Page 92 of The One
I’d thought I’d given us plenty of clearance, that we weren’t in line with that boat anymore.
But somehow, that was no longer the case.
Either the water had shifted us, the other boat had moved in the same direction as us, or I’d unknowingly turned the wheel.
Whatever it was, we were fucked.
Because not only were we directly behind that boat, but we were about to crash right into it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Rhett
Present Day
Lainey was still staring at our old high school, so I took a quick glance at the building. A place where I’d spent the best four years of my life.
“I don’t come here to remember. I don’t need to. I remember while I’m at work, and when I’m forced to travel for work, and when I’m driving, and when I’m home. Everywhere and anywhere—that’s where I remember.” I waited until I earned her gaze. “My mind likes to fuck with me. Torture me really. Especially when I try to go to sleep. Whenever I close my eyes, it likes to replay the past on an endless loop, and my eyelids open right back up. I don’t like what I see in that darkness … and sleep never comes.”
I didn’t know why I was telling her this.
But I knew she could relate.
I could see it in her face.
Pain recognized pain.
It attached to it, it attracted it, it sympathized in its misery, and the ends looped around, like a ball of yarn that was too knotted to use.
She swiveled on the metal bleacher until she was fully facing me. “I need to know why you want to talk to me. Rhett, please, just rip off the Band-Aid already.”
There was a lot to unload, and I still hadn’t come up with a starting point.
Time wasn’t helping.
Maybe if I showed her the proof, I could then work backward.
I took out my phone and stood from the bench. Crossing the one between us, I sat on it, which positioned her directly in front of me. “I want to show you something.” I held my cell so we could both see it, flipping through the years of pictures. There wasn’t much—I rarely took photographs. My life looked the same every day; there was no reason to document anything, no purpose in saving memories that were as dark as yesterday.
“Wait, go back,” she said.
When I halted, her finger hit the screen, and she swiped a few times, stopping on a photo of Ridge and me. We were at the beach, and we’d just gotten out of the water, the ocean dripping from our bare chests.
“Ridge. My God, he’s changed so much. He’s all grown up.” She shook her head. “Your tattoo, Rhett.” Her voice was only a whisper. “I’m surprised you didn’t cover it up with something else or get it lasered off.”
The way my arm was extended in the shot, the tattoo I’d gotten for Lainey was in plain sight.
“No, I didn’t do that.” As she looked at me, I added, “And I never will.”
She used her fingers to zoom in—she obviously wanted a better view of my ink. Her hand stayed on my phone for severalseconds before she pulled it away and softly said, “Rhett, my name is on your body. Why wouldn’t you want to remove it?”
That answer was so clear to me, and I was sure it would be shocking to her.
“Because I want your name on me, Lainey.”
Without even looking, I sensed her chest rise, her lips mash, her brows furrowing.
“I don’t understand. We broke up on the worst terms ever without any chance of reconciling. We haven’t spoken. There’s absolutely nothing between us.”
