Her Defiant Heart

by Monica Murphy

  Despite all the planning and time and energy I put into this, I need to abandon my revenge plan. It’s getting me into a lot of trouble. Trouble I don’t need.

  Deciding I’d rather purchase the bus ticket with cash, I give up my ticket search and go into the kitchen, where I throw away everything that’s old or close to expiring. Once I have that clean, I go through the tiny cupboard I call my pantry, tossing out bags of stale chips and boxes of old crackers. I find a few snacks I can take with me on the bus, stuff I can eat later, plus a couple of bottles of water, and I shove it all in my tote bag.

  The cash Don gave me plus the little bit I’d saved over the months is bound with a rubber band and stashed inside a flower-printed cosmetics bag my dad gave me when I turned thirteen. It’s faded now, and kind of hideous, but I’ve never been able to part with it.

  My one sentimental piece beyond the earrings that belong to my mother.

  After eating a giant bowl of cereal with the last of the milk from the fridge, I toss the plastic bowl in the trash along with the milk carton and then move through my tiny house to turn out all the lights. I lock the back door, make sure all the blinds and curtains are closed, and I finally grab my stuff and start to head out the front door. I’ve paid rent through this month, and there’s only a few more days left before a new month starts. When I don’t make my next regular payment, I know my landlord will come here looking for me. I should probably leave a note, but screw it. They’ll be able to figure out I’m gone.

  Not that they’ll really care.

  With an irritated huff, I throw open the door and stop short at what I find waiting for me on the front porch.

  A bouquet of flowers in a glass vase, though they’re nothing standard like a dozen roses or anything like that. No, this arrangement is a variety of colorful, vibrant wildflowers, and they are absolutely gorgeous.

  No one has ever given me flowers before.

  I drop my tote to the ground and leave my suitcase standing upright as I bend down to pick up the vase. I bury my face in the flowers, their velvety petals caressing my cheeks, their delicious scent filling my head. There’s no card, and for the briefest, scariest moment, I wonder if they could be from Greg.

  That means he knows where I live.

  “I’ve been waiting for you out here for almost an hour.”

  Whirling around, I watch in disbelief as Rhett walks across my weed-filled yard, a bashful smile on his face. I glance down at the flowers, then back up at him. I’m shocked that he’s here. After the ugliness of the last few days, his presence lights me up. Lightens me up. Makes me feel…

  Hopeful.

  “These are from you?” I hold the vase out.

  He nods. “You like them?”

  Ignoring his question, I ask, “What do you mean you’ve been waiting out here for almost an hour? Why didn’t you knock?”

  “I did knock. A couple of times,” he answers, stopping just at the edge of my porch. “I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  I must not have. I’ve been too busy packing and trying to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.

  “Looks like you’re going somewhere.” He nods toward the suitcase next to me.

  “Oh.” I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. Inside, though, I’m a bundle of nerves.

  Rhett is here. He came to see me. And he left me flowers.

  What does this mean?

  “Oh? That’s all you’re going to say?” Now he’s standing directly in front of me, the only barrier the vase of flowers between us. “I’ve tried texting you for days, but you haven’t responded.”

  I’ve ignored all of his texts. I eventually blocked his number a couple of days ago so I wouldn’t see them anymore and be tempted to answer him.

  So why does he stick around? No one else does in my life.

  What makes Rhett the exception to the rule?

  “I even tried calling you.”

  A weak laugh escapes me. “I never answer phone calls.”

  “I figured that.” Rhett chuckles, but he sounds nervous. And this makes my heart want to crack wide open. “I haven’t been able to think about anything else since we were together Friday night.”

  His admission makes my heart crack open even more. Why is he saying this? Why is he doing this to me?

  “But I’m starting to think I’m the only one who feels this way, since clearly you’re doing all right without me.” He waves in the direction of my suitcase, like he’s upset. And maybe he is. Maybe he’s hurt because I ignored him, and now he’s giving me flowers and I look like I’m running away, which I am. I so am. I don’t deserve him. “I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

  He turns and starts walking toward the sidewalk, and I watch his retreating back.

