Chapter 21: Never The Best: Chapter 21

Over the weekend, I was busy fixing a client’s systems that had gone haywire, so I had to make an impromptu visit to Atlanta, where I worked with my team. I had sent a few texts to Pearl but hadn’t heard back, and since I hadn’t had time to call her, I was eager to see her when I came to Savannah Lace on Monday morning for a meeting with the finance team there.

The meeting was routine, the kind I could usually navigate on autopilot, but today I couldn’t focus. My attention kept drifting to the door, waiting for Pearl to walk in. She always sat near the back, her laptop open, poised, and attentive. Her quiet energy balanced the room, the way she listened so intently, offering an insight that cut through the noise like a scalpel.

But today, her chair was empty.

I told myself not to overthink it. Maybe she was running late. Maybe she was tied up in another meeting or project. But as the minutes ticked by, the nagging knot of unease in my gut tightened. By the time the meeting wrapped up and she still hadn’t appeared, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Something wasn’t right.

I lingered as everyone else filed out, nodding distractedly at a few passing colleagues before turning to Nina, who was packing up her things at the head of the table.

“Hey, Nina.” I kept my tone casual. “Where’s Pearl?”

Nina glanced up, her sharp eyes appraising me for a moment before she answered, her voice cool and clipped. “She’s taken a leave of absence.”

“A what?” Pearl wasn’t feeling well? Panic set in. Was this why she hadn’t responded to my messages? What happened? Why hadn’t Aunt Hattie called me? “What happened? Is she okay?”

“That’s not for me to say,” Nina replied, closing her laptop with a deliberate snap. “But whatever it is, I suggest you tread carefully, Rhett.”

Her words were pointed, her gaze heavy with warning.

Before I could press her further, she slipped past me, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she disappeared down the hall.

I stood still for a moment, my mind racing, and then I pulled out my phone.

I called Pearl, no answer.

I called Aunt Hattie, no answer.

I texted them both. No reply.

I grabbed my backpack and headed for the exit, my steps quickening as unease bloomed in my chest. I had another meeting in an hour, but to hell with it—I was going to Aunt Hattie’s to check on Pearl.

Maybe she had the flu. Maybe….

“You son of a bitch.” Luna charged at me when I was out of the building. She had followed me out.

“What?”

“You’re one devious creep, Rhett Vanderbilt, and to think I thought you’d turned a new leaf, you can take the teenager out of the asshole, but you can’t take the asshole out of the human being.”

I raised a hand. “I’m assuming this is about Pearl. I’m headed her way and⁠—”

“Oh, I think not,” she snapped, closing the distance between us.

I blinked, caught off guard by the sheer force of her anger. “What the hell is going on?”

She tittered, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You really don’t know?”

“Luna,” I said, my voice tightening. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. Otherwise, I need to get going.”

“Fine,” she hissed, her eyes blazing. “Pearl’s gone because of you. Because someone decided to throw her past in her face in front of half of Savannah. And gee, I wonder who might have told Josie all those personal details about Pearl’s health challenges, huh?”

The air seemed to drain out of the world.

“I haven’t talked to Josie since I ended our engagement, and I’ve never talked to her about Pearl.” My heart hammered because I could guess what had happened.

Luna’s eyes narrowed. I stepped aside as someone walked up the ramp to get to the door of the building. Once they were gone, I turned to Luna. “I’ve been in Atlanta all weekend. What the fuck happened?”

“Josie decided to tell everyone and God at The Peacock Lounge that Pearl has an eating disorder and how she almost died. I’ve never seen someone break….” Luna took a deep, shaky breath.

“Wait,” I said, my voice low and unsteady. “You think I told Josie?” Did Pearl think that, too? Of course, she did. Holy hell!

“Well, who else would have?” she demanded, stepping closer, her fury palpable. “You’re the only one she trusted with that part of her life, Rhett. She told us how she’d never told anyone but you and Aunt Hattie, and we know Hattie’s a fuckin’ vault.”

My stomach dropped. Pearl’s secrets—her struggles, her pain—they weren’t mine to share. I would never, never betray her trust like that. But if she believed I had….

