by Liz Talley
Her life was here. His was not.
To her, Rhett Bryan was everything.
To him, Summer Valentine was a pleasant distraction.
End. Of. Story.
“No more Butterballs,” Maisie said, placing the bag of brown sugar in the cart. “How can there be a Thanksgiving with no Butterball turkey?”
Summer shook her head. “Travesty. I never thought it could happen.”
“Just like I never thought I would be shopping for Thanksgiving dinner with Rhett Bryan. He just sweet-talked Mildred Hodges into a second sample of some kind of new pizza snack. Unheard of.” Maisie craned her head toward the end of the aisle where people stared at Rhett . . . but tried to look like they weren’t staring.
“That’s how he was in school. Everyone gave up their seat for him, loaned him lunch money, and practically lined up to walk behind him. People just want to be around him . . . and give him extra samples.” Summer surveyed the cranberry sauces. With or without whole berries, that was the question . . . among other things.
“So how is he in bed?” Maisie asked.
Summer nearly dropped a can on her toe. “What?”
“Oh, come on. You look both flushed and tired . . . but in that good I-just-stayed-up-for-amazing-sex way. I’m not judging. I’d do him, too.”
“You would not,” Summer said, not bothering to confirm or deny. “And just because I’m tired doesn’t mean I’m having sex.” But she was. Lots of sneaking around, soul-stirring sex. She was giddy, tired, sad, and resigned to upcoming heartache. She was a woman in love with a man who would close the door on her soon, but she was wringing every moment and locking it away for the lonely times that would come. Did that make her pathetic?
Probably.
Maisie watched Rhett walk back to them, carrying the pizza samples on a towel. “I don’t know. My heart’s still broken, but I bet he’d go a long way in mending it. He’s a free-pass kind of guy.”
“Hush,” Summer said, grabbing two cranberry sauces and tossing them in the cart. One of each to appease everyone at the dinner table.
“These are amazing. I figured I could only have two if I want to keep my girlish figure,” Rhett said, jabbing the napkin toward them. “These extra-cheesy pizza stix are for you ladies. Wave at Mildred so she knows I gave them to you. She’s very particular with her samples.”
She and Maisie took the bread sticks and waved toward Mildred, who had an eagle eye on them.
“Do you think you can pick out five or six medium-size sweet potatoes, Mais?” Summer asked, hoping her sister got the hint and left her with Rhett, which was selfish of her, but every second that slipped past was like sand through an hourglass. It was a dumb cliché, but so effing true. Those grains kept falling, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.
“Yeah, I got ya,” Maisie said, heading back toward the produce section.
“Having fun playing at being normal?” she asked Rhett, pushing the basket down to where the green beans sat awaiting their place in dozens of upcoming green bean casseroles.
“Hey, I am normal. Sort of.” He grinned. His cheerfulness felt forced, the way she faked joviality when David was about to receive a vaccination at the pediatrician. Cheesy jokes, silly games, here comes the shot . . . and tears.
“I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow,” she said before she could stop herself. Damn it. Why did she say that? It had tumbled from her mouth like a pea escaping her fork at a fancy dinner party. She didn’t know whether to pretend it hadn’t happened or try to shepherd it back onto her plate. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, I wish I didn’t have to go, either,” he said, picking up a can of corn. Such was corn. A great avoider, obviously.
Summer sighed. “This is stupid. I know you’re going back and I’m staying here. What do you think about fruit salad?”
“In general or for Thanksgiving dinner?” Rhett said, obviously trying to lighten the mood. An older woman with overly teased hair turned in to the aisle. Her heavily made-up eyes zeroed in on Rhett holding a can of creamed corn. Summer couldn’t blame her for looking suddenly hungry. The man made corn sexy.
“You know I’m trying to change the subject from me being pathetic to turkey dinner. Go with it, buddy.”
When he looked at her, his eyes reflected . . . pity? God, she didn’t want him to pity her. She wasn’t some pining groupie or pathetic nerd anymore. She was a strong woman who had never needed a man. She could do power ballads, drink whiskey, and disable an attacker. She didn’t need to be pitied because she had feelings, damn it.