  Let him go.

  Let him walk out of your life.

  You don’t owe him an explanation.

  It’s better that he thinks of you as a fond memory versus that evil bitch who used him.

  Let.

  Him.

  Go.

  “Rhett. Wait.”

  I chase after him, the vase still clutched in my hands, the flowers bouncing in my face. I grab hold of his arm and he stops, turning to face me. There’s high color in his cheeks, and his eyes are blazing with frustration and anger and…

  Want. Lots and lots of want.

  My body responds automatically. I want him too. Despite everything I just went through, I lean into him, wishing he would touch me.

  But he doesn’t. He’s too angry to give in. I can see it in the determined set of his jaw, the wary way he’s watching me. He’s put himself on the line and I’ve done nothing but make him feel worse.

  “I swear, Rhett, I didn’t hear you knock. And I—” Hesitating, I scuff my feet on the sidewalk, feeling stupid. “I blocked your number so I wouldn’t text you back,” I admit, my voice low.

  He’s frowning, like he can’t comprehend what I just told him. “Why didn’t you want to text me back?”

  “I was, uh, I was going to leave. My—my grandma is not in the best of health, and no one else in the family wants to take care of her, so it’s up to me.” There. That’s a nice lie that won’t hurt his feelings. “I need to leave tonight, and I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

  “More like I didn’t know how to tell you.” I’m messing this up, but are we really surprised? I don’t know how to have a normal relationship with a person. Don’t know how to start or maintain one either. “I really—liked you, and I didn’t even want to admit it to myself, because it couldn’t last. I’m not a permanent fixture here, Rhett. And that means I can’t be a permanent fixture in your life.”

  He’s watching me, his gaze locked on my face, his expression so sincere, so earnest, it almost makes me want to cry. I prepare myself for what he’s about to say. I can tell it’s going to be something sweet and wonderful and his words are going to make me want to cave in and stay.

  The last thing I should do is stay.

  “Jensen.” He says my name like an endearment, and I can feel the tears stinging the corners of my eyes. “You should’ve told me all of this sooner.” He takes the vase from my hands and sets it on top of his car. In my despair to chase after him, I didn’t even notice we ended up standing right next to it. “I can help. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

  “You barely know me.” His hands feel so good when they gently clamp around my shoulders. Like he could pull me into him and offer up all his strength, all his warmth and I could absorb it. Feed off it. It’s so weird, but I instinctively know he’d take care of me, no matter what, and I don’t deserve so much faith. “Why do you even care?”

  “I told you I want to get to know you better.” He hesitates, like he’s afraid to reveal more. But he takes a deep breath and forges on. “From the moment we first met, there was something about you. You intrigued me. You still do.”

  I’m at a complete loss for words.


  “Didn’t you feel the connection between us the other night? God.” He hauls me to him, holding me close, my face buried against the solid wall of his chest, and I breathe in his clean, fresh scent. It’s nothing like the cloying cologne Greg used. But Rhett still smells expensive, deliciously expensive, and thoughtful and caring and—

  “Let me help you.” He slips his fingers beneath my chin, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to meet his earnest, hopeful gaze. His fingers are gentle, a complete contrast to the way Greg touched me. “Do you need a ride? I can take you to your grandma’s house. Whatever you need.”

  “What? Oh.” I’d already forgotten my lie to him. Not smart. I need to keep better track. “Maybe someone else can take care of her after all. I don’t know.” My excuses sound weak, and I clamp my lips shut.

  “Okay then.” His fingers fall away from my chin. His voice is slow, and he’s frowning at me. I’m sure I’ve confused him. No surprise, since I’m feeling pretty confused myself. “You want to come back to my place?”