“I didn’t tell Josie,” I said firmly, meeting Luna’s glare head-on. “I swear to you, Luna. I didn’t.”

Her eyes searched mine, skeptical but wavering slightly. “Then how the hell did Josie talk about it?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice breaking slightly. “But it wasn’t me. I’d never do that to Pearl.”

Luna crossed her arms again, her anger still simmering but tempered now by uncertainty. “Well, Pearl doesn’t seem to believe that. She’s shattered, Rhett. She thinks you betrayed her, and honestly, I can’t blame her for feeling that way.”

Pearl thought I’d taken the most vulnerable parts of her and handed them over to someone who’d use them as weapons.

I felt sick.

“Is she at home? Did she…where is she?” I asked, my voice quiet but urgent.

Luna shook her head. “No. I went by her place and knocked and knocked, and no one answered. And Hattie is out of town with Missy, so I couldn’t ask them, either. If you care about her—if you’re even half the man you’re trying to be—you’ll figure out a way to make this right.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “I will,” I said, more to myself than to Luna.

She gave me one last hard look before going back into Savannah Lace.

I all but ran to my car, my mind spinning. This morning, I had felt free. I had finally cut the strings that had been binding me to a life I didn’t want. I had been ready to move forward, to see if there was a chance for a real relationship with Pearl.

But now I feared that it was all destroyed before it could even begin. I didn’t know how Josie had found out about Pearl’s past, but I knew one thing for sure: Pearl thought I’d betrayed her, and that thought alone was enough to break me and probably her.

I had to fix this. Not because I wanted her to forgive me but because she deserved to know the truth. She deserved better than the pain she’d been dealt—not just by me, but by everyone who’d failed her.

I didn’t know where to start, but I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to let her face this alone. Not this time.

I had tried to call everyone I could think of at Hattie’s estate, and no one knew where Pearl was. Her car was by her cottage, but no one had seen her all weekend. My heart sank. Was Pearl alright? Was she hurt?

By the time I pulled up to Pearl’s cottage, I was having a full-blown panic attack. The pond shimmered in the bright light, and the air was heavy with the sticky heat of another unforgiving Savannah day.

I parked, climbed out of the car, and walked toward the cottage. I knocked and rang the doorbell, looking through all the windows, but I couldn’t see much because the blinds were closed. I tried all the doors, but they were locked.

I remembered, then, where she kept her spare key. I picked up the fake stone, found her key, and opened the door.

“Pearl?” I called out, stepping inside cautiously.

The cottage was quiet. No music, no TV, no sign of the Pearl I’d come to know over the past few months.

The first thing I noticed was the kitchen. An untouched glass of milk sat on the counter next to a plate of Kraft’s mac and cheese. The milk had curdled, and the mac and cheese was dry.

My chest tightened. This didn’t feel right.

“Pearl?” I called again, louder this time, moving deeper into the house.

I found her in the bedroom.

She was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the side of the bed, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. Her arms wrapped around her legs like she was trying to hold herself together, and her head rested on her knees, her hair falling in a soft, tangled curtain that hid her face. She didn’t look up when I stepped inside.

“Pearl.” Her name came out softly, but my voice shook despite my effort to steady it. I knelt beside her, my hand hovering hesitantly near her shoulder. Relief had flooded me the moment I found her, but it evaporated the second I saw her like this—fragile, folded in on herself.

She didn’t respond, didn’t move. Her breathing was shallow, her shoulders rising and falling with a rhythm that felt off—too quick, too strained. Her skin looked pale, almost translucent, and there was a fine tremor running through her fingers where they gripped her knees.

“Pearl,” I tried again, softer this time, inching closer. “Hey, baby, it’s me.”

Her head tilted slightly, just enough for me to catch a glimpse of her face. Her cheeks were streaked with dried tears, and her eyes…God, her eyes. They were empty. Hollow. Like she wasn’t really here.

“How could you?” Her voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

I took her cold hands in mine and looked into her eyes. “I didn’t tell her. I’d never do that to you.”

“You did then.”

