Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Rhett
Fifteen Years Ago
I ’d never heard that kind of noise, but it was unforgettable.
Like when you first fell off your bicycle and your bare knees scraped the gritty pavement, the road rash giving off that sandpaper vibration. One that made you wince whenever you thought about it, even years later. Or the first time you got into a car accident, never forgetting the sound of the crunching bumper and the squealing tires.
Once this noise hit my ears, I knew I’d never be able to get it out of my head.
The adrenaline from the almost crash was still pumping through my veins as I turned toward the back of my father’s boat.
My body hadn’t even come close to coming down from the nonsense Penelope had just spewed at me.
But now, since the noise, it was all amplified.
My breathing.
My heart rate.
My worry.
There was one rule my father had emphasized from the very beginning. The day he had purchased the boat, he had said it to me, and he repeated it every time I told him I was going out onto the water.
A rule every boater knew.
One that was so important and so obvious at the same time.
But today, there hadn’t been a need to say that rule out loud.
Because I’d never thought … I’d never anticipated …
This .
As the noise pulsed in my ears, I hit the button on the dash, my hands trembling as I pressed it with all my strength, and I rushed out from the captain’s seat.
The noise didn’t get louder, but in my head, it was screaming.
Echoing.
That was all I could hear.
My body turned numb.
My hands unclenched, my arms lifting over my head as I took a step and then another.
My eyes started to close.
But before they shut, before I met the darkness behind my lids, I heard it again.
The sound.
But this time, it came from me.