Page 12 of Rhett (The Swift Brothers #3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Rhett

I ’ve been up since three in the morning. I stressed myself out too much to sleep, and I’ve had an upset stomach just as long, but as soon as Tripp and I get to work, all that fades into the background.

We’re working in the kitchen, building custom cabinetry. The wood is in the garage, along with Tripp’s saws and other materials. The sound of the machines, the feel of tools in my hands, and the experience of putting things together makes my blood run warmer, makes the nausea turn into a fluttering giddiness, sparks of excitement going from my chest to the tips of my fingers. It’s silly to love building this much, to feel some of the weights that hold down my soul lighten with something so fucking simple, yet it’s incredible at the same time.

This is different from working in my shop. This is someone’s home. Where they might raise their children and have dinners together and friends over. Where they’ll laugh while pulling wineglasses from the cabinet I built, and the walls of his house will hold what I hope is their happiness.

And I’m a part of this because of Tripp Cassidy.

I look up, let my gaze settle on him as he’s fitting a piece of wood into a corner. He’s fully absorbed in what he’s doing, his jawline tight in concentration. He’s got red stubble along it that matches his hair. It’s warmed up in the house. He’s taken off his flannel, the muscles in his arms flexing, veins prominent in his forearms and hands. Tripp’s skin is fair, and he’s got freckles dotting the landscape of his limbs.

Why can’t I stop watching him, and why is my pulse suddenly faster? Maybe because Tripp is so…kind. I haven’t ever felt like a very kind person myself, though I wish it wasn’t true. While I’ve had plenty of people be nice to me throughout my life, it often feels like it’s because I’m a Swift, could help them with school, to get ahead, or to stay out of trouble. It’s all been because of what I can give someone and not who I am, which is likely, again, because I’m not a very good person, but Tripp doesn’t seem to need anything from me.

It’s almost like he’s been spending time with me simply because he wants to, because he enjoys it.

He looks my way, his smile automatic. Inexplicable heat washes over me, making me turn away.

That was…really fucking strange.

“What?” Tripp asks.

“Nothing,” I reply, then randomly ask, “Should I call you Cass?”

He stops what he’s doing and gives me his full attention. “Do you want to call me Cass?”

Tripp comes naturally to me, but my brothers, their partners, and everyone else around town calls him Cass. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

“I’m good with Tripp or Cass. I want you to call me what you feel comfortable calling me.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with him, to find out the specifics of what he wants so I don’t feel like I’m doing the wrong thing, but I force myself to ignore my inclination. I asked a question, and Tripp answered it. Pushing the issue will just make him get frustrated with me for my peculiarities. “Okay,” I reply, trying not to focus on how difficult it is for me to take him at his word.

We get back to work, the time flying. Tripp and I seem to get things done well as a team. We don’t have any issues, and when I try to take over like I’m known for doing, he’s patient, and I wrestle myself into relaxing.

It’s one in the afternoon when Tripp says, “We should take a lunch break.”

“I’m good to keep going.” I want to keep going, enjoy this fire of excitement that’s burning inside me. I’ve accomplished a lot of things in my life, but none of them felt like this. Law school didn’t make me soar the way this kitchen does.

“You need to eat, Rhett. What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t feed you?” His tone is light and playful like it so often is. I can’t imagine what that’s like, wish I had it in me to be as easygoing as Tripp.

When his stomach growls, breaking the silence between us, a laugh tumbles out of me. “Apparently, it’s definitely lunchtime.”

“Finally. I’ve been trying to tough it out, but you’re too hardcore for me.” He nudges me with his arm, making a spark of… something shoot up my arm. I pull back, my hand immediately going to the spot and touching it, but Tripp doesn’t act like he felt anything.

We grab our lunch containers, and then I follow Tripp, who walks right over and sits on the floor in the living room, his back against the wall. I stand there and watch him for a second before he pats the floor beside him. “No table and chairs, man. Have a seat.”

I do as he says, leaving about a foot of space between us, then wonder if I’m sitting too close and he’ll think it’s weird. But that worry is subsumed by the realization that I’m taking my lunch break on the floor of a half-built house, dirty and covered in sawdust, with space heaters and Tripp Cassidy. For the second time in just a couple of minutes, another laugh spills free.

“What’s so funny?” He pulls a sandwich from his container.

“Just thinking how strange life is. I’m used to going to work in a suit and tie every day, shmoozing at fancy restaurants with lawyers, political leaders, people my father thought were important, and…I fucking hated it. I was miserable. And now I’m sitting on a wooden floor, scratches on my hands and sawdust down my pants, while I eat a cold lunch, and…it’s incredible.”

