RHETT

          If I was shivering just before, I'm suddenly being attacked by a wave of hot flashes.

          It's like all the air in the kitchen has been sucked out by the world's strongest vacuum, and I'm struggling to catch my breath. Every pore in my body is leaking sweat like someone has just switched on a showerhead, which isn't exactly the most attractive of situations I could be placing myself in, but I suppose it could be worse.

          For example, I could have passed out right then and there as soon as Brie uttered those words. I could have laughed in her face in sheer incredulity, which, in turn, would only make it seem like I'm not taking her seriously and, therefore, invalidating everything she has just confessed to me.

          That just so happens to be the exact opposite of how I'm currently feeling, but she doesn't know that. Like she has ever so kindly decided to remind me, she doesn't know how I feel at all, as I won't open up to her; although I've always had enough self-awareness to know I'm keeping certain things from her, I thought it was a reasonable amount of secrecy, one that wouldn't leave her feeling this upset.

          My stomach sinks like the fucking Titanic as soon as my brain decides to be useful for once and help me properly process what she has just said. With every passing second, I notice her resolve collapse and she retreats towards a corner of the kitchen, the instinct to make herself smaller in embarrassment over my ever so eloquent silent response.

          The intensity of her gaze, however, doesn't waver.

          Even though she's recoiling away from me, her eyes never leave mine. She stares at me with the force of a thousand scorching suns, although her bottom lip quivers. She could bite it to stop it from doing so, something I've caught her doing on more than one occasion because she thinks it makes her look weak for feeling perfectly human, normal emotions, and I can't help but wish she'd finally let her guard down around me. It's what she asked me to do, is it not? How is this any different from what I do?

          She's still so radiant it hurts to look at her. Every time I consider looking away to give her room to breathe, I'm drawn to her like a moth to a flame, like every atom in my body is attuned to seek her in every situation.

          She once told me she has never stopped searching for me in every guy she's dated since me, all those years ago. For a split second, stupid, idiotic me was proud of hearing her say that, mentally patting myself on the back for having left such a lasting impression, that I failed to account for the reasons behind her feelings. Now that I fully understand just how deeply the wounds run, just how shipwrecked I left her, I know it's not something I should be happy about.

          She's been trying to fix our relationship since even before I took the first step to extend an olive branch, albeit unconsciously. She's been trying to fix it for her own sake, to forgive herself for all the damage I've done—for years now, even when I was too blind by my pride, too big a coward to look inwardly and take responsibility for my mistakes.

          Now that I have, now that I understand how she's been feeling all along, where the terror comes from. I haven't been the only one looking back over my shoulder this whole time.

          Now that I have, I'm the one trying to find her everywhere I look.

          "I know I screwed up by going behind your back and telling Dante and Flint the truth, but there was no one else I could talk to," she confesses. I try to convince myself the twinge of regret I think I detect in her voice is all thanks to the way she told me the truth, and not because she wants to take it all back or because she doesn't mean it. You know, for ego-protection purposes, and all. "I couldn't go to Nancy. Do you think I should start seeing a therapist? They're contractually obliged to keep their mouths shut as long as I'm not a danger to myself or others, and I think this doesn't count as endangering—"

          "You could have talked to me," I point out, hand on my hip like my mom. "It wouldn't have bothered me. We promised ourselves we'd be honest with each other, right?"

          "Well, you just saw exactly what happens when we're honest with each other. I've been terrified of your reaction this whole time, Rhett; I know we promised honesty and communication, but I had also promised myself I wouldn't let myself fall down the rabbit hole again. I promised myself I wouldn't let you break my heart all over again."

          "Brie . . ."

          "To me, realizing I've been in love with you this whole time has been one of the hardest things I've ever had to experience. Not the hardest, thankfully, but it's up there." She raises a hand to mark an invisible ceiling. "You ripped my heart out, and it's taken me literal years to patch it back together. I don't think I'll ever be ready for the possibility of those stitches ever coming undone, but I knew damn well what I was getting into when I accepted your proposal, so I've . . . I've been trying to come to terms with it potentially happening. I've been trying to relax around you, to convince myself you don't have any ill intent—"

          "I've never meant to hurt you. You know that. I know I did, but—"

          She huffs. "Let me finish." I mimic zipping up my mouth. "Even though I knew all of it was fake, that we'd only be using each other for personal reasons—and don't look at me like that; you know I'm right," she adds, noticing the smallest of shifts in my facial expression. Though yes, we both have our agendas and reasons to have agreed to pretend to date to achieve our personal goals—including my desire to make it right by her, for her—this makes it sound inherently selfish. "Even though I knew it was fake, it eventually stopped being fake for me. I don't think it ever was, especially when I think about how scared I've been this whole time. If I trusted us—particularly me—to keep things strictly platonic, I would've saved myself from plenty of heartache. Falling all over again hurts just as much as the first time around, but, in a way, this fake relationship has been the most real relationship of my life. That's why I can't do this anymore."

