Page 93 of The One

I searched her eyes. “That’s not true.”

“What? How can you say that?”

A moment of silence passed.

Within it, I swore she saw the answer to her question.

I fucking swore she could feel it.

If she couldn’t, then she wasn’t the woman I thought she was.

I waited.

For what felt like a goddamn eternity.

And then I saw it—the glimmer, the recognition, the long, deep sigh that left her lips.

“Lainey …” I’d been holding in these thoughts since the last time I had seen her, and I could finally speak them. Why did it feel so hard to get started? Why was my heart pounding so fucking hard? “Do you really think those fifteen years made me stop loving you?” I shook my head. “Not even close.”

I let those words set in—not just within her, but within me.

“I would wait an entire lifetime to have another chance with you. That’s how I felt when you walked away from me, and that’s exactly how I feel now. Maybe there’s nothing pulling you to me, but what pulls me to you is love. It’s grown every single day that’s passed.”

My free hand clenched, preventing me from reaching out. From cupping her cheek. From brushing my thumb across theside of her mouth. From doing everything in my power to make her smile.

“I’ll only ever have one why, Lainey, and you’re the one.”

TWENTY-FIVE

Rhett

Fifteen Years Ago

Fifteen yards.

That was how much space was between my boat and the one in front of us, a distance that could easily be closed in only a few seconds, which was all the time I had to try to avoid crashing my bow into their stern.

I never allowed spaces that were this tight.

Especially with the speed I was going.

I couldn’t brake—brakes didn’t exist on a boat.

I had little options, and I needed to move fast.

“What happens when we bump them?” Penelope’s face was near mine when she spoke, excitement in her tone when there should have been fear. That was the coke; it turned everything into a fucking party.

I didn’t have time to push her away or comment on the closeness of our bodies.

“You need to hold on tight,” I warned. “Do it now!”

I swore I’d shifted my path so this wouldn’t happen. And I swore there had been plenty of clearance before I looked at Penelope when she had really started to act wild and that it had been somewhat safe to take my eyes off the water.

But I had known better. I had known how wrong that was.

My father had trained me not to get distracted, to always keep my focus on what was around me—the boats, the waves, the depth. I’d acted like a damn idiot, and I was going to pay the price.

Adrenaline was pumping through my body, my hands shaking as I held the helm with one and the throttle with the other. I couldn’t jerk the wheel—boats were nothing like a car; the movement wouldn’t immediately turn us, there would be a slight delay, and then we’d be sent in a three-sixty. With boats behind us, gaining speed by the second, that would just get us into another accident.