THAT NIGHT…
1505 Words
NOLA
I am standing in the kitchen at two in the morning, barefoot on cool tile, staring at the glow of the microwave clock like it might explain why I can’t sleep.
02:17.
I sigh quietly and reach for a glass, filling it with water from the sink. The house is too quiet tonight. Not the peaceful kind. The kind that presses against my ears until my thoughts get loud.
I lift the glass to my lips
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
I flinch so hard the water nearly spills.
I turn, heart hammering, and Rhett is leaning against the counter near the fridge like he’s been there the whole time. He’s wearing a dark T-shirt, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly mussed. Bare feet. No glasses. No armor.
Just… him.
“Jesus,” I breathe. “You scared me.”
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. His voice is lower at night. Less guarded. “Didn’t mean to.”
I take a sip of water to steady myself. “What are you doing up?”
He shrugs. “Thinking.”
“Dangerous pastime,” I say.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “For you, maybe.”
I roll my eyes but smile anyway. I don’t miss the way his gaze lingers for half a second too long before he looks away.
I lean back against the counter across from him. There’s space between us. Not much. Enough to notice.
“So,” I say. “Do you always patrol your kitchen at night, or is this a special occasion?”
He huffs softly. “I came for water.”
“Sure you did.”
He looks at me then, really looks at me, and something quiet settles between us.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Just restless.”
“Hospital on your mind?”
“Always,” I admit.
He pushes off the counter and pours himself a glass of water. Our shoulders don’t touch, but I feel the heat of him anyway. It’s ridiculous. Annoying.
I clear my throat. “You don’t have to come with me every time.”
“I know.”
“But you still do.”
“Yes.”
I glance at him. “Why?”
He takes a sip, eyes fixed on the glass. “Because I want to.”
That answer catches.
I swallow. “Oh.”
Silence stretches. Not awkward. Just full.
I finish my water and set the glass down. “I’m going back to bed.”
“Okay.”
I pause. “Good night.”
“Night, Nola.”
The hospital smells the same as always.
Clean, and cold.
I am talking to my dad about nothing in particular, about a movie I half-watched, about the lady in the elevator who kept calling Rhett my husband until I corrected her twice.
“She didn’t believe me,” I mutter, adjusting the blanket around his legs. “She just smiled like she knew something I didn’t.”
Rhett is sitting in the chair by the window, arms folded, watching the hallway more than the room.
“She wasn’t the first,” he says.
I glance at him. “What?”
“Nurse yesterday thought the same.”
“Did you correct her?”
“Yes.”
“How fast?”
He shrugs. “Eventually.”
I snort. “You’re unbelievable.”
He stands and steps closer, stopping near the bed. “You doing okay?”
“I think so.” I squeeze Dad’s hand. “I talk enough for both of us.”
Rhett’s gaze softens. “He hears you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
I look at him. “You always sound so sure.”
“That’s my job.”
“Must be exhausting.”
“It is.”
A nurse pokes her head in. “Visiting hours are almost over.”
I nod. “We’ll go.”
As we step into the hallway, Rhett holds the door open for me. Our hands brush.
It’s nothing.
It feels like everything.
I pull my hand back first.
In the elevator, we stand side by side, not touching, not looking. The mirror shows us together anyway.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
“For what?”
“For being here.”
He nods once. “Always.”
⸻
Back at the house, the mood shifts.
Not dark. Not tense.
Just… lighter.
I kick off my shoes and stretch. “I’m starving.”
“There’s soup,” he says.
“I hate soup.”
“You loved soup.”
“When I was twelve.”
He smirks. “Still do.”
“Lies.”
I grab a bowl anyway. He’s right. It’s good.
“Don’t tell anyone,” I warn.
“My lips are sealed.”
We sit at the table, facing each other. The overhead light is too bright, so he reaches up and dims it without asking.
“Hey,” I say. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know.”
I study him. “You’re different today.”
He raises a brow. “Different how?”
“Looser,” I say. “Less… scary.”
He laughs softly. “I’m not scary.”
“You absolutely are.”
“That hurts.”
“Good.”
He shakes his head. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe.”
Silence settles again, comfortable this time.
“I wish you were always like this,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Like what?”
“Present,” I admit. “Not always ten steps ahead.”
His gaze holds mine. “I’m trying.”
Something warm spreads in my chest.
I smile. He returns it, slow and careful.
And for a moment, everything feels easy.
Too easy.
I don’t trust it.
I don’t go back to bed right away.
Instead, I stop at the edge of the hallway, my hand resting against the wall, heart ticking a little too loud in my chest. I don’t know why the memory comes back now. Maybe because tonight feels too quiet. Too close.
I turn around.
Rhett is still in the living room, sitting exactly where I left him, hands clasped loosely, gaze distant like his thoughts never really stopped moving.
“Rhett,” I say.
He looks up. “Yeah?”
I hesitate, then step closer. “Can I ask you something?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “Depends.”
I sit on the arm of the couch this time, closer than before. Close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off him.
“Do you remember that night?” I ask.
His eyes flick to mine. “Which night?”
“You know which one,” I say quietly.
Silence stretches.
when I begged you desperately to f**k me
He exhales slowly through his nose. “Nola—
His voice comes lower. “You shouldn’t have been there.”
“I know,” I say. “But I was.”
He looks away now, staring at the dark window. “That night was a mistake.”
“For who?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer immediately.
I lean forward slightly. “I remember how you looked. Shocked.
His jaw flexes.
“So I want to know,” I say softly. “How did you feel?”
He stands abruptly, putting space between us. “That’s not a fair question.”
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t change anything.”
“Answer it anyway.”
He turns to face me, eyes sharp now, warning threaded through them. “I felt like I failed you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” he says. “And that’s why I won’t answer it.”
I slide off the arm of the couch and stand in front of him, close enough now that the air feels charged.
“What if I asked you the same thing again?” I say quietly.
“what if I asked you to f**k me, as hard as you can.”
His breath stills.
“What if,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper, “I looked at you now and said the same words?”
His eyes darken instantly.
“Nola,” he says, low and strained, “don’t.”
“Why not?” I ask.
He swallows hard. “Because this time… it wouldn’t be confusion talking.”
The words settle heavy between us.
I study his face. The restraint there. The tension.
“So,” I ask softly, dangerously, “would your answer be different now?”
He doesn’t respond.
He doesn’t move.
The silence stretches until it feels like something might snap.
I step back first.
“Good night, Rhett,” I say.
I turn and walk away before he can stop me, before he can answer, before I can ask anything else.
Behind me, I feel his gaze like a weight I can’t shake.
- Writer
