Chapter 29
Chapter Tweny-nine
RHETT
To my surprise, she doesn’t fight me on driving. She seems perfectly content with sitting behind me.
There are only a few better feelings in this world than the one I’m experiencing right now.
The lake stretches out before us in endless ripples of silver and blue, the afternoon sun scattering diamonds across its surface.
My grip tightens on the handlebars as the Jet Ski roars forward, slicing through the water with a hiss and spray.
The wind lashes against my cheeks, carrying the scent of sun-warmed pine from the shore.
Rachel’s arms are wrapped tightly around my waist, her laughter tumbling into my ear every time we hit a wave and lift for a breathless second before crashing back down.
I can feel the press of her chest against my back, the way she instinctively leans when I turn, trusting me to keep us steady even as we skim the edge of control.
Her fingers curl into my body when the speed kicks up, and I can’t help grinning.
Half from the thrill of the ride, half from the fact that she is here, holding on to me like she never wants to let go.
The sound of the engine is a constant growl beneath us, but it’s her laughter that cuts through it and makes this moment lodge itself in my memory for good.
If I could bottle this feeling—the rush of speed, the weightless jumps, the solid warmth of her holding me—I’d never need another thrill again.
I ease back on the throttle, the engine quieting to a gentle hum. Rachel’s grip on me loosens, but her body stays pressed against my back, chin resting lightly on my shoulder. Her breath is warm, teasing, and God, I can feel her in a way that makes every rational thought leave me.
“Not bad,” she murmurs. “But I think I could have done it better.”
I glance back, smirking, trying to act casual. “Oh? And is that why you didn’t fight me on driving?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes jump down to my mouth. “Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to touch you this time.”
Her laugh, drifts across my back. We make it back to the boat and take a moment to just sit on the cushions. The sun has started to dip by the time someone finally says what we’re all thinking.
“I’m starving,” Anderson announces, stretching his arms as he leans against the side of the boat.
“Same,” Lexi adds. “All I’ve had today is a bag of chips and half a case of hard seltzer.”
Wes floats past on a noodle, raising a finger. “That was a personal choice. I offered you half my sandwich.”
“You offered me a bite, Wes.”
“A big bite.”
“Children,” Slone cuts in, eyes still closed behind her sunglasses. “Focus. Food.”
Margo pulls out her phone. “There’s this place about fifteen minutes from the marina. It’s a local spot. Burgers, seafood, salads, all the basics. Says they’ve got live music on Saturday nights.”
“Done,” Rachel says. “Sold. I’m in.”
Everyone murmurs agreement, and before long, we’re pulling anchor, heading back across the lake. The late afternoon light turns the water golden, and the pine-covered hills around us stand quiet in the distance.
By the time we make it back to the house, the sun still hangs low on the lake, casting everything in that dusky kind of blue. Everyone peels off to shower, the place a chaotic rotation of damp towels and music playing in bedrooms.
I take a quick shower and throw on a pair of light-wash jeans and a soft, heather gray crewneck tee. I toss on a pair of clean sneakers and run a hand through my hair. Just casual enough not to overthink it, but pulled together enough that I don’t look like I just rolled off the lake.
Being out here brings me a kind of peace I didn’t know I was still missing. The lake is calm, the air cool, the world unhurried. It feels like a pause on the reality I’ve been trapped in for the past four years. Like the universe has finally given me space to breathe.
The phone call I had with my mom this morning is something I’ve spent years of my life chasing.
For a long time, I thought that was what I had been waiting for.
By saying those words somehow the hurt would loosen it’s shape.
Don’t get me wrong, telling her how I truly feel has provided me with healing.
But sitting here at the lake now, spending the day watching Sunny laugh with the others, seeing how easily joy finds her, I understand how wrong I was.
Forgiveness is not a moment. It is a decision. And it was never my mother’s words I needed.
It was his.
Losing Josh before I could be honest with him, before I could say the things that mattered, the things I was afraid to admit, left something unfinished inside me. That silence became a weight. It followed me everywhere, shaping my choices, teaching me restraint where I should have chosen truth.
