Nicholas Sparks - The Lucky One

When he continued, his voice was hoarse. "I heard it coming," he said, "and I knew we were in trouble even before I saw it. There's a particular sound that an engine makes when it turns in your direction at full speed. It's like the noise begins to trail behind the engine by a millisecond that the brain can pick up only subconsciously, and I knew we were in trouble. I barely had time to turn my head before I saw the bow coming at us at thirty miles an hour." He pressed his fingertips together. "By then, Victor had realized what was happening, and I can still remember his expression-it was this horrible mixture of fear and surprise-the exact same thing I'd seen on faces of my friends in Iraq right before they died."

He exhaled slowly. "The boat sliced right through ours. It hit Victor head-on and killed him instantly. One minute we were talking about how happy he was that he'd married his wife, and in the next instant, my best friend-the best friend I'd ever had- was dead."

Elizabeth put her hand on his knee and squeezed it. Her face had grown pale. "I'm so sorry…"

He didn't seem to hear her.

"It's just not fair, you know? To live through three tours in Iraq, to survive some of the things we had… only to be killed on a fishing trip.? It didn't make sense. After that, I don't know, I was pretty messed up. Not physically. But mentally, it's like I went down a deep hole for a long time. I just gave up. I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep more than a few hours a night, and there were times when I couldn't stop crying. Victor had confessed to me that he was haunted by visions of dead soldiers, and after his death, I became haunted, too. All of a sudden, the war was front and center again. Every time I tried to go to sleep, I'd see Victor or scenes from the firefights we'd lived through and I'd start shaking all over. The only thing that kept me from going completely crazy was Zeus."

He stopped to look at Elizabeth. Despite his memories, he was struck by the beauty of her face and the dark gold curtain of her hair.

Her face registered her compassion. "I don't know what to say.

"I don't either." He shrugged. "I still don't."

"You know it wasn't your fault, right?"

"Yeah," he muttered "But that's not where the story ends." He put his hand on hers, knowing he'd come too far with his story to stop.

"Victor liked to talk about destiny," he finally said. "He was a big believer in all sorts of things like that, and on our last day together, he said that I would know my destiny when I found it. I couldn't get that thought out of my mind even while I was struggling. I kept hearing him say it over and over, and little by little, I slowly came to the realization that while I wasn't sure where to find it, I knew I wouldn't find it in Colorado. Eventually, I packed my backpack and just started to walk. My mom thought I'd lost my mind. But with every step I took down the road, I began to feel like I was becoming whole again. Like the journey was what

I needed to heal. And by the time I got to Hampton, I knew I didn't need to walk any further. This was the place I was meant to go."

"So you stayed."

"Yeah."

"And your destiny?"

He didn't respond. He'd told her as much of the truth as he could, and he didn't want to lie to her. He stared at her hand beneath his, and all at once, everything about this felt wrong. He knew he should end it before it went any further. Get up from the couch and walk her back to the car. Say good night and leave Hampton before the sun came up tomorrow. But he couldn't say the words; he couldn't make himself get up from the couch. Something else had taken hold of him, and he turned toward her with dawning amazement. He'd walked halfway across the country in search of a woman he knew only in a photograph and ended up slowly but surely falling in love with this real, vulnerable, beautiful woman who made him feel alive in a way he hadn't been since the war. He didn't fully understand it, but he'd never been more certain of anything in his life.

What he saw in her expression was enough to tell him that she was feeling exactly the same way, and he gently pulled her toward him. As his face drew near to hers, he could feel her heated breaths as he brushed his lips against hers once and then twice before finally meeting them for good.

Burying his hands in her hair, he kissed her with everything he had, everything he wanted to be. He heard a soft murmur of contentment as he slid his arms around her. He opened his mouth slightly and felt her tongue against his, and all at once, he knew that she was right for him, what was happening was the right thing for both of them. He kissed her cheek and her neck, nibbling softly, then kissed her lips again. They stood from the couch, still entwined, and he led her quietly to the bedroom.

They took their time making love. Thibault moved above her, wanting it to last forever, while whispering his love for her. He felt her body quiver with pleasure again and again. Afterward, she remained curled beneath his arm, her body coiled in contentment. They talked and laughed and nuzzled, and after making love a second time, he lay beside her, staring into her eyes before running a gentle finger along her cheek. He felt the words rise up inside him, words he had never imagined himself saying to anyone.

"I love you Elizabeth," he whispered, knowing they were true in every way.

She reached for his fingers before kissing them one by one.

"I love you, too, Logan."

Clayton

Keith Clayton stared at Beth as she left the house, knowing exactly what had happened inside. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to follow her and give her a little talking-to as soon as she got back home. Explain the situation in a way she'd understand, so she would realize that this sort of thing just wasn't acceptable. Like with a slap or two, not enough to hurt, but enough for her to know he meant business. Not that it would do any good. And not that he'd really do it. He'd never slapped Beth. He wasn't that kind of guy.

What in the royal hell was going on? Could any of this possibly get any worse?

First, it turns out the guy works at the kennel. Next, they spend a few days having dinner at her place, trading the kinds of drippy stares you saw in crappy Hollywood movies. And then-and here was the kicker-they go out to that dance joint for losers, and afterward, even though he couldn't see past the drapes, he had no doubt that she started putting out like a harlot. Probably on the couch. Probably because she'd had too much to drink.

He remembered those days. Give the woman a few glasses of wine and keep filling it when she wasn't looking, or spike her beers with a bit of vodka, listen for when her words started to slur, and then end up having some seriously great sex right there in the living room. Booze was great for that. Get her sloppy drunk, and the woman not only couldn't say no, but became a tiger in the sack. As he'd staked out the house, he'd had no trouble imagining what her body looked like as she took her clothes off. If he hadn't been so damn angry, it might have excited him, knowing she was in there, getting it on, getting all hot and sweaty. But the point was this: She wasn't exactly acting like a mother, was she.

He knew how it went. Once she started having sex with guys she dated, it would become normal and accepted. Once it became normal and accepted, she'd do the same on other dates. Simple as that. One guy would lead to two, which would lead to four or five or ten or twenty, and the last thing he wanted was for her to start leading a parade of guys through Ben's life who'd wink at him on their way out the door as if to say, Your mom sure is one hot lady.

He wasn't going to let that happen. Beth was dumb in the way most women were dumb, which was why he'd been watching out for her all these years. And it had worked out just fine, until Thigh-bolt rolled into town.