CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
November, present day
Rhett woke to afternoon sunshine and a strange room. But then he remembered where he was and who the warm lump next to him was.
Summer.
He flexed his toes and stretched his spine, savoring the slight crack of his back. They’d made love until they were exhausted and then dropped into sated, dreamless sleep. He’d not dreamed of blood-slicked roads or silent screams. Instead he’d fallen into a satisfied state of unconsciousness. For the first time in forever, he’d awoken without a pit of despair in his stomach.
He knew having sex with Summer wasn’t some magical pill that healed him. He wasn’t that corny, but still he couldn’t ignore how good he felt at the moment. The sex had been hot, but afterward as they lay there, murmuring funny stories, sweet, warm limbs intertwined, a strange comfort covered him like a blanket from his past.
Carefully, he slid his arm from beneath her shoulders. She groaned and then made a funny little piglet sound before snuggling back into the depths of the down pillow. His arm tingled with numbness, and part of him wanted to roll her onto her back and taste her sweetness again, but a glance at her alarm clock told him her son would be home soon.
And the knot of complication formed.
He climbed from the bed, careful to not wake Summer. The last few days had been hard on her, and a good stretch of sleep was what the doctor ordered. Along with a couple of orgasms. He’d been happy to deliver those.
Rhett picked up his boxers, softly shut the door, and dressed in the dimness of the living room. Before he sneaked out, he picked up her robe and draped it over the back of the dining room chair. As he turned to go, he caught sight of a folder on the table. Several handwritten sheets of music hung out. He lifted the flap and looked at the title. “Carolina Boy.”
The haunting song came back to him as he read the lyrics, and he remembered how beautiful and strong she looked up on that stage.
A few words to music execs, a call to a good manager and agent, or even a bug in the ear of a country music artist could net Summer another look. If this song lay in this folder without anyone seeing it, it would remain mere ink on paper. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. There were several messages, nagging reminders of the world he’d left behind. Soon, he’d have to face that world. He couldn’t hide in Moonlight much longer.
Spreading the sheets out on the table, he snapped a picture of each of the sheets, his heart warming at the doodles on the side of one sheet. He pushed the sheets back together and tucked them into the folder. Summer had said she didn’t want his help, but surely if she could get a shot at doing something more than playing backstreet bars and ramshackle honky-tonks, she’d take it. Writing music and singing was her dream . . . even if it was a deferred one.
At the very least, he could give her a chance. If someone was interested, she could decide whether she wanted to pursue the opportunity or not.
He pushed out the front door into the cool November day, marveling at how pretty the marsh looked when the grasses faded to straw and the hardwood trees preened with fall color. Even the Nest didn’t look as tired against the blue sky.
He climbed the back steps to find Grampy Pete sitting in the broken Adirondack chair smoking his pipe.
“That chair looks like it might fall apart at any moment. You should wait for the new ones I ordered,” he told Grampy.
“I ain’t worried about it. If it falls, it falls.”
Rhett headed toward the sliding glass door, intending to fix a sandwich. He felt ravenous. Good sex did that to a guy.
“I told you to leave her alone,” Grampy said.
Rhett paused with his hand on the handle. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been at Summer’s for half the day. Her boy’s at church. I can add two and two together. Been doing that for years.”
“I like Summer.” The words seemed lame for what he felt for her. She wasn’t just some lay. She was his friend and he cared about her. And he’d asked before he slept with her. Lord knows he’d never press her for something she didn’t want.
“Everyone likes Summer, but they don’t sleep with her. You’re going to be leaving soon. I’d say probably right after Thanksgiving. Maybe before, since I know the day don’t mean much to you. No offense, but you’ve never been a sentimental boy.”
“It’s not like that,” Rhett said, turning toward the man who’d always been his compass.
“What’s it like? She lives here and is raising a boy. You live in LA and you’re building a career. You ain’t taking her with you. She wouldn’t last two months out there. And the kid’s dad is here. Summer needs a man who will stay with her. You ain’t staying, so you shouldn’t have gone knocking on that door.”
Irritation rose in Rhett. “You don’t know what I’ll do. You’re making assumptions.”
