Page 9 of Rhett (The Swift Brothers #3)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tripp

T he last thing I expected when I showed up at Rhett’s place was to find him woodworking in a shop behind his house. I can’t even say why I came over today. Sure, I wanted to thank him for coming to the party since he disappeared before I could say goodbye, but I could have easily done that by phone.

Now I’ve offered him a job, and he said yes. I’m not one to make rash, spur-of-the-moment decisions like that, at least when it comes to my business or my family, but I hadn’t been able to stop the question, and once I’d asked it, I realized how much I wanted this chance to work with him, to get to know him.

“How long have you been building?” I ask, still looking at his pieces.

“It’s something I’ve been interested in since I was a child, but I wasn’t able to do much of it until recently.”

“Why?” I ask. Is this what East was talking about when he said they didn’t have the freedom to know themselves?

“Life.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, I hear you. That was probably a dumb question. It’s not as if you haven’t been busy. College, law school, being an attorney. You’ve been conquering the world.” I grin at him, but he doesn’t return it.

“Is that the way you see me?”

I stumble momentarily. I’d meant it in a playful, complimentary way, but I can’t tell if he realizes that. “You’ve made your dreams come true. That’s a good thing.”

Rhett seems lost in thought as he runs his fingers over one of the shelves. I notice the calluses on them now. The little scratches and nicks in his skin, signs that he does more than an office job.

“They weren’t my dreams,” he says, his voice soft and deep.

I’m wondering if I misheard, but the doubt is more because it doesn’t make sense to me than because I didn’t make out the words. “Whose were they?” His father’s?

“Never mind.” Rhett shakes his head and takes a step away. The simple touch of my hand on his muscular arm stops him.

“Whose were they?” I ask again.

Part of me worries my question will make him pull away, piss him off, stop this…friendship or whatever it is before it has the chance to bloom, but another part of me feels like Rhett is silently calling out for someone to talk to, someone to connect with. There’s no real reason for him to choose me. He has his brothers. I’m sure he has friends, but do any of them know his secrets? Do they know he has a building full of furniture he’s made and that he will drive hours to get the perfect gift for my daughter, then sit in his truck and second-guess himself? It’s so easy to only look surface level at others. To decide who they are or what they like without getting into the details of who they really are as a person. As I stand here, there’s no denying how curious I am about all those little pieces that make Rhett who he is.

I worry that even he doesn’t know.

“Gregory Swift’s,” he finally answers. “Who else?”

Angry heat rushes up my skin. I don’t know what that man has done to his sons, but I don’t doubt he hurt them. Physically? I wonder. Mentally and emotionally, for sure. How deep does it go? And how can I help make it better?

“Well, now you get to figure out what your dreams really are.”

“I’m too old for that.”

“Hey now. If you’re too old, then I’m too old, and I refuse to believe I can’t spend my whole life finding different dreams and making each of them come true.”

“You are pretty old,” Rhett says with a surprising half-grin. Who the hell is this man, and why does he intrigue me so much?

“We’re practically the same age.”

“And I already acknowledged I’m getting up there in years. Guess that makes two of us.”

“You’re not being very nice to me,” I tease, and he grins again, almost shyly, then looks away.

When I realize I’m still touching him, I force myself to drop my arm. This isn’t the first time that’s happened with Rhett, and if I were a betting man, I’d say it wouldn’t be the last.

“You need some help?” I ask, nodding toward the work he’d been doing when I came in.

His brows pull together. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why would I think I have to do that?”

Rhett studies me like he believes I’m trying to pull one over on him, or like I’m going to suddenly change my mind, before he finally says, “Yeah. Sure. Do you want to see what I drew up?”

“Obviously.” I grin, which he returns, before heading for a table in the corner. He’s got a light over it, papers laid out. I look at his sketch of the shelved wall unit. “This will be a fireplace?” I ask, pointing to the square in the middle.

“Yeah. I’m going to put an electric one in. I used to use the room as a home office, but it’s nothing special. I want to make it more aesthetically pleasing but also more functional.”