“I think fruit salad is always a good idea,” he said.
“Me, too,” the newcomer said, pausing in front of the canned yams before tossing them into her shopping cart. She gave Summer a curious glance and Rhett a crocodilian smile. “I have a great recipe if you want it.”
“Really?” Rhett asked, cocking his head in the most adorable way. Summer felt the older woman vibrate with pleasure. “Is that an innuendo or, like, for reals?”
The woman laughed and waved a big diamond under Rhett’s nose. “Now, sugar, I can’t say you’re not tempting, but I’m happily married.”
Oh, this woman was good. She knew how to play hard to get.
“Now you put away those dimples, sugar, or all bets are off. Poor ol’ Donald could be just a memory to me . . . though I have been married to him for thirty-two years.”
“I better not ask for that recipe, then.” Rhett gave her a smile that glittered, and Summer nearly stuck her finger down her throat and mocked vomiting.
“Sugar, they should require a license for a smile like yours,” she said, giving him a wink before sashaying down the aisle.
Summer didn’t know whether to snort in disbelief or laugh.
“She’s good,” Rhett mused, watching her turn and stroke a display of cans on the endcap with a saucy smile on her face. Gone was the pity. Instead his dimples were out to play.
“She’s right. Put away the dimples. I don’t need random women trying to make time with you.” Even though she was heartsore, it pleased her to see Rhett so relaxed. He’d been sleeping better, laughing more, and avoiding any talk about his life in California.
“Hey, yours is the only coffee I’m drinking,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and falling in beside her. “You know, I like grocery shopping.”
“Weirdo,” she said, watching Maisie twirl the bag of potatoes as she headed back toward them.
Maisie dropped the potatoes in the cart. “I’ve got to get back to the shop. Shelia called. We have a few last-minute orders for table arrangements. I want to get everything wrapped up early this afternoon so I can help you get everything ready tonight.”
“You’re bringing rolls and squash casserole, right?” Summer asked.
“Right,” Maisie said, giving her a quick squeeze. She paused for a moment, eyeing Rhett beside her. “Aren’t you two just peas and carrots.”
Summer gave Maisie the stink eye. “Bye, Maisie.”
Rhett just smiled. Of course.
“Ignore her. She’s insane,” Summer said, pushing the cart toward the frozen foods. She’d ordered a pie from Etta, but she’d thought about making her grandmother’s chocolate pie. If she did, she’d have to cheat with a store-bought crust. Time, sands, and all that.
“Are you the pea or the carrot?” he teased.
Summer didn’t answer because she was pretty sure she was the tomato, a fruit trying to pass itself off as a veggie. Instead she headed to the checkout, where she found Rhett’s face plastered across the front of the National Enquirer with the logline “Late-Night Accusations: Bryan Attacks Family of Girl.”
Rhett’s face went white when he saw it. “I’ll meet you in the car, okay?”
Concerned, Summer nodded. When he’d disappeared through the sliding doors, she picked up the gossip rag. Two people with full carts were before her so she leafed through the magazine, finding the page with the story. Didn’t ta
ke long to see what it implied. Summer shoved it back in the rack, confused by what she’d just read.
When she got to the car, she didn’t say anything. Rhett sat in the passenger seat pecking on his phone, his jaw clenched tight. No element of the flirty, relaxed celebrity remained. He muttered “fuck” under his breath three times before they pulled into the Nest’s driveway. Across the stretch of yard in her parking area idled Hunt’s big truck.
“What’s he doing here?” Rhett demanded, his face no longer stony and impassive. A storm rolled onto the horizon, overshadowing the article in the National Enquirer.
“I forgot he was coming. We have to talk about David and where we stand on things like parties and dating. Fun stuff. Can you take these inside? I’m going to do most of my cooking at Pete’s. Not much room in my kitchen.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone with him,” Rhett said, unbuckling his seat belt.
