Forever Yours, Almost. Whitmere Family Legacy Book 1

SLOANE The storm comes in fast, like it always does here. One minute the sky is heavy and bruised, then the moon and stars shining through regardless. And in the next, the rain is slamming against the hotel windows like it has something to say. Thunder rolls low and close, rattling the glass and my nerves right along with it. I stand on the balcony outside my room, arms wrapped around myself, watching the town blur beneath the downpour. Thank God Rhett and whoever built this place remembered Oklahoma is full of side winding rain. I remind myself- I should’ve gone to bed. I should’ve taken the moment in Rhett’s office for what it was- closure of some sort. adjacent to any feelings, an actual business deal, dangerous, unfinished- and walked away. Instead, my hand still tingles where his hand covered mine. I’m longing for something I can never have again while watching a raging storm. But then, a knock sounds behind me. I freeze. It’s late. Past midnight. And there is only one person in this building who would knock like that- once. firm, calculated, restrained, like he’s holding himself back with his knuckles. I don’t move right away. I can’t dare look like I was here waiting. The knock comes again, more persistently this time. I sigh and move inside the penthouse. I open the door. Rhett stands there in a dark Henley, sleeves pushed up, blue jeans covered in rain splatter, his hair damp like he didn’t bother with an umbrella when he went outside. Rain clings to him, the scent of wet earth and whiskey following him into the room. He stands in the entry way- as the door clicks shut behind him. I hurry into the beautiful marble bathroom and grab a fluffy white towel for him. Before turning back I check my appearance quickly. Perfect, I look like a mess. I internally groan and rush back. As I hand him the towel our fingers brush. There it is again, that electric charge. I rip my hand back and put my arms at my side. “This is a bad idea,” I say immediately. “I know,” he replies. Dabbing at his shirt and pants with the towel before drying his hair. I try to look away, but I just can’t make myself. “Sloane, I needed to see you.” Thunder cracks overhead, sharp and close. I jump at the tension of him being here and the loud sounds. “I guess it doesn’t storm in California like this?” He smirks. “Nothing is like Oklahoma.” I reply. Neither of us speaks for a moment after that. We just stare at each other, calculating. The massive room feels smaller with him in it- charged, it’s almost humming like it’s alive. Like it remembers what we used to be even if we pretend we don’t. “I couldn’t sleep,” he starts. “Me neither.” I reply. “I went for a walk down to the pond, to clear my head- but before I could make it the storm rolled in.. drawing me back to you.” His eyes lock into mind like there’s a magnet in them. A force anchoring me to him where I can’t move. There it is, again. I know we both feel it- The truth mixed with the past, hanging between us, bare and aching. “I kept thinking about what you asked me,” he says softly. His deep voice is lower than normal- “About staying. About not doing it alone.” Rhett takes a step closer to where I’m standing. Then another. He stops just short of touching me, like he’s afraid one wrong move will shatter something fragile. “I didn’t come here to push,” he says. “I came here to be honest. About you, about me, about us.” My throat tightens. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I refuse to cry. Not here, not now. “Then be honest. Rhett” His jaw flexes as he reaches for me, but drops his hands down and continues “I loved you when we were kids,” he says. “I loved you when you left. And I loved you every damn year you were gone. I tried to build something strong enough to bury that, but it never worked.” My eyes burn. The tears threaten to fall no matter what I do. “I thought leaving would save us,” I whisper softly. “Save you especially Rhett. I thought if I stayed, I’d drown- and take you with me.” He lifts his hand again, hesitates, then cups my cheek. Slowly. Warm. Solid. Real. “I would’ve drowned with you, any day Sloane Hart.” he says quietly. “If it meant you didn’t go alone. If you had trusted me more- hell loved me more, confided in me more, I could have helped you.” The words break something open in me. The tears are uncontrollable now. I move forward, throwing myself into him- my hands fisting in his shirt, pressing my forehead to his chest as the storm rages outside the hotel, and inside my ribs. I’m wracked with sobs- the front of his shirt wet with my tears initially. “I was so scared,” I say. “Of wanting too much. Of needing you.” I swallow, “my life, my responsibilities- those weren’t yours to bear.” I conclude- “I had to figure it out. Figure me out. Make something of myself.” His arms come around me then- slow and sure, devastating. He holds me like he’s been waiting a decade to do it right. He tightens his grip around me. “You can need me,” he murmurs into my hair. He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.” I tilt my face up to look at him. Our mouths are now inches apart. His breath fans across my lips, and the tension is unbearable now. No longer is he a distant memory I can’t shake. But he’s here in the flesh. Holding me. Conforming to me. His eyes are begging to kiss me- and I don’t want him not to. “Rhett…” I whisper. Eyes still spilling tears- my voice hoarse from crying. He closes his eyes, just for a second. When he