Page 10 of Rhett (The Swift Brothers #3)

CHAPTER NINE

Rhett

M y life is made a lot harder by the fact that if I’m uncomfortable in a situation, it’s often difficult for me not to overthink every little thing. Most things weren’t like that before because my life was planned out for me and I was good at what I did, but now it’s like I’m free-falling. That means I obsess about decisions, worry about them, unsure I’m making the right one, stressing about what will happen if I don’t, and imagining all the ways something could go wrong.

It means my head is often a messy place to be, and I don’t have it in me to ever let anyone know or see these things about myself. That would overwhelm me even more.

All I’ve done since working with Tripp at my house yesterday is overthink the whole day. Should I have agreed to work with him? What if he didn’t really mean it? What if he was hoping I’d say no? What if he did mean it but then regrets it later because I let him down? What if I’m not good enough?

What if, what if, what if.

It probably doesn’t help that tomorrow is my first day helping him on a real job, something I should probably find a way to tell my brothers about before he does. It’s a lot easier to pretend something isn’t a big deal if I tell them rather than keep it to myself.

My phone buzzes with a notification, and my thoughts immediately go to Tripp messaging to cancel for tomorrow. I stop pacing the room and grab my cell off the dining-room table, but it’s not him. It’s my dad.

He’s mostly stopped calling and turned to texting. He doesn’t like to be ignored, which is what I’ve done with all his calls. For a while, I would listen to his ranting voice mails telling me all the ways I’ve disappointed him, how he would have done anything for me. How he put his heart and soul into giving me all the best opportunities because he saw more in me than in Morgan and East, and how I betrayed him and that I’m a terrible son, a terrible person.

Now he texts those messages instead.

And I still read them. Still beat myself up over them. Still feel guilt even though part of me must know they aren’t true. He didn’t choose me because he believed in me. He chose me because I was the only son he could mold. The only one who would have done anything for the love and attention I see now that I never could have gotten anyway.

And just like every other time, I read his message and feel even more like shit afterward.

I’m about to set the phone down when it rings again, and I nearly throw the thing across the room before I see it’s Dusty calling. I miss hanging out with him, miss the times we had over the ten years that Morgan was gone, where I felt like I had someone in my corner. I’ve mostly kept my distance since Morgan came back and the two of them got together. At first because I was pissed—it’s been hard realizing I don’t hate Morgan, that really, I’ve always wished I could be more like him—and now because I don’t want to cause issues between Morgan and Dusty. They’re happy, and I want things to stay that way.

Still, I’ve learned I have to answer him sometimes, or Dusty will show up at my house like the knight in shining armor he’s always tried to be to all of us Swift brothers.

“What do you want?” I snap, taking my anger at my dad out on him.

“Well, it’s good to talk to you too, brother,” Dusty says with a chuckle. I’m not sure there’s a better, more patient man than him. Well, him and Archer too. It can’t be easy to love any of us, but Dusty loves all of us, even if in different ways.

I sigh. “What is it, Dust?” I ask, nicer this time.

“I have a little time today and wanted to see if you’d like to meet for lunch. We haven’t hung out in a while.”

I know why he’s doing this. Dusty’s always worrying about me, though he doesn’t need to. But I figure this might be the perfect opportunity to mention my new job with Tripp before it starts to spread around all the UP.

“Come over here. I’ll make us something.” The less I’m out around Birchbark, the less chance I have of seeing my father.

“Okay. I’ll be there in about ten.”

I end the call without replying, then go into the kitchen to figure out lunch.

There’s some bacon in the fridge, so I pull that out for BLTs. I have some leftover soup I made a couple of days ago that we can have with it.

I get a pan out and get the bacon going. Before I know it, there’s a knock at the door. I automatically grumble on my way there, but I don’t know why. I like Dusty. I enjoy spending time with him. Why is it that my default emotion is always surliness? I can’t imagine that’s pleasant to be around, and I’m sure Talia would have something to say about it if I told her.

Dusty gives me a big smile when I open the door. His jacket and beanie have flecks of snow on them. He steps inside and shakes it off.

“Make a mess, why don’t you?” I complain, though I don’t really mean it.

“Good to see you too, Rhett.” Dusty takes off his snow gear, hanging up his jacket and leaving his boots by the door. “Smells good in here.”

“Shit. I hope I’m not burning it.” I hurry into the kitchen. The bacon is crispier than I like, so I get rid of those pieces and put a couple others in. “It’s better if it’s softer,” I tell him.

“You don’t have to waste that. I’m good with crunchy.”

I shake my head. I’d feel weird serving him that. “If you don’t like it better crunchy, I’d rather just make more.”

I feel his gaze on me but don’t make eye contact. “That sounds good to me.”

I breathe out a sign of relief.

“How you been?” Dusty leans against the counter, his sandy hair flat from the beanie he’d been wearing.

“You just saw me at the birthday party. It’s not as if it’s been weeks.”

“That mean I can’t ask you how you’re doing now?” He cocks a brow.

