everything is close to crumbling down, and all I can do is stand in the rubble and dust of my failed dreams. If I lose this, I lose everything—Brie, people's admiration and respect, my family's faith in me, my reputation, my career before it even begins. All because Dante and Flint Sheridan refuse to forgive me.
Brie begs—for a chance, for the second chance she has given me and I can't seem to return, for me to listen—but I can't. No words come out of my mouth, either, so she'll have to guess, which I'm sure she can do.
It shatters my heart to nearly bring her to tears, especially knowing I'm the reason for it, but my heart is hammering so fast against my chest, blood rushing to my head with the strength of a flash flood. All I see is scarlet around me, the carnage filling every corner of my vision, and I'm heaving like no air can reach my lungs. Black spots scatter.
"Rhett, it's okay," she insists, hands reaching out for me, only to never find me. My muscles are frozen, locking me in full opossum mode, and I'm suddenly glad this kitchen is the least crowded space in the entire house. If it weren't for Jeff's keg stand shenanigans . . . "Hear me out. Please, just hear me out. I didn't mean for it to come out, especially not the way it did, and I didn't want them to know it's not real"—she mouths the last two words for the sake of appearances, oblivious to how they slice right through me, because how could she ever truly forgive me or like me back when I'm such a fucking mess—"but it happened. It happened, and I'm sorry, and I know I should have talked to you first, but the past couple of weeks have been—"
"What, Brie?" Tension builds up at the very back of my throat, like I'm not looking pathetically weak enough as is. I don't usually cry when I'm angry or frustrated—if anything, I bottle it up, the way I've been taught how to deal with complicated feelings—but everything has been building up inside me for so long I fear it might be overflowing. "How have the past couple of weeks been for you, huh? I've been stressed out beyond belief, playing like I've never worn a pair of ice skates in my life, and now this—this, the one thing we promised couldn't happen? I haven't even told Andy the truth, but, somehow, Nancy and your brothers know. None of these people like me, mind you, so, if one of them decide to run their mouth—"
"They won't."
I throw my hands in the air in frustration, the volcano in my chest threatening to erupt, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip like she's the one attempting to stop herself from crying. "How can you possibly know that for certain?"
"Because they love me. Because they care about me. Because they know that, if this were to become public, it would ruin you for a reason you refuse to explain to me, and, even then, I'm still trying to protect you. They know that, if you get hurt, I get hurt." She sniffles. "All I've ever done has been to protect you. I've been here for you every step of the way, and you refuse to be honest with me. I know you're going through a lot right now, and I know there's a lot at stake for you, but I don't understand why you won't share these things with me. Let me help you carry this baggage."
"I can't—"
"Well, you need to, okay? You need to start sharing these things with me because I'm tired of being freaked out and panicking over something I know next to nothing about. Whoever Magnolia is, she's your ghost, yet I'm the one being haunted. You know Jackie talked to me the other day, when she went to watch your practice?"
I huff. "Yes?"
She squares her shoulders. "Well, it turns out that the reason the other girls don't like me isn't because I'm dating you and I'm an outsider, or whatever. It's because they don't like me dating you after whatever happened between you and Magnolia." My heart sinks six feet underground. I knew the girls were petty, but I didn't expect them to hold a grudge over something that doesn't concern them, let alone drag Brie into the middle of this mess—the one I've created and let Magnolia handle on her own. Left to her own devices, Magnolia Hawthorne continues to be a fucking hurricane. "I've been missing out on potential friendships and connections over something that has nothing to do with me, and I can't even begin to fix it because no one tells me anything. It's always 'oh, you need to talk to your boyfriend', except my boyfriend won't talk to me, either, so what the hell am I supposed to do?"
"I told you I'd explain later. I said—"
"Later never comes, does it? We're always waiting for a moment that's convenient to you, but I'm never taken into consideration when it comes to making that decision. We're supposed to be a team, Rhett, and yet I'm still being shut out of every negotiation. You keep all these things to yourself, knowing exactly it's affecting me as well, and we can't do anything if we don't talk to each other. We're just being two stubborn, prideful dicks for no reason because we refuse to be the first to bend, and it's not fair. It's not fair that you get to constantly push me away and expect me to be okay with it. It's not. And I'm not okay with it."
The violent nausea coursing through my veins quickly gives place to unrelenting cold, shivers running down my spine with the sudden drop in temperature. If Brie notices it, she doesn't even flinch.
Do I think it's fair to keep her in the dark? Absolutely not. Does that mean I'm ready to open up and be all vulnerable when it can easily have the opposite effect I'm looking for and send her running for the hills? Also correct.
I want her to be happy, but I also want to be with her. For some heart shattering reason, those two desires appear to be less and less compatible as time goes by, and I don't know how to fix it. I thought I had it all figured out—be perfect, repent for my mistakes, make her realize she has always been deserving of an epic love story—but I can't even figure my own shit out, let alone a relationship.
Everyone was right about me. I can't commit to anything to save my life, not when real feelings start getting in the way, and I've always been my greatest saboteur.
"Look, if you don't want to do this relationship thing anymore, I get it," I tell her. It breaks me in half, then in quarters, then into a million pieces. Something in her demeanor and posture changes, so imperceptibly I don't think she notices it, but I see the stiffening of her shoulders right before they drop. "If things are getting too complicated, if you don't feel comfortable, we can talk about it. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do, and we can go back to only doing the bare minimum to be believable. I won't leave you stranded with your senior project, either, so that's one less worry."
She draws in a sharp breath, eyes locked with mine even with the distance I created between us. "You don't even realize it, do you?"
"Realize what?"
"I don't mind the complications! I don't mind the drama, or that you come with a shitload of baggage. I don't mind that something bad happened between you and some girl, as long as it's not illegal." I shake my head. Morally wrong? Yes. Illegal? Not a chance. I would never. "I mind you feeling like you can't trust me enough to be able to deal with all of it. I know it's your brain trying to ruin everything, I know it's searching for signs that aren't really there to use as a 'gotcha!', but you haven't even given me a chance. You won't let me try to be there for you. You know I know something happened to your dad, someone I've known pretty much my whole life and care about, and you still won't let me in. You won't let me explain why I had to tell Dante and Flint the truth, but you'll let me run around campus and be judged over something I don't know a thing about. You don't let me be the main character in my own story."
I attempt a step forward back towards her, somehow succeeding at not falling flat on my face. Not to brag or anything, but this face is worth a lot of money, and I wear a helmet on the ice for a reason. Brie, however, dismantles all my armor.
"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I'm sorry, Brie. I am. I can . . . let's try again. Let's start over. Let me talk to my dad, ask him if it's okay—"
"You don't have to apologize to me. I just want you to listen." She inhales once again, yet I'm the one being overwhelmed by the sweet, floral scent of her perfume. "I just want you."
"You have me."
"Not all of you." She looks up at me through her lashes, hazel eyes darkening. "You still aren't getting it."
"What?"
"This relationship, these feelings . . . they're not just for show. Not anymore."
"Brie—"
"Because I love you. I'm in love with you, Rhett Price."
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.
you're welcome by the way
the person you're waiting to see (who i said would be here in this chapter) will be here next chapter. promise. this is already too long lmao