  “Huh?” He wants to take me back to his palace? Well, I don’t know if he lives in an actual palace while he’s in college, but I know he does when he’s home with the parentals. He used to belong to a frat and lived in the house, but he moved out the spring of his junior year.

  How do I know this? Googling him—he mentioned those interesting facts on an Instagram post.

  God, I’m awful.

  “Jensen. Hey.” He pulls away from me, still holding onto my shoulders, and I’m thankful he’s keeping me in place. My knees are so shaky I’m afraid I could fall. “Are you all right?” He touches my cheek, tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers so gentle. “You’re acting kinda weird.”

  I am. I always am. Can’t he see it? I’m fake. Fake as my pleather couch, fake as the CZ earrings in my ears. Fake as the name that he calls me.

  There’s nothing about me that’s real.

  My stomach churns as I blink up at him, and I swear I’m seeing two Rhetts. Like he’s a twin egg that split in two. Does that even make sense? No, of course not.

  “I, uh, I feel kinda…dizzy.” Fuzzy black dots fill my vision and I shake my head, but that only seems to make it worse.

  “Damn, your lips are so white. Jensen, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Jensen? Jensen!”

  I wake up to discover I’m sitting in the reclined passenger seat of Rhett’s car, a soft, gray fuzzy blanket draped over my lower half. I move my fingers, realizing my arms are under the blanket, and I wonder where it came from.

  I also wonder why I care so much about the stupid blanket.

  Closing my eyes, I slowly open them again, trying to bring everything back into focus, but it’s so dark. Last I remember, the sky was still light, though the sun was fading fast. How much time has passed? What happened to me? How did I get into Rhett’s car?

  Maybe I should ask him and find out.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I clear my throat and rise up on my elbows, glancing around. His car is so nice, so expensive. The seats are real leather and butter-soft, while I’m a cheap imitation of a person.

  “Oh, hey. You’re awake.” He smiles over at me, then flicks his chin toward the center console. “There’s a bottle of water in there. Hope you don’t mind that I took it out of your bag. And if you want to lift the seat up, there’s a button you can hit on the base of the seat on the right side.”

  I do as he suggests, raising the seat so I’m sitting upright like a normal person. My throat is dry—it’s like I can’t stop trying to clear it—so I reach for the bottle of water and crack it open, taking a long swallow. My head feels so heavy, it hurts. And I still can’t figure out how I got into this car.

  A weird thought enters my brain and lingers. What if Rhett—did something to me while I was out?

  No. He would never do that. Ever.

  “Thank you for the water. And for rescuing me,” I finally say, hating how my voice cracks.

  He shoots me a quick look, his gaze full of concern. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay.” I shrug, then wince. “My head hurts.”

  “You almost cracked it on the sidewalk.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, you fainted, but I caught you before you hit the ground.”

  “I don’t remember doing that,” I whisper.

  “That’s because you were out before I caught you.”

  “Oh.” I don’t know what to say or how to explain myself. Instead, I take another sip of water and stare out the passenger-side window.

  “Have you been sick? Maybe that’s why you fainted?” Rhett asks. I hear the concern in his voice, and I want to tell him I don’t deserve it.

  “I’ve fainted before.” My father told me my mother used to faint sometimes too. Maybe it runs in the family. “Usually I faint because I’m tired or hungry. Or stressed.” Yeah definitely stressed.

  “Maybe you fainted because you’re worried about your grandma.”

  I close my eyes and press my forehead against the window, the cold glass relieving my heated embarrassment. I’m so tired of the lies. Tired of pretending. “My grandma’s fine,” I croak.

  “What?” He sounds incredulous.

  Sitting up, I turn to look at him. “I don’t even think I have a grandma. Not one that I know, at least.”

  “Wait a minute.” He shakes his head. “Are you telling me you made that all up?”

  “Yeah.” I turn my head so I don’t have to look at him when I say, “I did.”