I shrug. “I’m fine.” I keep an eye on the bacon so I can flip it at the perfect time.

“Meadow’s party was nice. It was good to see you there.”

“Are we going to stand here small-talking?”

“Is there something else we’re supposed to do?” he asks, and again, I guess he’s right.

“I don’t know, Dust. How’s Morgan?”

He grins. “He’s doing well. You should come hang out at Gracie’s one night. It’s doing real well. He’s loving it. I’ve been heading over in the evenings after work. Cass, Archer, and East came the other day too.”

“Tripp was there?” The question comes out without forethought, and I wish I could suck it back in. Why does it matter if Tripp was there?

“Yeah, he was. You two becoming friends?”

“Did he say that?” I flip the bacon. It’s perfect. That’s much easier to focus on than what Dusty is talking about.

“Not in those exact words, but I assumed since you’re asking about him and you were at Meadow’s party. Plus, Cass got you to skate. It’s basically a miracle. You had fun.”

“Ha-ha,” I find myself saying rather than getting annoyed. I grab the small pot of soup from the fridge, the tomatoes and lettuce. Once the soup is warming up, I wash the tomatoes. “I wouldn’t really call us friends. Meadow invited me, and…” Say it. Spit it out. Don’t act like this is a big deal. It shouldn’t be. “I’m going to start working with him part-time. Just for something to do.”

“Working with him doing what?”

“At his job. What else?” His words grate, though I can’t blame him. It’s not as if I’ve ever told him I’m interested in building.

“Oh. I didn’t know you’re familiar with carpentry. Is that what you’re always doing in the shop?”

Damn it. Here we go. “It’s just a thing. It’s not important.” I pull the bacon from the skillet and set it on paper towels to soak up the grease, then begin slicing the tomatoes.

He looks at the dining-room table, then back to me. “Where did that table come from, Rhett?”

“Jesus, Dusty.”

“The swing on the porch?”

“Are you psychic now?” Is everything I made completely obvious? Maybe that’s because it’s all shitty.

And when his pupils blow wide, I know he’s remembering the barstools that magically showed up at Morgan’s bar.

“Rhett.”

“Leave it alone.” I set the tomatoes and lettuce aside.

“You goddamn Swift brothers are going to be the death of me.” I try to walk away from him, but he stops me with his body. “Morgan loves those stools. He’s been trying to figure out where they came from. Tell him.”

“You tell him,” I argue like a child.

“Why don’t you want him to know? They’re incredible. You’re so fucking talented. Jesus, I had no idea. Have you always liked building things?”

I sigh, drop my head back and bang it softly on the cabinets. “It was a waste of time.”

“It sure as shit wasn’t a waste of time! If you like it, that’s what matters. Why have you not been doing this your whole life? At least in your spare time. Or maybe you have? What do you do with all your pieces? Do you have a shop online?”

My head spins with all his questions. I literally have to bite down on my tongue not to snap at him and tell him to leave me alone. “I was curious as a child. I stopped because we both know that wasn’t my path. When I quit my job and stopped talking to my father, a possibility opened that it could be my path.” My truth makes me sick. What kind of man lets his own father run his life so completely? I can’t imagine how disgusted Dusty must be with me, how disgusted Morgan and East will be when they find out.

Dusty’s jaw is clenched tight, and I can see him working to loosen it to say, “I’ve only wanted to commit one murder in my life, and that’s Gregory Swift.”

“He couldn’t force me to do what he said. I had a choice. I made it. There’s no one to blame but me.”

“I beg to fucking differ. You forget I’ve been around your family my whole life. I know who and what your dad is. None of it was any of your faults.”

I have a feeling Talia would say the same. What’s with me and wondering what she would think about things? “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” I stir the soup. “Lunch is ready.”

“I don’t know how to keep this from Morgan. You’re my friend, a brother to me, and I don’t want to betray your trust.”

I would never ask that of him, not anymore. I almost ruined Morgan and Dusty all those years ago, and though I don’t have the words to tell either of them how much I regret it, that kiss weighs on me daily. “Tell him.”

“Why don’t you tell him? Do you know how much it’ll mean to him that you made those stools for him? He loves you, Rhett. I know it’s hard to see that, and I know the two of you have a lot of anger between you, but he loves you, and all he wants is a relationship with his brothers.”

I nod, somewhere deep inside me knowing he’s right. What he doesn’t understand is how much I don’t feel worthy of that desire. I’ve been horrible to Morgan most of his life. I kissed Dusty and chased Morgan away. I never got Easton the help he needed. I never stopped my father from verbally and mentally mistreating them. It was my job to take care of my siblings. My job to protect them and make their lives easier. My job to be their brother, and I never did that the way I should have.

“Tell him,” I say. “I can’t…”

Dusty nods, and then thankfully, sees I’ve had enough. “Come on, brother. Let’s have lunch.”

Brother. That’s all I really want, not just from Morgan and East, but from Dusty too.