Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(58)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Even then, I didn’t want to let go and all owed myself a few moments more before I placed a hand against his few moments more before I placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him away. He covered my hand with both of his, pressed it over his heart, and smiled at me in a way that chipped away another piece of my armor.

Averting my eyes, I made the mistake of looking down at Lizzie who gazed up at us with the same expression I’d seen Christian wearing the second before—like she’d just been all owed a smal piece of heaven.

What the hel was I doing?

Teasing my daughter?

Giving her false hope, stoking her imagination, painting a picture of things that could never be?

I forced myself to take a step back from Christian, gathered up the emotions that were slowly slipping away, and drew another line.

For Lizzie, I told myself. This was for Lizzie.

I glanced back up at Christian, reminding myself we could only ever be friends— partners. Purging the remnants of my desire from my face, I straightened myself and put back on my mask. I smiled and stood aside. “Go on in.

Dinner’s almost ready.”

Christian inhaled and threw a grin in my direction, lopsided and achingly cute. “You made spaghetti and meatbal s?” His voice teemed with appreciation, swam in awareness.

My mask fel , so easily penetrable, evidence of my weakness. I felt my face flush, and I ducked my head. I knew how obvious I was in preparing his favorite dinner just as I had prepared his favorite breakfast the morning after Lizzie’s fall.

“Yeah, I figured you’d be starved after the long flight,” I mumbled toward my bare feet, shrugging to make less of it than we both knew it was.

I looked up in time to see his lopsided smile spread.

“You have no idea how good that sounds. I haven’t eaten all day.” Turning his attention to Lizzie, he wrapped one of her tiny hands in his and asked, “What about you, princess, are you hungry?”

Overwhelmed, I hung back and tried to convince myself that nothing had changed as he led her inside.

Christian glanced back at me with a lazy grin. “You coming?”

Sighing, I told myself another thousand lies and fol owed him inside.

“Do you want to talk?”

Pointing the remote at the television, I lowered the volume and let the cartoon Lizzie had wanted to watch play out. She’d fal en asleep about fifteen minutes before, curled up in Christian’s lap. Her sweet breaths came in soft pants against his chest, rhythmic and soothing in the dimness of the room. He played with the strands of her hair, appearing lost in thought and most likely minutes from sleep.

Glancing at me, he grimaced through a heavy sigh, ran his palm over his weary face, and blinked. “I . . . don’t . . .

know.” It didn’t seem an answer to my question but was more a statement of how he was feeling.

If I were in his place, I wouldn’t know what to feel either.

Those unanswered questions formed as lines across his forehead. “I’ve spent so much of my life resenting my father . . . blaming him for all of my problems . . . for every mistake I’ve made.” His brow furrowed as he left those mistakes unspoken, though many of them were glaringly obvious. He snorted through his nose and shook his head.

“Do you know he left me a quarter of his inheritance?” He focused on his fingers weaving through Lizzie’s hair while still shaking his head. His words dropped in slow disbelief, maybe even hinting at a newfound respect.

“And the rest of it to my mom.”

“What?” I couldn’t keep my shocked reaction contained.

Christian cut his eyes to mine. In the muted light of the family room, they were dark and mournful.

His mouth twisted and twitched, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. Supporting Lizzie, he leaned forward, wrenched his wal et from his back pocket, and produced a folded up piece of paper from it.

With his head bowed, he passed it over to me.

“He’d kept this in his desk.”

Wary of what I’d find inside, I stared at the piece of worn and tattered paper in my palm. I was sure whatever it held had broken a part of Christian’s heart.

Gingerly, I unfolded it, smoothed it out on my lap, and gasped at the simple picture.

Christian must have understood my surprise, must have read in the message the same thing I saw now.

“I can’t remember drawing it . . . or feeling it. I just wish I could.” The words shook as they fel as grief from his trembling mouth. “Damn it,” he suddenly spat, raking his hand through his hair. “He wasted his whole life.” Again, his expression shifted and the fire behind his words dul ed and eased into pain as if he didn’t know whether to revile his father’s memory or mourn him. “He knew he was dying, Elizabeth. I know it, and he wanted me to know he cared about me.” The sadness poured through him, a mixture of anger and pity and so much regret. “I just wish he would have had the courage to say it to my face.” Tracing the lettering, I imagined a little black-haired boy drawing it, the concentration he would have had on his face as he worked on the choppy, misspel ed letters, the pride he’d have had as he’d given it to his father.

I didn’t flinch when Christian reached out to do the same.

I closed my eyes as he pried my fingers from the page and wrapped them in his hand. “I don’t want to become like him, Elizabeth.” His throat bobbed in unspent emotion. “I don’t want to waste my life. I don’t want to waste this,” he stressed as he squeezed my hand.

I laced my fingers through his and blinked back tears.

He fol owed my gaze to Lizzie, and I brought our joined hands to touch the porcelain rosiness of our daughter’s cheek before I turned back to face the intent in his eyes.

“You’re not.”

A sad smile whispered at the corner of his mouth, and he laid his cheek against her head as a heavy breath fel from his tired lips.

In the still ness, I held his hand, brushed my thumb over his soft skin. I watched as his eyes gradual y faded and closed in exhaustion, listened to his deep breaths even out, felt his muscles twitch as he drifted to sleep.

As quietly as I could, I uncurled myself from the couch, lifted Lizzie into my arms, and carried her upstairs to her bed. I tucked her under her covers and spent a moment adoring the amazing child Christian and I had created before I kissed her on the forehead.

Then I went into my room and dragged a blanket and pil ow from my bed.

I tiptoed back downstairs to find Christian had slouched and sank deeper into the crevices of the couch.