Page 115 of The One
She was gone from my life forever.
THIRTY-FIVE
Lainey
Present Day
Icouldn’t stop rocking back and forth on the cold metal bleacher. I couldn’t stop gazing at Rhett even though, at times, his face was too much to look at. So was the feel of his presence. The way he stared at me, just like he had all those years ago, brought me right back to the summer after our senior year.
Rhett!
My mind was this wild mix of:I can’t believe I’m here, I can’t believe I’m sitting so close to him, I can’t believe I’m giving him a chance to tell me about that dreaded day, I can’t believe I’m listening, and I can’t believe I want to.
Not just want to. I needed to.
I’d just gotten done telling him I didn’t understand how things between Pen and him had gone from yelling to … and then my voice had cut off.
I couldn’t finish.
Why was it still so difficult to say she was dead? Even in my dreams—which occurred several times a week, like the one I’d had last night—there were signs that I’d lived far more life than her. But saying it out loud was just too difficult. Too definitive.
“I know you blame me. Your parents blame me too. What I’m trying to tell you is that … it wasn’t my fault.”
Rhett and I were sitting in silence while the words he’d just spoken resonated through me.
Someone had to be at fault. It was the only way to make sense of what had happened, so my parents and I had turned him into the enemy.
That was how we survived.
But was that fair?
Was that title even accurate?
Rhett’s account was pushing together the missing pieces of a tragic puzzle, filling the gaping holes that had never made sense.
Did I blame him? Still?
“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, repeating his last statement. A shiver ran through me, and I held myself tighter, balling up to stop anything from getting in. “I have so many questions.”
I needed to back up. I needed to make sure I understood this all correctly.
But, damn it, why did he have to have the most gorgeous icy-blue eyes? A color I’d seen in the waters of Italy and again when I’d gone to Portugal. Every time I’d visited those countries, I would take in the view of the ocean, and I would think of him.
And each time, I’d have to look away.
Just like I was doing now.
“I’d hoped you would have questions. Ask them. Ask me anything.”
My brain was a giant spinner, separated into slices, like the Wheel of Fortune game, the arrow waiting to land on a question.
There were so many.
Where do I even start?
“The police,” I said, a place that felt obviously comfortable. “You told them you and Pen were arguing about going to the beach house. That was what had caused her to jump. Was that true?”
“Partly.”