          I exhale, heart pounding like a jackhammer, and try to gather my emotions, keep them in check so I won't explode. It's easier said—and thought—than done. "You . . . want to break up. That's what this is about, isn't it? I don't think I can ever go back to being just friends with you, Brie; there's too much at stake."

          Her face hardens as she crosses her arms over her chest. "Your career. Your future. I get it. Don't worry; I wouldn't jeopardize anything. I'm not about to Cole my way out of this relationship; what I'm trying to say is that I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything real for you, when it's obvious it's holding me back. It's holding us back, and I don't think it's fair."

          "Brooke, please. That's not what I meant."

          "You don't have to reciprocate my feelings. I know you're going through a lot right now, and I've told you so many times I don't want to be an added stressor in your life, but I also need to prioritize myself at some point. Telling my brothers about us was what I could do considering the circumstances and, trust me, I know damn well what the risks are." Her arms fall to her sides in defeat. "I would never, ever do anything to hurt you in any way. There was a point when I thought I could be petty enough to do it, but it wouldn't make me feel better. I just needed to talk to someone and who cares if they're not your biggest fans right now? Neither was I when I ran into you that day at the café, and look at me now—still pathetically in love with you, willing to fight my own family to defend your honor."

          I shake my head, wondering how someone this smart can simultaneously be this oblivious sometimes. I know I'm not the brightest tool in the shed myself—I'm not exactly stupid by any means, but sometimes I worry my brain isn't tuned to function in the same frequency as other people's—but I do find it quite ironic that we've both somehow managed to completely miss each other's point in this conversation.

          "See, that's where you're wrong. It's not your fault." I take her hands in mine, thumbs gently caressing her knuckles, and she leans into the touch. In the right hands, when she's treated right, she melts. "I screwed up big time. I'm sure I'll do it again, but, for what it's worth, I am trying. I've been doing my best to be the right guy for you. It's not your responsibility to improve my reputation or the way other people see me; it's mine."

          Her eyes burn mine with how intense the staring gets, but neither of us look away. "If they don't want to believe I know what I'm doing and that I would've never jumped into this if I didn't truly trust you've changed for the better, then that's their problem, but I won't give up. I'm not ready to give up on us."

          Sighing, I lean forward to rest my forehead against hers. She holds her breath and, when she inhales, I swear there's no oxygen left in the room. "I've been reciprocating those feelings for a lot longer than you think, actually."

          "Rhett—"

          "Things were a lot easier when we were just playing pretend, but I'm not doing this because it's the easy way out. I'm done pretending I feel nothing for you." My hands are now cupping her face, tilting it up so she can meet my gaze when she looks away from me, and her hot breath fans against my lips. We're so close I feel about to burst into flames. "I don't know how or when it happened, but you've turned into the best part of my day. I wake up with things to tell you, go through life thinking about how you'd feel about random things—would Brie like these flowers? What's her favorite oatmeal topping?—and realize there's nothing I want more than to keep feeling those things. I want nothing more than to spend more time with you, see where these small moments will take us. They might be small, but they mean the whole world to me. You mean the whole world to me.

          "You're so . . . radiant. You're smart, funny, sexy as hell"—she chuckles—"and you're the kindest, most thoughtful person I've ever met. You allow yourself to keep dreaming, to keep fighting for the fairy tale future you've wanted for so long, even when everything feels impossible to accomplish. Even when you're broken down, even when everything is telling you to quit, you keep going. You pick yourself back up, and you inspire everyone around you. You've helped me want to be like that; it wasn't enough to know I needed to be that way. I needed to want those things for myself, and seeing the way you paint the landscapes of the world—like there's beauty and love everywhere, like there are good things if you choose to look for them—has changed my life. You have changed my life, and I no longer want to fight against these feelings. They don't make me weak. Being with you, learning to be vulnerable, learning to let people in—all of it has only made me stronger, and it has taught me I can trust myself to be strong even when the world doesn't want me to be."