I knew she was talking about what I did fifteen years ago.

“Not this time. Please, believe me.”

She just stared at me with her lifeless eyes.

“Have you eaten anything?”

She shook her head.

“Since when?”

Luna told me the Peacock Lounge incident happened on Friday evening. It was now Monday morning.

“I didn’t eat,” she simply replied.

“Oh, baby.” I pulled her into my lap and held her close.

“I couldn’t,” she continued, her words spilling out in a rushed, broken whisper. “I tried. I cooked. I sat down. But it was too much.”

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. She needed me to be her rock now, not crumble. “Sweetheart, you need food. Your body needs nourishment.”

She looked up at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “Josie,” she whispered. “She told everyone, Rhett. Now…now they’ll all look at me with pity. I can’t—I can’t do it. I can’t be that girl again.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she buried her face in my chest.

This wasn’t just hurt—this was devastation. This was Pearl unraveling right in front of me.

“Pearl,” I crooned. “Listen to me. I didn’t tell Josie. I swear to you, I didn’t.”

She didn’t respond, her shoulders trembling as she cried.

“Pearl,” I said again, more firmly this time. “Look at me. Please.”

After a long moment, she lifted her head, her eyes red and swollen. “If you didn’t tell her, then how does she know?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “But I’m going to find out. I swear to you, Pearl, I will find out. And whoever did this…they’ll answer for it.”

She let out a shaky breath, her eyes searching mine as if she wanted to believe me but didn’t know how.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “Everyone already knows. So how does it matter?”

“What do you think everyone knows?”

“That I’m pathetic.”

“Pearl, you’re not pathetic, not even remotely.” My voice cracked despite the control I was putting on myself. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

She shook her head and tried to pull away, but I didn’t let her. Hell to the no was she doing this alone ever again!

“Why are you here?” she demanded, her voice husky from disuse, from crying.

“Because I’m your person. I’m your friend.”

Her gaze flickered, and for a moment, I thought I saw a spark of hope, just a faint glimmer of relief that someone was with her, that she wasn’t alone.

But then her eyes dropped again, and she shook her head. “I’m never going to be normal, am I?”

“You already are,” I assured her.

She gestured weakly toward the kitchen. “I couldn’t make myself eat all weekend. I tried and tried, and then I called Nina and told her I was sick. And tomorrow, it’ll be harder. And the day after that, harder still. That’s not normal.”

“Pearl.” I kissed her forehead. “I’m here today and tomorrow, when it’s harder. I’m going to take care of you.”

I didn’t know how because I hadn’t done enough research. However, I did know she needed to speak to her therapist.

“Have you talked to your psychologist?” I asked.

She looked at me with raw vulnerability in her eyes. “He’s going to be so disappointed in me.”

“No, he’s not. He’s going to help you. Like I’m going to help you.”

“I don’t know how to let you do that. I don’t know what I need…want…I don’t know anything,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Then we’ll figure it out together.” I tightened my hold around her. She felt fragile, like she could break if I squeezed her too hard. “One step at a time. But first…you need to eat. Even if it’s just a little.”

She lay against me, and I got up, holding her, and carried her to the kitchen. She didn’t protest. I set her down on a barstool and kept my hands on her shoulders for a moment, steadying her as she swayed slightly. Her skin was pale, and she looked so drained it was like all the fight had been sucked out of her. But she didn’t argue. She didn’t push me away.

I opened the fridge, scanning its contents. It wasn’t stocked for anything elaborate—just the basics because Pearl didn’t eat much on a good day. I knew enough from the little research I’d managed to do to keep it simple, light, and non-threatening. Nothing heavy, nothing overwhelming. Just food that’s easy to digest, that she could tolerate without panic setting in.

I pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of whole-grain bread. Scrambled eggs on toast—it was simple, light, and exactly what she needed. I’d read somewhere that soft, bland foods were best after a relapse, especially when her stomach had likely been empty for too long. This wasn’t about serving up a full meal, it was about getting some nourishment into her system—just enough to stabilize her blood sugar and gently ease her body back toward recovery.

