Page 17 of The One
Because there was a woman hovering over me. Her hands were on my chest. Her eyes were gazing into mine.
I blinked, making sure what I was seeing was real, that my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, that the shadows of the night weren’t showing me a ghost. And while my eyes proved that every inch I was seeing was real, it all came rushing back to me—getting out of the rideshare, walking along the sidewalk, lying downhere.
The heaviness.
But the fact that I’d actually fallen asleep? That shocked the hell out of me.
“Lainey,” I whispered.
When her name came through my lips, something inside me shattered. It broke me to the point where I’d never be the same person again.
“I was getting worried,” she said. “I thought something was wrong or you were sick or … I don’t know. I couldn’t figure out why you wouldn’t wake up.”
“I don’t ever sleep. When I do, it’s deep.”
She got on her feet, stepping a few feet away, and I sat up, not taking my eyes off her. If anything, her new placement allowed me to study her even harder. Hints of her light-brown hair showed in the moonlight, along with the outline of her body and a tease of her hazel stare.
Beneath the remnants, there was a beating.
A fucking throbbing that increased every second.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” I didn’t know what else to say. Words weren’t coming to me. My head was a mess of thoughts and grogginess.
I’d thought about this moment—if it would ever happen, what it would look like—and now that it was here, I sounded like a fucking idiot. What I did know was that it was late. Eleven thirty, according to my watch. It made sense why I was here at this hour, but not her.
“Are you all right?” I tried to understand the look in her eyes, but I couldn’t see enough of them. “Seems a little late for you, no?”
“Am I …all right?” She huffed—a sound that told me she was surprised I’d asked that question. “What are you doing here, Rhett?”
If there was a way that my chest could split open from the rapid beating of my heart, that was happening right now.
“I come here a lot.”
“Why?”
Why?
To remember.
To reminisce.
To relive.
But what I was doing here wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that she was here. That she was only feet away from me. That it would take me just a few paces to reach her.
“It’s been fifteen years and?—”
“I know how long it’s been,” she said.
Of course she knew. It had been stupid of me to offer the recap, even if it was a small one.
“I come here when I have things to get off my chest. Given the date, I had a lot to say tonight.”
She glanced around as though she didn’t know what the area looked like. “Shouldn’t you go to a therapist for that? That’s what most people would do. They wouldn’t come here to purge their soul.”
“I suppose you’re not wrong. But it feels right, doing it here. It’s not like I can call you …” I pushed off the grass and stood, the bottoms of my shoes feeling round instead of flat, threatening my balance. I grabbed whatever was near, feeling the instant coldness on my skin, and once my feet adjusted, my hand fell to my side. “You know … it’s been fifteen years since I’ve seen you.”
A statement that fucking pounded through my throat and across my tongue.