It feels like white-water rapids of blood rush through my ears. My heart bangs against my chest as I realize what I just said.

Out loud.

To Tripp.

Silence stretches between us. I move uncomfortably, unable to stay still. Why isn’t he speaking, and more importantly, why the fuck did I say that? I can’t sort through what’s happening to me, why I’m here with him, and why truths are spilling out, why I told Dusty he could tell Morgan about the stools.

My head spins, my vision blurry. This isn’t me. I’m not supposed to be like this. This is exactly what Dad didn’t want for me and—

“Rhett, look at me.”

Tripp’s deep voice stops my spiraling, and I don’t even pretend I’m not going to do what he says because I can’t not look at him—can’t not see the disgust or disappointment he probably feels about me talking to him this way. At least…those are the things I’d expect from my father.

I meet his blue gaze. See the wrinkles of concentration around his eyes and the curiosity in his stare.

“Who are you?” he asks, and again, in this strange new world I’ve found myself in, honesty spills out.

“I don’t know.” Which is wrong on so many levels. I’m almost forty years old, and I’m fucking lost…but this, what I’m doing today, feels like some of the trees parted, showing me a new path, one that had been right there but I couldn’t reach.

Tripp gives a sad smile. “We’re gonna have to figure that out.”

“We?” How weird is it that I’ve never felt like a we with anyone before, not even Lori. I can’t figure out why we got married in the first place. Maybe because we were both so driven, the type who made a commitment and followed through, so marriage seemed the logical step.

But this isn’t the same. Tripp isn’t the same. I’m not sure what this we with him means, but I want it, want it the same way I crave building and creating.

“Yes,” he replies.

“I’m fucked up. I’m probably not who you believe I’m going to be.”

“I imagine you feel that way, but I don’t think for a second that’s true. I like you, Rhett. I want to spend more time with you, want to get to know you, want to see what you do when you give yourself permission.”

I look away. “I want that too.”

*

My body aches by the end of our workday, but I’ve never felt better. Tripp and I didn’t talk about anything earthshattering the rest of the day, but we did laugh. He told me stories about Meadow, and his family, and wild shit he and Archer got up to when they were younger.

I mostly listened and asked questions because my stories aren’t the same as his. Archer is to Tripp what Dusty has always been to Morgan—only without the romantic love. Since I’ve never had an Archer or a Dusty, I don’t have those same experiences, but I do share a few things from my college days, which was the closest to freedom I’ve ever had until now.

“Tomorrow at eight?” I ask when we’re standing by his truck.

“Yeah. I take Meadow to school, and then I’ll head right over.”

“I’ll bring you a coffee,” I tell him, then can’t help wondering if that was the right thing to say.

I hope he doesn’t argue, kind of need him not to, and I’m granted that wish when Tripp says, “All right. Thanks for that.” Halfway to my truck, he stops me. “Oh, hey. What’s your favorite season?”

“Huh?”

“Your favorite season. What is it?”

I remember what he said about asking me questions, and I literally have to bite down on the inside of my cheeks not to smile. It’s so wild that he’s still doing this, that he really wants to know these things about me. “Late summer to early fall.”

“Why those months specifically?”

“It’s the best time to see monarch butterflies.”

I hope he doesn’t ask for an explanation, and in true Tripp fashion, he seems to read my mind. Instead, he pulls out his phone and smirks. I take that to mean he’s adding it to his list about me. I give him a quick nod in response, then continue to my truck.

I’m both jittery and achy on the drive home. Today was incredible . No better word comes to mind. I grin, which might make me look a little wild to anyone who sees me. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to sleep tonight because I just want tomorrow to arrive so I can start over again.

But when I pull into my driveway, I notice Morgan’s vehicle in front of my house, and I know Dusty must have told him.

I kill the engine, then bang my head on the steering wheel a couple of times. I don’t think I have the energy to do this today, but it needs to be done. I don’t know how to talk to Morgan. He doesn’t know how to talk to me either. Most of the time, our words end in an argument, one or both of us walking away angry. I assume Morgan doesn’t have anything bad to say, but that doesn’t mean we won’t find a way to get there. The two of us are good at that, and East…shit, East has been in the middle of it most of his life, hasn’t he?

I get out of the truck because there’s no point stalling. Cold air bites at my skin. Morgan’s dressed in a jacket and beanie like me. He rounds the truck toward me, and I open my mouth to say something, but before I get the chance, his body slams into mine, arms around me, squeezing so damn tight, my breath is almost cut off.

Morgan is hugging me.

