lifetime’s worth of entertainment?”
As Rhett headed to the shower for singing practice— singing practice! —he called over his shoulder. “Hell, yes.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, man,” Rye called through the door. “And I’ve changed my mind. I’m playing the piano for this live event.”
When Rhett stepped under the spray of the shower, he leaned his head back and let the water wash away all his worries.
Like his mama used to say when they’d go to church when he was a sprout, he’d have to sing from his heart to persuade Abbie to be with him.
Or everything would be lost.
Chapter 11
R hett sang a few bars of “Do, Rey, Mi” while he shaved. God, those von Trapp kids had made it look easy, but it sure wasn’t.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door.
“You come to tell me the dogs are howling?” he asked Rye.
“No,” his friend responded, and his voice was wrong. The fact that he didn’t take an easy jab at him was another sign that something was up. “Open the door.”
“What happened?” he said, setting his electric shaver aside and turning away from the mirror to unlock the door.
Rye’s usually relaxed face was tense around the mouth and eyes. “Abbie’s son is here, and he seems really upset.”
After the way he and Abbie had left the party last night, Rhett wondered if Dustin was here to give him an ass kicking. The kid had been on his side from the beginning, but maybe things had changed.
“Is he pissed off?” he asked, wanting to know what he was walking into.
His friend shook his head. “No, he’s hurting. It’s like he’s lost his reason for living.”
Rhett rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
The hands Rye raised were large enough to palm a football and throw one sixty yards. “No, get dressed and come see for yourself. I’m going to head into town and give you guys some space. Text me when it’s clear to come back. Then we’ll work on your singing. By Christ, you suck, man.”
When the door closed behind him, Rhett tossed his towel aside. Ran the shaver over the last track of stubble. Didn’t bother with aftershave. And threw on fresh clothes in record time.
The kid was sitting on the couch, his knee jumping as his foot tapped the ground like he was sending a telegram. Rye hadn’t exaggerated. The kid looked like he’d just lost his best friend. The usual sparkle in his green eyes—just like his mother’s—was totally gone.
“Dustin,” he said as he walked into the den. Not knowing what to do, he dug a hand into his jeans pocket and decided to let the kid tell him why he was here.
“I hope…it’s okay that I came over without texting,” the kid said with more hesitation than usual.
He joined Dustin on the couch and leaned back, trying to appear at ease even though his stomach felt like the wrung–out sheets his mother had hung on the clothesline growing up, squeezed and twisted to within an inch of their life.
“You’re always welcome here, son. You know that.” He put his hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
His heart broke when the kid covered his face with his hands. “I know why Mom won’t marry you.”
Rhett was sure that if he’d been in front of a mirror he would have seen a crack in his famous poker face.
Then Dustin looked up, his eyes slightly damp, and the sight just about broke Rhett’s heart in two. This teenager didn’t cry. Ever.
“It’s because of me.”
Rhett held in the sigh that wanted to escape. The kid wasn’t entirely wrong. Abbie didn’t think he’d make a good stepfather, but still, he’d have to tread carefully here.
“Dustin, it’s not your fault, son. Your mother has high standards when it comes to how she wants you to be raised. She’s not sure I—”
The kid jumped up and punched his own chest. “No, it’s because of me and the man who fathered me.”
A vicious ache spread through his gut, and Rhett stood, trying to stay calm in the
As Rhett headed to the shower for singing practice— singing practice! —he called over his shoulder. “Hell, yes.”
“Merry Christmas to you too, man,” Rye called through the door. “And I’ve changed my mind. I’m playing the piano for this live event.”
When Rhett stepped under the spray of the shower, he leaned his head back and let the water wash away all his worries.
Like his mama used to say when they’d go to church when he was a sprout, he’d have to sing from his heart to persuade Abbie to be with him.
Or everything would be lost.
Chapter 11
R hett sang a few bars of “Do, Rey, Mi” while he shaved. God, those von Trapp kids had made it look easy, but it sure wasn’t.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door.
“You come to tell me the dogs are howling?” he asked Rye.
“No,” his friend responded, and his voice was wrong. The fact that he didn’t take an easy jab at him was another sign that something was up. “Open the door.”
“What happened?” he said, setting his electric shaver aside and turning away from the mirror to unlock the door.
Rye’s usually relaxed face was tense around the mouth and eyes. “Abbie’s son is here, and he seems really upset.”
After the way he and Abbie had left the party last night, Rhett wondered if Dustin was here to give him an ass kicking. The kid had been on his side from the beginning, but maybe things had changed.
“Is he pissed off?” he asked, wanting to know what he was walking into.
His friend shook his head. “No, he’s hurting. It’s like he’s lost his reason for living.”
Rhett rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
The hands Rye raised were large enough to palm a football and throw one sixty yards. “No, get dressed and come see for yourself. I’m going to head into town and give you guys some space. Text me when it’s clear to come back. Then we’ll work on your singing. By Christ, you suck, man.”
When the door closed behind him, Rhett tossed his towel aside. Ran the shaver over the last track of stubble. Didn’t bother with aftershave. And threw on fresh clothes in record time.
The kid was sitting on the couch, his knee jumping as his foot tapped the ground like he was sending a telegram. Rye hadn’t exaggerated. The kid looked like he’d just lost his best friend. The usual sparkle in his green eyes—just like his mother’s—was totally gone.
“Dustin,” he said as he walked into the den. Not knowing what to do, he dug a hand into his jeans pocket and decided to let the kid tell him why he was here.
“I hope…it’s okay that I came over without texting,” the kid said with more hesitation than usual.
He joined Dustin on the couch and leaned back, trying to appear at ease even though his stomach felt like the wrung–out sheets his mother had hung on the clothesline growing up, squeezed and twisted to within an inch of their life.
“You’re always welcome here, son. You know that.” He put his hand on Dustin’s shoulder. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
His heart broke when the kid covered his face with his hands. “I know why Mom won’t marry you.”
Rhett was sure that if he’d been in front of a mirror he would have seen a crack in his famous poker face.
Then Dustin looked up, his eyes slightly damp, and the sight just about broke Rhett’s heart in two. This teenager didn’t cry. Ever.
“It’s because of me.”
Rhett held in the sigh that wanted to escape. The kid wasn’t entirely wrong. Abbie didn’t think he’d make a good stepfather, but still, he’d have to tread carefully here.
“Dustin, it’s not your fault, son. Your mother has high standards when it comes to how she wants you to be raised. She’s not sure I—”
The kid jumped up and punched his own chest. “No, it’s because of me and the man who fathered me.”
A vicious ache spread through his gut, and Rhett stood, trying to stay calm in the
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