opens them, they’re dark with feeling. Like a storm is raging in them. “Tell me to stop.” He whispers. His eyes searching mine. I don’t. The kiss is soft at first tender, reverent, it’s like he’s afraid to rush something sacred. His lips linger on mine like he’s trying to remember everything about them- every kiss we’ve ever had feels back in this moment. He presses forward a bit harder and I can feel his tongue reach out and touch the seam of my lips. He pulls back just enough to make my breath catch before returning his lips to mine; deepening the kiss. Our tongues clash wildly this time- needing each other. My hands slide up his chest to his shoulders. God, he feels great. Better than nineteen year old Rhett did to nineteen year old me. His arms and shoulders are massive and strong- those of a man who works his ass off. His grip tightens at my waist, pulling me closer to him. He presses our bodies together, I can feel the length of him in his damp clothes. His grip moves to my hips. It’s raw, it’s possessive without being overwhelming. It can’t be overwhelming when it feels so perfect. The thunder booms again, loud enough to shake the walls. Loud enough to make me flinch. At that moment Rhett breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. He spends a moment trying to steady his breath before he speaks. “If we keep going,” he says, voice rough, “this changes everything.” I fixate my eyes on him “I know,” I whisper back as I press the length of my body back into him. He kisses my brow. My temple. My cheek. The corner of my mouth- he even moves down to my neck. He kisses me everywhere but where I want him most, like he’s proving a point. Then he steps back. Just one step. “We’re not finishing this tonight,” he says. His eyes telling me a different story, but his face is firm. “Because when I take you back into my bed, it won’t be temporary. And I won’t survive losing you again.” My heart pounds, torn between frustration and something dangerously close to hope. “Goodnight, Sloane,” he says as he turns to walk away from me. “Goodnight, Rhett. ” I manage. He leaves, the door closing softly behind him with a click as both storms begin to fade- the one in this room and the one outside. I head to the bed in the center of the room, warily. I sink onto the edge of the bed, lips still tingling and swollen from kisses, my heart wide open. I finger the intricate pattern on the fluffy silk duvet cover. It’s a beautiful burgundy color- and stitched all the way around, magnolias. I know from every detail in every part of this hotel- Rhett has waited ten years for me, and me alone. As I drift off on top of the beautiful bed- barely able to keep my eyes open with exhaustion from the day of travel, the turmoil of being here with him. Kissing him. To realizing I may have ruined everything forever. I think to myself- this is either the moment before everything breaks. Or, if I can trust myself and face my fears, maybe just maybe, it finally comes back together. The world fades away as I fall asleep. But in my dreams- My father used to make grilled cheese at midnight like it was a ritual. Not because we were hungry- but because he liked pretending the world slowed down when everyone else went to sleep. He’s standing at the stove in his bare feet, humming softly to some old country song, flipping sandwiches in the cast iron pan. The house smells like butter and bread and the kind of safety you don’t realize is temporary until it’s gone. “You’re still up,” he says without turning around. “So are you.” He smiles at that. The corner-of-his-mouth kind. The one he only uses when he’s tired. I sit at the counter, legs swinging, watching him like I always have. He’s still wearing his suit from work, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. “You’ve been quiet all night,” I say. He pauses- just a fraction of a second. Not enough for anyone else to notice. “Long day,” he replies. I study him. He looks thinner. Tighter. Like something is wound too far inside him. “You know,” I say slowly, “Rhett asked me to go to the lake tomorrow.” He finally turns around. And his face softens in a way that makes my chest ache. “That boy still follows you like you hung the moon.” “He’s… different lately,” I admit. “More serious.” My father slides the grilled cheese onto a plate and brings it to me, cutting it diagonally like he always does. “People get serious when they start planning futures,” he says. I hesitate. “Is that… a good thing?” He leans against the counter across from me. His eyes hold mine. “Only if you’re brave enough to let someone see the parts of you that can break.” I frown. “That doesn’t sound comforting.” He smiles sadly. “It’s the only kind of love that lasts.” There’s something in his voice. Something unsteady. “Dad?” I whisper. He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I want you to have more than I did,” he says. “More freedom. More truth. More choices.” I laugh lightly. “You make it sound like you’re giving me a speech.” He looks at me for a long time. Longer than usual. “Sloane… if anything ever gets messy around here- ” “Nothing’s messy,” I interrupt quickly. “You’re the most honest person I know.” His hand tightens around mine. And for just a moment- just one- his eyes look afraid. Then he smiles again. The same smile I’ve trusted my whole life. “You’re right,” he says. “I just worry about you.” I lean forward and hug him. And he holds me like he’s memorizing the shape of my back. The next morning, police cars fill our driveway.