I wasn’t waiting for my mother’s explanation for why she left me. I was waiting to face the grief of never getting the chance to tell my best friend the truth, and to forgive myself for carrying it alone for so long.
The thought settles, and before I can second-guess it, I pull a pen from the kitchen drawer and grab a pad of paper. I step out onto the dock while everyone else is still inside, the boards warm beneath my feet.
I sit. I take a breath. And then I write:
Josh,
Fuck, I miss you, man.
I miss the dumb stuff the most. Cheap beer on Sundays.
You screaming at the TV like the Falcons could hear you.
The way you’d shove a controller at me and call me washed up when I lost for the third time in a row.
I miss the noise of you. The space you filled without trying.
But more than any of that, I miss talking to you.
You were the one person I never had to explain myself to. My brother in everything but blood.
I found my mom, Josh. Yeah. That still feels strange to write.
And before you ask, no I wasn’t brave enough to tell her to fuck off.
I guess I really needed you for that part.
I listened to her apologize for leaving me, and for the first time, I didn’t shut down or get angry.
I let it land. I think… I think I forgive her.
Not because it didn’t hurt. But because I don’t want to carry that hurt into the rest of my life.
I don’t want it shaping the way I love. Or the way I run when things start to matter too much.
Which brings me to the part you probably would’ve punched me for.
I’m in love with your sister.
I know. I know that breaks every rule we ever joked about. I know I promised you I’d look out for her. I was supposed to make sure no one ever hurt her.
What I didn’t tell you—what I didn’t even let myself say out loud—is that I was already in love with her.
From the very beginning. From the first time she rolled her eyes at me and called me dramatic, the first time I called her Sunny just to see her glare soften.
To be honest Josh, I didn’t stand a chance.
I’ve loved her quietly for twelve years.
I loved her even after you died, when she was barely holding herself together, and all I wanted to do was take her pain and carry it myself. I tried to bury it. Tried to convince myself it was loyalty. Or guilt. Or proximity.
It wasn’t. It was her.
She is the love of my life, and I can’t fight it anymore, Josh. I want to spend my life loving her. Choosing her, over and over and over. Keeping her safe, not because I owe you, but because I want to. She deserves to be noticed.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I carried that in silence with me for so long.
And I swear to you, Josh—on every memory we share, on every bruise from backyard football, on every promise we’ve made each other and every late-night conversation about who we were going to become—I won’t break her heart.
I am going to spend the rest of my life loving her, and I hope one day you’ll approve.
Hell, maybe when we meet again, you can give me shit for it.
I miss you every day, brother. I wish you were still here.
There are still moments I reach for my phone to text you.
Still things I hear that I know you’d laugh at.
You’re stitched into who I am. Loving your sister doesn’t replace you.
It never could. You were my brother first. You still are.
And I hope wherever you are, you know I carry you with me.
I hope you know how much you changed my life for the better. I love you, man.
Rhett
I fold the paper carefully, crease by crease, until it becomes a small, imperfect airplane. I send it skimming across the water, watching it glide for a brief, weightless second before it dips and disappears beneath the surface. Gone, but not erased. Released.
I turn back toward the house, my chest lighter than it has been in years, the ache still there but no longer sharp enough to cut.
Inside, I pour myself a drink, the familiar weight of the glass grounding me as the amber liquid settles. The quiet hum of the house wraps around me.
Then I hear footsteps on the stairs.
I glance up, and my pulse stutters, a physical reaction I know better than to fight. Some things still have the power to reach straight through me.
Sunny.
I take a big swallow as my eyes roam her head to toe.
She is wearing a dress that is fitted in that effortless, maddening way that makes it hard to look anywhere else.
The fabric clings just enough to hint at every curve, then falls in soft waves around her thighs.
The color is a deep and muted burgundy, similar to the sky after the sun begins to disappear. Her hair is down with that soft wave.
She catches me staring. I know I should look away, but I don’t want to. I can’t. I stay frozen, captivated, caught in the pull of her. Every part of me is alive with awe, and I don’t even try to hide it.
Her brow lifts, teasing. “What?”
My throat is dry and I struggle for a second. Then I manage, “Nothing. You just look—”