“No. I’m speaking the truth. You’re mixed up about a lot of things and looking for answers. You’re using Summer as a distraction. Look, I understand. She’s pure goodness, and everyone wants to have some goodness in their life.”
Rhett sat down on the chair next to his grandfather. The old wood shifted with his weight, and Rhett prepared himself to fall, but the chair held. “I’m not using her.”
“Then what are you doing?” The words were little darts finding their target.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“But you will.”
The words dug deeper into his soul. “I won’t.”
“There’s one thing I know about that woman—she has a thing for you. Always has. Oh sure, she acts like she don’t. She don’t bring you up, but when the topic of conversation arises, she gets this look before she pretends she don’t care nothing for you. But I read people well.”
Rhett took a deep breath and wondered how he could explain what Summer was to him. She’d helped him breathe again. Hell, he felt better than he had in forever.
His grandfather puffed on the pipe, letting the silence sit between them. Finally, he cleared his throat. “I don’t think you’d intentionally hurt her. You ain’t the kind to use and run. You’re a good boy, Rhett. I’m not sure you still believe that, but you are.”
Something squeezed in Rhett’s chest.
“You came back to remember that, to rediscover that part of yourself you hid because being good doesn’t always make you successful out there. In that world you live in, being good gets you stepped on, pushed aside, relegated as weak. You came home because you needed to get centered and get back who you used to be. Thing is, you never lost that. That’s why that Beverly woman galled you so much.”
Rhett rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe you’re right. I wasn’t sure why I came home.”
His grandfather nodded, and again silence inserted itself between them. Grampy puffed on his pipe, little wreaths of gray against the blue sky.
“What do I do?” Rhett asked.
It was the question that had pecked at him since that morning last summer. Ever since that moment when he climbed from the vehicle and saw what he’d done, he’d been lost.
Grampy looked at him as if he sensed the depth to the question. This wasn’t about Summer, but about everything in Rhett’s life. Both he and his grandfather knew Rhett was the sort of person who made a plan and pushed forward, like a running back through a defensive line, churning his legs, looking for a hole to get through. Rhett’s life so far had not yielded much pushback. In fact, Rhett had reached the end zone time after time. But what happened when there was no end zone . . . or he couldn’t find one?
“You put one foot in front of the other. You remember who you are. Where you came from. Who I taught you to be. A man of honor. Everyone screws up and everyone faces hard times. When your father died, a part of me went with him, but I had to keep going. I had you looking up at me with those sad blue eyes. I fought that darkness for you. So what are you fighting your darkness for, Rhett? What is the meaning of your life?”
Darts of realism were nothing compared to the cannonball of doubt that smacked into him. What was the meaning of his life?
“I don’t know,” he said after a full minute ticked by.
“You might want to start with that. Maybe if you figure out what’s worth living for, you can start living again.”
His grandfather’s last words were imparted as a closing argument. Rhett may not have been around Grampy much over the years, but he knew a final word when he heard it.
Rhett rose and went into the house, his head swimming with thoughts chasing more thoughts. He’d gone through months of therapy, but none of the million-dollar gurus pinpointed what he was lacking like Grampy had. His grandfather could make a fortune on the mixed-up West Coasters. Hell, he could pocket a pretty penny on the screwed up East Coasters, too.
His phone buzzed.
Summer.
Where’d ya go?
He texted back. Letting you get some needed sleep.
K. Tell Pete I’ll bring lasagna tonight. Need to plan menu for Thanksgiving.
He sent a thumbs-up.
And then he sat down hard on the old barstool his grandfather had gotten at a restaurant supply clearance. The set didn’t match, but his grandfather loved that they were sturdy. No flash for Pete Bryan.
Rhett had made a mistake sleeping with Summer. The text was a prime example. Already she’d slipped him into her life. Lasagna. Holiday plans. Like they were . . .
No. She wasn’t assuming or implying anything. Just handling dinner plans. Still, the questions Grampy asked hopped from neuron to neuron in his brain, demanding he give them attention. Paired with his grandfather’s disappointment in Rhett for messing around with Summer, the confusion about his future had him scrambling to figure out his next move.