  He swings the car to the right so suddenly, my shoulder rams into the door, and I yelp in pain. We’re in an empty parking lot and he pulls the car into a slot, throwing it into park before he turns and faces me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I made it up. My grandma being sick. There’s no grandma in my life.” There’s no one in my life. Period.

  “You lied to me, then.” The disgust in his voice is obvious. Of course he’s disgusted. I’m not who I say I am. I’m using him. I’m a whore who fucked him on Friday night and almost let another man fuck me again on Saturday. I don’t deserve his kindness, or his help.

  Lifting my chin, I keep my gaze on his. “I did.”

  Rhett blows out a harsh breath and looks away, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Where were you planning on going anyway?”

  “Back home.”

  “Where’s home?”

  I keep my gaze averted. “I don’t want to tell you.”

  He punches the steering wheel, making me flinch and cower away from him, and the pure misery that crosses his face as he studies me almost makes me feel bad for reacting that way.

  But not really. His violent outburst is a good reminder that they’re all the same. Even the so-called good ones.

  “I should go,” I say after a few minutes tick by and no one’s talking. I grab my tote and sling it over my shoulder. “Where’s my suitcase?”

  “In the trunk,” Rhett mutters as he leans over and hits the button to open it.

  Without a word, I climb out of the car and go to the back, opening the trunk and pulling my ratty old suitcase out. Rhett’s suddenly there too, trying to take the suitcase away from me, but I jerk the handle out of his hold.

  “There’s no way I’m going to leave you here,” he starts, but I hold up my hand, silencing him.

  “Yes, you are. I don’t need a ride from you.”

  “Jens. You’re being ridiculous.” He thrusts his fingers through his dark hair, messing it up. God, he’s so good-looking. I can admit it now. He’s gorgeous. And I like him. Though I shouldn’t. He’d only disappoint me in the end.

  Looks like I already disappointed him.

  “Let me take you wherever you need to go.” He hesitates, then seems to go for it. “I wanted to bring you back to my house. You can stay there for as long as you want. I have a guest bed—”

  I cut him off. “No.” I shake my head. Press my lips together.

&nb
sp; Another ragged sigh leaves him, and this time he does get hold of my suitcase, jerking the handle away from me and then tossing it back into the trunk. “Get in the car,” he says quietly.

  “Rhett—”

  “Get in the goddamn car.” He slams the trunk shut and stalks around the side of the car, climbing back into the driver’s seat. I follow his lead, slipping into the passenger side and closing the door behind me.

  “Take me to the bus station,” I tell him quietly.

  “Jensen…” He sighs my name, the frustration and longing so obvious in his voice. I’m making him crazy. And I would continue to make him crazy if I stuck around.

  Not in a good way either.

  “Please, Rhett.” I pause, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I can’t stay here. I just…I can’t.”

  Without another word, he puts the car in reverse and backs out of the parking spot. We’re silent for the entire drive, and I can’t even look at him. He hates me. I can feel the anger emanating from him in palpable waves, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the sudden chill in the air. His stony silence is agonizing. I’d rather deal with him angry and ranting, calling me names and getting physical with me.

  But his total withdrawal, the stiff way he holds himself, how it’s like he’s become so disinterested in me…it’s painful.

  Rhett pulls into the bus depot and I’m exiting the car the second he puts it into park. He helps me get my suitcase and hands the heavy tote bag over to me, which I grab and sling over my shoulder.

  “Unblock my number and let me know you made it home okay,” he demands.

  “Sure.” I shrug. Like I’m really going to text him.

  “You’re lying again,” he says flatly.

  I sigh and shake my head. “I think it’s probably best if we cut off all communication. Don’t you?”

  He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, glaring at me. It’s almost like he’s in shock, and he doesn’t know how to feel about me, or how to react. I’ve confused the hell out of him with my lies and confessions, and I bet he’s wondering why he was interested in me in the first place. Worse, he’s probably full of regret over us having sex, and him bringing me those flowers…