Page 156 of Only the Wicked

“It feels like camp, doesn’t it?” I ask Rhodes as I close our door, suddenly aware of how small the room is—a queen bed taking up most of the space, a simple dresser, and a reading lamp casting warm amber light across plain white walls. The bedspread is faded blue plaid, worn soft from washing--not the plush comforter we shared days ago, but something with character, with history.

Practical, unpretentious, worlds away from the luxury hotel suite in D.C.

“It’s fine for tonight,” he says, dropping his backpack on the bed. The mattress sinks slightly under its weight. He unzips the bag and pulls out a toothbrush and toothpaste, domestic items that somehow feel intimate.

The overhead light casts shadows across his face, highlighting the fatigue around his eyes, the tension he’s carried through a day of inquiries and betrayals. When he runs a hand through his hair, I notice it trembles slightly—a small tell from a man who maintains such careful control.

“When everything was wrapping back in D.C., all I cared about was finding you.” The confession hangs in the air between us, unadorned by qualifications or explanations. Just raw truth.

I understand what he’s saying, but it’s a lot because I feel the same. I’d been trying to ignore it, but sitting with the team, I’d felt a yearning, wondering how things were going for him and when I’d see him again. Instead of saying all that though, I say, “Well, you heard what he said about thin walls,” and half-smile, so he sees I’m teasing.

Rhodes doesn’t take the tease, though. “It’s not about sex, Syd. In fact, this room could have stone walls and I’m too wiped to do anything but hold you tonight. But I want to hold you. So, here I am.”

I'm struck silent. We stare at each other, my heart thundering from fear, the kind of fear one feels before taking a leap from a plane. It’s something you want to do, but the self-protection part of you is screaming, “Are you out of your mind?”.

I study Rhodes. When he commits, he’s all in. I’ve never been all in before, but I want to take the leap. I want to try.

There’s an attached bathroom, and he steps inside, flipping the light on. We move about like a regular couple, quietly getting ready for bed.

When we climb in, me in a T-shirt and him in boxers, I roll into his side, my head on his shoulder. The lights are out and the house is quiet.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly, feeling his muscles tense beneath me. The slow, steady thud of his heart vibrates against my ear—slightly elevated, belying the calm he projects. “With Miles? That had to have been hard.”

His chest expands with a deep breath that seems to draw from somewhere beyond his physical body—the kind of breath people take before diving into cold water or delivering difficult news.

“It’ll take me a lot more than a few days to process,” he admits, his voice vibrating through his chest into my ear. “Twenty years of friendship. College. Two companies. We built ARGUS from nothing—sleeping on office floors, living on ramen, working until we couldn’t see straight.” The memories color his voice with a warmth that makes the betrayal all the more stark.

“I knew we were growing apart. Knew he saw a different future for the company. But I never imagined…” He trails off, searching for words. “I think what gets me the most is that he was okay with the idea of Daisy, a mutual friend, undergoing physical torture to get his way. There’s a line there that I didn’t think he could cross.”

“Well, he wasn’t going to be the one administering it,” I point out, trying to offer some perspective.

“True.” His arm tightens around me slightly. “Nevertheless, he set it in motion, knowing exactly what it meant.” His voice drops lower. “He was willing to let them take you, too. That’s something I can’t reconcile with the person I thought I knew. I misjudged him.”

The simple truth in his words touches me deeply.

“That’s...either he’s changed fundamentally, or I never saw him for who he really was.” The vulnerability in his admission feels like a rare gift. “That’s what I’ll be processing for a long time. If I missed something that significant in someone I trusted completely, what else might I be missing?”

I lift my head to look at him directly. “Sometimes people surprise us—for better or worse. It doesn’t mean your judgment is flawed. It means people are complex, and pressure reveals their true priorities.”

His eyes search mine, finding something there that softens his expression. “Including us?”

“Especially us,” I confirm. “Neither of us expected this when we met on that mountain trail.”

“True.”

“You can’t hold yourself accountable for someone else’s weakness.”

“Weakness? You think that’s what it was?”

“Well, morally weak, right?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Earlier today, I saw it as hubris. The belief that he knew best, that he could force the direction forward.” He lets out a long sigh.

“What happens now?” I ask, tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling his heartbeat against my palm.

“Tomorrow I plan to hire a protective detail for Daisy.”

“What?”