His phone buzzed again, jittering on the bar.
His agent.
“Yeah,” Rhett said, deciding to answer rather than let another message go to voice mail.
“What the fuck, Rhett? I’ve been calling you for the last forty-eight hours. There are time constraints on some of this shit, man,” Bruce screeched.
“Sorry. I’ve been out of pocket.”
“Why are you still in South Carolina? What the hell is going on with you, man? Your attorney’s been calling, the network, there’s some serious shit that needs your attention. Jane Townsend called and she needs some quotes from you on the fallout.”
“Fallout from what?”
“On the story the Times did on the Tavares family. The one that brought out Reis Tavares’s criminal record and had neighbors admitting the Tavares kids ran around unattended all the time. You don’t have a fucking TV?”
“As you know, I’ve been avoiding the news for my mental health.”
“Well, people are talking. Jane did a good job of casting doubt on this family. The reporter wants to run a follow-up piece. She wants a quote from you. How horrible the accident was, how bad you feel, how you’ve suffered PTSD. But most importantly how you feel you weren’t at fault for that child’s death.”
“You told Jane to do all this?” Rhett asked, as his gut churned. Yeah, he’d agreed it was the best defense against the suit, but something about it didn’t sit right with him.
“She said this is what needs to be done. The judge set the trial for December so he can clear his cases before the holidays. We couldn’t wait. You needed damage control. And you disappearing makes it look even worse. You need to get back here. Lionel James called yesterday, and they want to film your cameo in the Will Ferrell movie the first part of next week. And then we have a meeting with the studio execs about the contract extension for Late Night the following day. The studio wants an evaluation by some fancy-ass shrink before they negotiate. I’m telling you this Bev shit has done some serious damage if they need you to get the okay of a shrink. I’m up to my eyeballs, Rhett.”
Rhett felt everything around him fold in on him. This was why he couldn’t handle his world anymore. The career he’d so loved pulled harder on his feet, making the hangman’s noose tighten around his neck. At that moment, he couldn’t fucking breathe.
“I’ll be there Friday.”
“You need to get on a plane now.”
“I can’t today, Bruce. It’s not possible. I have things to wrap up here.”
“When?”
“Friday’s the best I can do. Set up the meetings and I’ll be in touch.” He hung up before he could change his mind. Dread encircled him, squeezing his midsection.
Rhett closed his eyes.
He had to go back to his world. Grampy was right. He’d come home to find some goodness, but he’d also come home to hide from the hard stuff in his life. Thing was, a person couldn’t hide forever. Eventually he had to face what he’d built with the choices he’d made in life.
His phone buzzed again.
Summer.
David going to movies with Maisie. Want to come back over and have . . . coffee?
Yeah, he wanted to have coffee. Again and again. Until the world fell away. But his world wasn’t content to sit in the back seat any longer. His world was tapping his shoulder and insisting he turn around and go back to where he really belonged.
Rhett surveyed the large living area of the Nest. Worn furniture sat pointed at the shiny new TV Rhett had bought. Duct tape covered the arm of his grandfather’s recliner, the floors needed a new stain and seal, mismatched chairs circled a table piled with mail, and a stack of Field & Stream magazines spilled out onto the hand-hooked rug where Rhett had once played with his Power Rangers. The lived-in room was an interior decorator’s nightmare . . . but yet the sight pleased Rhett.
Part of him would always belong here, but he wouldn’t give up the life he’d made in California to stay in Moonlight. His grandfather thought LA too shiny, prefabricated, and commercial, but he wasn’t wholly right about the place Rhett laid his head most nights. Sure, there were shallow kooks and narcissistic assholes, but there were truly beautiful people, too. LA had guys who worked beneath hoods to take home the bacon for their families, waitresses slogging through two shifts to afford college tuition, medical personnel working volunteer hours at shelters. Plus, there were the Hollywood Hills overlooking a glittering LA at night and gorgeous beaches to practice his surfing skills. South Carolina would always be in his soul, but he’d made room for the sandy, sunny California. That wasn’t just where he lived—it, too, was part of him.