“Think you’ll end up using it again?” I’m not sure what his plans are for the future. He went to a lot of schooling and spent many years building up a career, only to walk away from it.

“No. I’m done with that. Eventually, I might sell, though.”

My pulse throbs unexpectedly. There’s no real reason. Rhett can do what he wants, and just because he might sell his house doesn’t mean he’s planning on leaving Birchbark. Still, I can’t help asking, “Are you thinking about leaving the area?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. The only time I’ve left was for college. I don’t know what’s out there.”

I can’t imagine Birchbark without Rhett. It’s strange how people can sometimes come to represent a place, and though I never would have thought that about Easton or Morgan, I do with Rhett. It bears down heavily on my chest, this weight that really shouldn’t be there. I try to cover my disappointment. “You’re not going to leave without giving me two weeks’ notice, are you?”

Thankfully, Rhett chuckles. “I can handle two weeks.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to fire you already.”

“I’ve never been fired from a job before…could be interesting. I’m turning over a new leaf and everything.”

The corners of my mouth pull into a grin. I like this playful Rhett. He hasn’t made an appearance before. “Uh-oh. Now I’m afraid you’re going to come in late or call off work half the time, just so you can see what it’s like to be a bad employee.”

He frowns, practically recoiling at the thought. The reaction makes a laugh tumble out of my mouth, partly because I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it, and also because the idea of being late and calling off work appears scandalous to him, and that fits with who I think Rhett is.

“You can’t even joke about being irresponsible. Why does it surprise me you’re a workaholic?”

“I’m not a workaholic. I’m responsible. And how can I be a workaholic if I’ve been unemployed for months?”

I cross my arms and lean against the wall, watching him, enjoying our banter. “That doesn’t count. Now, are you really going to pretend you’re not an overachiever?”

He winces. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t. Even the thought of faking being late for work is making my brain spin.”

I smile in this strange way that feels both exciting and scary. Definitely new. “Don’t worry. I take my job seriously. That said, I also like to have fun, which means I’m gonna make you have some fun, Rhett.”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t think you’re taking me as seriously as you should,” I tease.

“I think you overestimate my ability to have fun. Especially if it’s when I’m supposed to be working.”

Well, this won’t do. It won’t do at all. “That was before. I can’t imagine being a lawyer was a ball of laughs, but now you’re going to be doing the best job in the world. There’s nothing like the feeling of making things. Of crafting and creating and…” I look up and see him studying me, forehead wrinkled the way I’ve noticed it gets when he’s deep in thought. My fingers itch with the urge to massage them out, to find a way to help him relax and show him that he really can be fun, because I truly believe he doesn’t think he can be. But I also don’t want to scare him away. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be so intense.”

“You’re not. That’s just me. And…” Rhett shrugs. “You’re passionate about what you do. That’s important.”

“Is now the time to apologize if I made it sound like what you were doing before wasn’t something to be proud of or excited about? That’s not what I meant. I could never be a lawyer. I can’t imagine the amount of work you put into—”

“I hated it.” He turns his back to me, then walks over to the saw and wood where he’d been working when I came in. “I hated it.”

Every puzzle piece of who I thought Rhett is has become a blank slate over the past few weeks. He’s confusing…and sad…and lost. I’m fairly certain Rhett Swift is lost.

And for a reason I can’t explain, I want to be there when he finds himself. “Why?”

He clears his throat, and I know the moment is broken. “Are you going to help me with this or talk all day?”

“I figure I’ll do both.” I walk over to him.

“What about Meadow? Do you need…”

“She’s at school. My mom picks her up most days because of work.”

“If you have to go, you can.”

The way he’s looking at me, the emotion in his gaze that I’m not sure he knows he’s letting out, makes me think Rhett expects me to go. Maybe he assumes everyone will always go. I worry that not enough people have stayed…have stuck around for him, even if only in friendship.

“I’m fine, Rhett. We have time. I want to be here helping you.” And the second I’m alone, I’ll be adding woodworking to my list of things about Rhett.

He gives me a simple nod, and then we get to work.