I glanced at her as I cracked eggs into a bowl. She was hunched over slightly, her elbows resting on the counter, her face buried in her hands. She looked small, like she was trying to disappear into herself.

“Hey.” I whisked the eggs while looking at her. “You’re doing okay. Just stay with me.”

She lifted her head slowly, her eyes glassy. “I don’t know if I can eat.” Her voice was barely audible.

“You don’t have to eat a lot,” I told her. “Just a few bites. That’s all I’m asking. We’ll go slow, okay?”

She didn’t respond, but she didn’t argue, either. I took that as a victory.

I heated a nonstick pan and added a pat of butter, letting it melt before pouring the eggs in. I kept them soft and barely set, stirring constantly to ensure they wouldn’t dry out. Once they were done, I popped a slice of bread into the toaster and grabbed a small plate.

When the toast was ready, I cut it into triangles, and spooned the eggs onto the side of the plate. I wanted to give her simple, manageable portions.

I set the plate down in front of her, along with a glass of water. “Here,” I said, sliding onto the stool next to her. I speared a piece of bread and eggs on a fork and held it to her mouth. “Just one bite, Pearl. That’s all you have to do. One bite.”

She stared at the food on the fork like it was an impossible challenge, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. I could see the fear in her eyes, the hesitation.

“I can’t,” she murmured, her voice trembling.

“Yes, you can,” I coaxed. “Just one bite. For me.”

Her gaze flickered to mine, and I held it, willing her to believe me. After what felt like an eternity, she reached for the fork with trembling fingers. I let her take it from me, and she brought it to her mouth.

I held my breath as she chewed slowly, her movements cautious, as if she were bracing herself for a terrible thing to happen to her.

“You’re doing great,” I spoke gently, watching her swallow.

She set the fork down. I picked up some food with it and held it to her as I had before. “One bite at a time.”

She nodded faintly, and after a long pause, she took the fork from me.

We kept the rhythm going.

After four or five bites, she set the fork down, her shoulders sagging. “I can’t do more.” Her voice was tinged with guilt.

“That’s okay,” I assured her immediately. “You ate plenty. You did great, Pearl. That’s all your body needs right now.”

I picked up the plate and set it aside, not wanting her to feel any pressure to finish it. I handed her the glass of water instead. “Take a few sips,” I urged.

She did as I asked, taking small, careful sips of water. Her hands were still shaking, and I placed mine over hers to steady the glass.

“That’s it. No rush.”

“I hate this,” she moaned, her voice breaking. “I hate that I can’t even eat, which is like the simplest thing in the world to do. A baby can do it. It feels like…I’m failing at being a person.”

“You’re not failing.” I wanted to cry because my heart broke for her, but I couldn’t, not now when I was her pillar of strength. “Pearl, this isn’t a failure—it’s a battle. And you’re fighting. Even now. Even when it’s hard, and that’s courage.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away, her jaw tightening as she tried to hold back the tears.

“Hey.” I reached out to tilt her chin, so she had to look up at me. “It’s okay to feel like this. It’s okay to cry. Letting yourself feel is a sign of strength, not weakness.”

And that was it. The tears spilled over, and she let out a soft, broken sob. I pulled her into my lap, holding her as she cried into my chest, her body trembling against mine.

“It’s going to get better,” I murmured, stroking her hair. “I promise you, Pearl. We’ll take it one step at a time, and I’ll be here for all of it. You’re not alone in this.”

We stayed like that for a while, her tears eventually slowing, her breathing evening out. When she finally pulled back, her face was blotchy, her eyes red, and yet she looked peaceful. I was grateful for that.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me.” I brushed a strand of hair from her face. “This is what I’m here for. Whatever you need, whenever you need it—I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded, her lips pressing into a faint, shaky smile. I felt a glimmer of hope. She’d eaten a few bites. She’d let herself cry. And she’d let me stay.

I carried her to bed after that, and sat beside her, holding her hand as she fell asleep.

“You’ll never have to deal with any of this on your own. Not ever again,” I vowed to her sleeping form and brushed my lips against her cold cheek.