His heart contracted when he thought about Summer. He’d been in some good relationships and some shitty ones, but he’d never held such a tenderness for someone the way he did Summer. He could chalk it up to having a past with her—maybe the shared experiences during their formative years had forged a stronger connection. The thought of doing a no-mess walkaway scene like they do in the movies created self-loathing and . . . despair.
Rhett didn’t want to ride off into the sunset.
But he had to.
Because he and Summer couldn’t work. Their worlds were so vastly different. Hers was French toast and hamburgers, nagging a kid about homework, and thumbing through a magazine while her son watched the NFL. His was salmon with truffle risotto, nagging a production assistant, and standing on the red carpet reading through production notes while starlets posed for the paparazzi. Worlds away, opposite coasts, staggered lives. Summer deserved someone who would come home to dinner and sit in the stands with her, cheering David on the mound. She deserved someone who was stable, who wasn’t always on the go, who wasn’t getting sued by the family of the child he’d accidently killed. Summer deserved love that he couldn’t give.
He should have heeded the warning he’d given himself that night at the hospital. He should have stayed on the beach and not have waded into Summer’s waters. Walking away from her would hurt.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he called and arranged for airfare and pickup for Thursday evening. He’d have Thanksgiving dinner with his grandfather before flying back west.
“You fixin’ a sammich?” his grandfather asked as he slammed the door shut. The scent of his pipe followed him inside.
Rhett looked down at the bread he’d set on the counter earlier and shoved his phone into his pocket. “Uh, yeah. I just made my flight to LA. I’ll go back Thursday night.”
“Flying the coop, are you?”
“I have to go back sometime, I guess.”
His grandfather stomped into the kitchen and slid a plate from the upper cabinet. Setting it next to Rhett, he opened the bag and withdrew four slices. “It’s been good having you home. I know I got a little stern with you about Summer, but I’m glad you came home when you needed to.”
“It is my home,” Rhett said, retrieving the turkey he’d picked up when he’d bought the wine and cheese for the date night with Summer. Seemed so long ago that he’d packed that basket and prepped the boat for the romantic cruise around the bay.
“Yes, and you should always come here when you need to remember who you are. You know you’re getting everything in my will. I can’t leave this place to Carlton or Frank. They’ll get their wives in here and have it looking like some show house. Or, hell, they’d sell it and go to Tahiti on the profits. Can’t trust those two to keep your grandmother’s dream alive.”
Rhett didn’t want his grampy to talk about dying. He couldn’t stomach the thought of losing his only family. His mother’s family had treated him like a second-rate Moped when he was in college, but when he struck gold as a DJ on a local station and got syndicated, they suddenly loved their grandson and nephew. When Rhett ended up on television and then hosting a game show, they’d shown up with hands out, requesting loans and posing potential investment opportunities. They weren’t horrible people, but they weren’t his grampy Pete. They weren’t truly his family (though they loved to be called Rhett Bryan’s family).
Until the last few weeks, Rhett had never realized how lonely he felt in a place he belonged. Sure, he was busy in LA, but Rhett didn’t have many people in his life who were there because they wanted to be. His closest relationships were with his agent, production assistants, and casting agents. He sometimes played basketball with a fellow comedian, and occasionally spent holidays with his costar on the one rom-com he’d made. He could get dates and go to dinner with other artists, but none knew the true Rhett Bryan.
He wanted to go back to California, but he wanted someone beside him. Maybe it was time to think less about his career and more about his happiness.
“Let’s not talk about when that happens,” Rhett said.
Grampy looked up from slathering mayonnaise on his bread. “Why not? Dying’s part of living, ain’t it?”
Rhett cut his sandwich diagonally, like they did in commercials, and grabbed a bag of Cheetos. They’d always been his favorite chip, and in four days he’d have to get back to eating healthy again, settling only for a single day of the month to visit his favorite taco stand on the beach. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it. We’ve talked about too many heavy subjects this afternoon.”
“You’re not holding a grudge because I told you to lay off Summer, are you?”
“No.”
“Okay, so if you like her that way, why would you give her up so easily?”
“’Cause you’re right,” Rhett said, sliding his plate onto the bar and snagging a stool. He sat down and took a bite. Damn, there was nothing better than white bread.