Summer snorted. “You realize I’ve been alone with Hunt more than a dozen times. I’ve taken more self-defense and martial arts classes than you can imagine. I’m good.”
Rhett’s expression didn’t change. “Fine. I’ll take the groceries inside. Got some calls to make anyway.”
Summer climbed out and headed toward Hunt’s truck.
He rolled down the window, casting a cautious glance toward Rhett, who was likely standing there looking threatening. “Is now a good time?”
Summer glanced back at Rhett. “He’s more bark than bite, right? I’m the one you should worry about. I have a black belt.”
“So warned.” Hunt shut off the engine and climbed from the truck. Walking around to the passenger side, he pulled out a plastic container.
Inside was a corsage of white roses.
Summer’s heart did a funny flip. A strange feeling swept over her, but naming what it was seemed too difficult. Hunt held the container out to her, but she didn’t touch it.
“I got you this.” His voice sounded soft on the early afternoon breeze.
She took the clear container, focusing on the delicate ivory blossoms. The ribbon was the exact blue of her prom dress. Soft, sweet blooms nestled in iridescent blue, innocently unaware of representing what she’d lost.
Looking up at Hunt, she asked, “Why?”
“Because I didn’t understand what I had done to you.”
Summer glanced to where Rhett unloaded bags from her car. He kept watching them. She couldn’t see his expression, but she knew it was aggressive. No need for a scene like this past weekend. “Maybe it would be better if we spoke inside.”
Hunt followed her into the dim house. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d been inside her place. Usually he preferred to stay outside with his truck idling when he picked up David. She gestured to the couch. Hunt sank onto the edge and looked about as comfortable as she did at the gynecologist.
Summer took the chair and lifted her eyebrows.
“I looked up date rape, uh, on the Internet.” He didn’t look at her. Instead he focused on the sunflowers in the vase on the table.
She decided to wait to see where he went with this.
Finally, he looked at her. “I’d never looked that up before. Didn’t feel a need to.”
“Why did you? Because of what happened at the hospital?”
Hunt shook his head. “No, not really. More because of David.”
“David?”
“Yesterday I overheard him with the baseball guys at the field. I had walked down from the office to watch him. I stood in the shadows of the dugout because I wanted to see how he looked without knowing I was there, you know? Anyway, I overheard him shooting the shit with the guys. At first they ragged David about the party, but then they moved on to discussing a girl who’d passed out. David pretty much schooled them on how to handle a situation with a girl who’s been drinking. He talked about consent and stuff like that.”
“I worked as a rape crisis counselor in Nashville for a few years. Some of the jargon sank in, I’m sure.” She felt a flash of pride at her son. He’d not only gleaned important information about how to act in situations, but he felt motivated enough to educate others.
“Yeah, I had never heard much about consent and what constituted date rape. They didn’t talk about that kind of stuff much when we were in school. David sounded so . . . sure. Those other guys tried to blame the girl, but the kid didn’t let them. He told them they could go to jail if they didn’t stop when a girl asked.”
“In so many words, yes. A guy needs physical or verbal consent. He can’t assume a girl who is passed out or incapacitated by, let’s say, fear, is willing and consenting to sex.”
“Yeah, so I looked up some things and . . . I may have been a bit . . . obtuse.”
Summer didn’t say anything. She knew from her time counseling that it was best to remain quiet and let the other person tell his or her story.
“For years I assumed you said you’d been raped to save face. I knew it hadn’t been . . . uh, good. For one thing, we were both drunk, but I was mad about a lot of stuff around that time. There was a lot of pressure on me, and you were out of your element. I figured when you came up pregnant, you needed an out with your parents. I was mad at you for lying. Then when things like the Duke lacrosse scandal happened, I validated my opinion by thinking that’s how girls throw shade when they get caught.”
He paused and sucked in a deep breath. “I figured it was easy for a girl to say, ‘He raped me’ instead of owning her own mistakes.”
“You thought that’s what I did?” She couldn’t hold the anger from her voice. This didn’t sound like an apology. This sounded like the same old Hunt. She glanced down at the corsage she’d placed on the coffee table.