          I know I need to do this for myself, for my own happiness and well-being, instead of having to depend on someone else; I can't let other people dictate how I feel or turn her into some manic pixie dream girl who gives my life meaning. I know all of that.

          However, being with her, witnessing the way she lights up every room she walks into and how effortless she makes it seem . . . it sure as hell makes me want to want to experience those things, too. I would move even the heaviest of boulders, cross the deepest of oceans, walk through the hottest flames just to see her smile. I would fight heaven and hell for this girl.

          Brie curls her slender fingers around my wrists. I'm certain she can feel the incessant pulsing of my heartbeat. "So it's real? All this time . . ."

          "It's as real as you and me, baby."

          She crashes her lips against mine before I can think about doing the same, throwing her arms around my neck, and I stumble backward with the impact, one of my hands dropping to her waist. Something in my chest ignites, and the whole world bursts into color and motion.

          She kisses me like we're running out of time, reminiscent of the fire she's always been searching for, and, Lord, I'd love to take my time and enjoy every moment without feeling like I'm about to lose it all, but I understand. It's like every lie, every heartbreak, every shed tear has led up to this moment, but not every stepping stone in our way was meant to make us trip. Some of those cobblestones were guides, some of them were happy moments, too; some of them were sunkissed, sweet like every shared slice of cake, every latte, every secret moment.

          This secret is out in the open now, an explosion of sunlight and starlight everywhere around us, and she's reminding me of why I've continued to go back, why I've been so eager to fix things. She's reminding me why I needed to forgive myself and learn from the errors of my past instead of beating myself up; she's reminding me that we had to grow and learn to get to where we are. And she doesn't want me to waste a goddamn moment.

          I pull her closer and closer, until there's no space separating us, and she sighs against my mouth, lips parting to trace the outline of my bottom one with my tongue, and the taste of her is dizzying. She's so sweet it makes my head buzz, a delicious mix of Sprite and Coke and coffee cake, so typically Brie, so bubbly.

          "If you two are quite done with your . . . effusive PDA over there, we have a situation," Paige informs, startling us both, and I reluctantly take a step back. Out of every person in the house right now, of course the one walking in on us just had to be my best friend's sister. "We tried to keep her out, but she said she had an invitation, and lo and behold . . . she does. I don't know who sent it to her and I'll do my best to figure it out, but, if we want tonight to remain drama-free, someone will have to leave, and she has her entire entourage backing her up."

          "Who?" Brie asks, but the look on Paige's face tells me all I need to know.

          She gulps, timidly meeting my eyes, and Paige de Haan is the farthest thing from meek, shy, or even subtle. She's a natural at navigating awkward situations, and she's even better at making the most out of every social situation, every gathering, so there's no doubt in my mind she has run out of options.

          We're not exactly close, Paige and I, but there's mutual understanding between us when it comes to wanting to preserve peace—especially after what happened at her birthday party. While I had no qualms about jumping into a fist fight with Cole, risking ruining her special day, she's been looking out for me even when I had no clue the world was about to come crashing down on me.

          My heart is beating so fast I can't tell whether the tremors underneath my feet are caused by the rush of blood to my limbs, urging me to let adrenaline take over, or if there's an earthquake and the whole building is shaking as violently as I feel like it is. The edges of my vision blur before blackening, drowning out even the strongest bass beat coming from the living room.

          I shouldn't have to do this. It's not fair that I keep being put in these situations, where happiness and glory are just out of reach, tauntingly close to let the tips of my fingers brush against them, only to be stolen away by a cruel twist of fate.

          Call it fate. Call it Magnolia Hawthorne. Both of them are ruining my life, but the latter only does it because I've given her the power to do so.

          So, I take Brie's hand once more, tugging her forward. "Let's go."

          She blinks. "Why? Why do we need to leave?"

          "I'll explain once we're out of here, but we need to go."

          She's confused, but I can deal with that. I'll explain everything. I'll fix everything.

          However, I don't get a chance to do anything or even plan out the conversation in my head. As soon as we leave the kitchen in a hurry, Paige in tow, I stop dead in my tracks, a harsh reminder that there are different kinds of magnetism.

          I see her, standing right by Jeff's keg, and I can't look away. Still beautiful, still blonde, still the personification of my terror.

          Magnolia Hawthorne.

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

alexa play the oh no tik tok sound

30 chapters in the making!!!! both for the real feelings to come out and for magnolia to FINALLY show her face!!!