Page 45 of The One

She wasn’t more than fifteen yards from my house when she said, “You don’t have to tell me why you called me in the middle of the night or why you’re drinking straight booze in my car at this hour, smelling like you just woke up from the floor of a bar, but I need to know if you’re okay.”

I held the glass to my lips and swallowed until it fucking burned. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, stealing quick glances at me. “It’s part of my job.”

“It’s not.”

“Then, consider it a friendly gesture from a person who cares about you.”

I sighed as I stared out the window. “I’m all right.”

Because today, I had seen the woman I was so fucking in love with.

The woman I’d been dreaming about for the last fifteen years.

The woman I compared everyone else to and not a single one measured up.

“For someone who’s all right, you sure don’t look it. Or sound it.” She paused. “Or smell it. I’m on the verge of dry-heaving over here.”

I downed the rest of the booze and put the glass in one of the cupholders. “Better?”

She laughed. “Definitely not.” She went quiet again. “If you feel like talking about it, I’m a great listener.”

“I don’t.”

“That’s fair. I just want you to know you can.”

Our eyes connected at the red light, and I said nothing.

I’d talked enough.

Conversation, at this point, was just getting in the way of my thoughts, and right now, I had a shit ton to think about.

I reclined the seat back a few inches and watched the view through the windshield. The drive wasn’t far, no more than a few miles. A trip I could do in my sleep. But the moment Trista turned down the Taylors’ street, I wasn’t prepared for the memories.

They came flooding right into me.

Images of us kissing in the driveway.

The times I’d gotten her naked in her bed.

And then there were the bad ones.

The ones that made me fucking shake, like all the tears that had been shed inside those walls and the words that had been screamed and the pain that had been inflicted.

There was anguish.

Resentment.

Hatred.

All of it had been caused by me.

“Go slow,” I warned.

Trista drove at a walking pace, and as she got deeper down the street, nearing the cul-de-sac where their house was situated, there was a buildup inside my chest and a fucking knot wedged in my throat.

As soon as their home came into view, I saw the Jeep in the driveway. The same one Lainey had driven tonight.