Have Morgan and I ever hugged? I figure we must have at some point in our lives, right? When we were young or something? But if we have, I don’t remember it, don’t know what it’s like to have my brother’s arms around me or how it feels to lift my own and wrap them around him too.

So I do it, grip Morgan just as tightly. Breathe him in, this familiar scent of home—of Mom and laughter, which I get shouldn’t have a smell, but somehow does.

I don’t know how long we stand there together, just fucking hugging each other. Snow starts to fall around us, clinging to us, but still, we don’t move, don’t go inside.

My fingers hurt with how hard they’re gripping him.

We were denied this for so fucking long.

This was stolen from us by the man who was supposed to love us.

Eventually, Morgan pulls away. “You made me barstools.”

I shrug, unable to find my words.

“Why didn’t you say they were from you?”

“Don’t know how,” I admit.

“Fuck. He’s messed us up so much.”

Yeah, he has, but… “It’s not just him. We made our own decisions.”

Morgan blanches. “Are you defending him? Jesus, Rhett, he—”

“I’m not defending him. Christ, I’m just fucking saying!”

We both grow quiet and look at each other.

“I don’t want to fight with you, Rhett. That seems to be our automatic response.”

He’s right. Even in a moment like this, it’s our default. “I don’t want to fight with you either. I didn’t mean to defend him. I see it now. See him now. I’m just…I’m not innocent in it all. He’s not responsible for my choices.”

“It’s cold as hell out here. Can we go inside?” Morgan asks, and I immediately feel dumb for not offering.

I nod, and he follows me in, takes off his jacket, and hangs it beside mine.

“My therapist often talks about how you and I were taught to be jealous of each other, taught not to get along. It’s how he controlled us. If we’d stuck together, he wouldn’t have had that power over us. So yeah, as adults, it’s taken us a long time to get to this place, and we’ve both made mistakes along the way, but we were doing what we were raised to do. We didn’t know any better, Rhett.”

I push my hands into my pockets, unsure what else to do with them. “I should have known better.”

“Why? Why should you have but not me?”

I sigh, walk over to the window and look out. Why do I feel like I should have known better, but don’t put that same pressure on Morgan? It’s similar to how we all blame ourselves for Ella dying. Maybe I should talk to Talia about it. “I’m the oldest,” is the only answer I have.

“You really believe that, don’t you? That you have more responsibility because of your age.”

“Don’t I?” I turn to look at him. “I should have set a better example. I should have protected you all. I should have been there with Ella and…”

“And it still might have happened. All of us have made mistakes because we’re all so fucked up because of him. You’re as much a victim as the rest of us.”

“I kissed the man you love.” Bile burns my throat at my admission.

“And he kissed you too. That’s not easy for me to say, but it’s true. I was leaving. I hadn’t told Dust how I felt—hell, I hadn’t even admitted it to myself. I can’t hold him to a commitment we never actually made. Where’s the fairness in that?”

Jesus, who is this man? I never thought I would hear Morgan say those words, not any of it, and it makes me want to be better too.

“He kissed me, but he wanted it to be you. He was lonely and knew he would miss you. I did it to hurt you.” As terrible as those words are, they’re mostly true. Did I do it because I was jealous? Because I wanted to know what it was like to have someone care about me the way Dusty does him? Yes, in a strange, confusing way, but I also did it to hurt him. “Normal people don’t do that.” People like Dad do. People like me.

“You don’t think there were times when I tried to hurt you too? Because there have been. I’ve wanted to hurt you too. I’ve tried to hurt you. But I don’t want us to be that anymore. I want us to be a family…to be brothers.”

Fuck, I want that. More than want it. I need it. “I’m trying to be better, trying to make changes.” I want to be worthy of Morgan and East.

And of Tripp’s friendship too. And Meadow’s.

“We’re all trying together,” Morgan says, and then I watch as he walks over to my table. “You made this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“The swing on the porch? The one like Mom’s?”

“That too.”

“And you’ve always loved this? Wanted to do it?”

“I know it’s dumb, but—”

“No. It’s not. It’s amazing, and I’m so fucking proud of you.”

I feel those words, let them soak into me, feed me. It’s one of the first times in my life that I’ve given my younger brother something to be proud of. “Thank you. I’m, um…working with Tripp. I’m sure Dusty told you that.”

Morgan smiles. “How was your first day?”

“Perfect.”

And then, then I’m smiling too.

I’ll never forget this day—both with Tripp and Morgan.

When Morgan leaves, I pull out my phone, and in the section I started for Important Moments , I put today’s date, then add: First day of work with Tripp ; Hug and Conversation with Morgan .