“Yeah. I did. And when my parents paid money to keep you quiet, I imagined that was your family’s motive. It worked for me. My dad implied you’d done it intentionally.”
“My family didn’t benefit from my getting pregnant. Quite the opposite, in fact. My mother lost her job, my sister was shunned, and I had to leave the University of South Carolina so my family could help with the baby. Nobody got rich, Hunt.”
“I know that now,” he said, his face reflecting an apology. “I know a lot more than I ever really wanted to know, Summer.”
He paused and looked down at his linked hands. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry for what happened to you. For what I did. I have a lot of excuses for why I pressed you to have sex that night—”
“Not pressed. Forced,” she said.
“Yes, forced. But none is more important than I didn’t stop when you said no. I guess I’m a rapist.” The last words were said with a catch in his voice.
Summer nodded. “Technically you are—or were—but here’s the thing, I had some culpability. I’m not victim shaming myself or buying a load of crap that a girl dressing suggestively or going home with a guy means she asked to be raped, but I gave off a lot of mixed signals that night. My emotional state was unbalanced, and the butt load of vodka and tequila didn’t help. Not to mention, I liked how it felt to be held, kissed, and desired. You were young, confident, and drunk, which also isn’t the best frame of mind for hearing no in a sexual situation.”
“I understand that now,” he said.
“But that doesn’t excuse you for proceeding when I said no, but it does . . . explain why educating kids about situations like ours is so important. It’s why David knew the right thing to say to boys bragging about sexual assault.”
Hunt’s head hung and he took a deep breath. “I know it’s asking a lot, but I hope one day you can forgive me for what happened. That you can forgive me for being such an asshole about how the pregnancy thing went down. I know I have to make up to David the wrongs I did in the past, but I owe you, too. I suppose we’ll never be friends, but I want you to know I’m sorry, Summer. You didn’t deserve the way I treated you.”
This was what she’d always wanted to hear—Hunt to say that he’d been wrong about that night and all that
came afterward. Hearing him grovel had been up there on the list with winning the lottery and getting a recording contract. He’d finally done that for her . . . and for her son. He’d taken responsibility for his actions.
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay, what?”
“I forgive you for what happened that night.”
“That easily?” he asked, looking stunned.
“Yeah. Because, believe it or not, I’ve healed. I’m not completely over it. Sometimes I have nightmares, but they’re rare. Thing is, Hunt, I moved past being sexually assaulted because I didn’t want it to own me. It wasn’t easy because I still had anger toward you. But eventually I accepted that it wasn’t my fault. I’ve claimed my life.”
“Still—” he started.
Summer held her hand up. “Besides, what do I gain by punishing you forever? You came here and expressed regret for your actions. You made a mistake that affected both our lives, but finally you’re owning what you did. Look, the silver lining is that ugliness gave us something pretty damned awesome. David’s not perfect and can’t hold his liquor”—she gave a choked laugh—“but he’s a great kid.”
“Yeah, he is.” Hunt looked around the small living area, his gaze lingering on the pictures of their son. “You’ve done a good job. I sorta fucked up by encouraging him to go to that party.”
“Me, too, but that wasn’t solely on you, Hunt. Yeah, maybe both of us should have vetted that party better, but ultimately David made the decision to drink . . . a lot. He has to own his choices, too.”
A few seconds ticked by.
When Hunt looked at her this time, tears pooled in his brown eyes. The sight of Hunt crying loosened the knot of hate she’d always had for him. “I also wanted to say that I’m so glad you kept him. I used to be mad at you. I thought you kept him as a pawn against me, but, oh God, I’m so glad you kept him. He’s the brightest spot of my life.”
“Yeah, he is, isn’t he?” Summer said, her own voice breaking. Emotion washed over her, a sort of release of all she’d held tight to for so long. Sure, it wasn’t going to be as easy to surrender the hurt created the night Hunt forced her into sex, but his apology went a long way to repair the bitterness she’d lugged around. “Why did you bring the corsage?”