“I usually am,” Grampy said.
“And humble.”
Grampy gave him a rare, snaggletoothed grin. “Apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
Rhett snorted.
“My pops told me to stay away from your grandmother, too. I didn’t listen.”
His grandfather didn’t say anything else, and instead went about the business of making his sandwich. Rhett gave it a full minute before he said, “What are you trying to say?”
His grandfather shrugged. “You said you liked her.”
“I’m seriously trying to figure out if you’re being intentionally irksome or if you’ve succumbed to Alzheimer’s. If it’s the former, stop. If it’s the latter, what home do you prefer going to?”
“You ain’t putting me in one of those hellholes. If ever I get to where I need to wear diapers or start talking to the walls, I’ll just take the boat out and pull the damned plug. I’ll go out with a glub.”
“Again, let’s not go there.”
“What I’m saying is you young folk don’t know how to persevere. Your grandmamma waited for me when I was over in Korea. Three years she didn’t see me and we were fine. Wrote letters, got a little leave, and met up. Spent all three days in a hotel room. That’s how your daddy came to be. We didn’t have to have it perfect. Bah, you say you can’t be there and here. Sure you can. If you want something bad enough, you make it work. Like I did with your grandmamma. Like your daddy did with your kook of a mother, God rest her soul.”
“Summer and I aren’t in love. We’re just friends who . . . flirted with something. My life is too complicated right now, remember? I’ve got to figure some things out, and it’s not fair to Summer to ask her to wait while I decide what I want in life. Or if I even want to change anything in my life. Things are complicated.” He wanted more with Summer. But they couldn’t work, so he should start buying the words he was selling to Gramps.
“You think Koreans shooting at my head wasn’t complicated?”
“No, I’m not saying you didn’t exist in danger, but maybe having things cut and dried—you live, you die—made it easier for you to see what your life was. I can’t do that right now. There’s too much going on inside of me.”
Grampy studied him for a full ten seconds. Then he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. “Want to watch football? Titans are playing.”
Rhett blinked, trying to figure out if this was another part of Grampy’s Obstacle Course of Finding the Truth in life. “Sure.”
“Good. I’m tired of talking about feelings. You gotta figure yourself out. I can’t do it for you.”
True enough. Rhett picked up his plate and followed Grampy into the living room. The older man turned on the TV, found the game, and settled into the ancient recliner. Rhett sank onto the couch, balancing the old Corelle plate on his knee. The phone jittered against his thigh. He dug it out.
Summer.
Hello? You already blowing me off?
He stared at the words for a few seconds, vacillating between tossing his uneaten sandwich on the coffee table and running to Summer’s house or being reasonable. He knew he should tell her it had all been a mistake. Protecting her from the hurt his departure would bring would be wise. That was assuming she’d be hurt. Grampy could hypothesize himself to death, and Rhett could make guesses based on the past, but only Summer knew if whatever she felt was true enough to care when Rhett went back to LA.
No way. Watching Titans game with Grampy. I’ll see you tonight.
What would she read into that text? Many women he knew would analyze it seven ways to Sunday. Others would get pissed and tell him to go fuck himself.
Okay. See you tonight.
But not Summer. Because she wasn’t like the other women he’d had in his life. Summer lived in the back seat. She was a mother and therefore used to being second. Something about that was both endearing and irritating. Double-edged sword, that. He wanted her to demand he come to her, to give her the attention and respect she deserved. Yet he savored that she didn’t get ruffled and bent out of shape that he didn’t drop everything and come running for another tumble in her bed.
But why wasn’t he running to her bed?
If all he had were four more days of Summer and Moonlight, why was he sitting there watching a game he cared nothing about?
“Hey, Grampy. I need to talk to Summer.”
His grandfather stirred, obviously having already started his Sunday nap. “Huh?”
“Enjoy the game.” Rhett tried not to look so eager to get away, but he may have run-walked to the front door. He’d tell her he was leaving and then see if she wanted to make the most of the time they had left together. He’d put the ball back in her court. Her choice. God, he hoped she chose four days of goodness.