Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(66)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Just like years before. We’d been out at a col ege bar, drank until we’d staggered back to his apartment laughing, kissing, reckless. We hadn’t even thought about what we’d forgotten until it was over. Christian had shrugged it off as if it was nothing, and I’d pushed it to the back of mind until I could ignore it no longer.

He’d leave me, just like he had before.

And once again, I’d be alone.

I’d trusted him implicitly right up until the moment he’d driven me away, and I knew I could expect nothing different this time.

Forcing myself down the hal , I slid my palm across the wal for support. I closed Lizzie’s door with a soft click and felt something splintering inside as old wounds ripped wide open. I could barely stand under the deluge of memories, the burden I’d carried, every internal injury meted out at Christian’s wil .

Everything spun as I clutched the railing and slowly Everything spun as I clutched the railing and slowly took each step downstairs. My head throbbed with the pulsing and pounding of blood in my ears. It turned my stomach and soured my mouth.

I raced across the family room and purged my guilt and hangover into the downstairs toilet as I berated myself for being such a fool to have given in.

I shouldn’t have expected anything different or anything better.

On unsteady feet, I stood and held onto the basin as I splashed cold water on my face and rinsed my mouth. I tied my matted, tangled hair back with a band before I hunted through the medicine cabinet for a bottle of ibuprofen.

Shaking, I placed four tablets in my mouth and cupped my hands under the running faucet to chase them down.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked back up into the mirror and wiped my mouth with a towel, unsure if I’d survive this time.

I lumbered out and was met with the remnants of the night before—two empty wine bottles, two glasses left half ful , Christian’s shirt discarded on the floor.

Bending down, I picked the shirt up and closed my eyes as I pressed it to my mouth, to my nose, inhaling the sweet of the man who would never stop breaking my heart.

I stiffened when I felt his presence, and then heard the heavy release of air that sounded something like relief from across the room. His movements were subdued as he moved across the kitchen floor.

I flinched when he wrapped his arms around me from behind, buried his nose in my neck, and whispered, “Good morning.” It felt like a caress on my skin.

I whimpered, my mouth trembling as I made a decision before it was much, much too late, forcing out a barely audible don’t touch me. The old pain was fresh, tormenting my weakness, insulting the mistake I’d made in all owing him into my home and back into my life, mocking how easily I’d handed over my heart.

He stiffened but didn’t back away. I felt him shake, swall ow, understand. “Please, Elizabeth, don’t do this.” My hair brushed across his bare chest as I slowly shook my head. For the briefest moment, my desire confused my resolve, the continuous fire that roiled between us, a reminder of just how badly this was going to hurt.

But I would be strong enough to end this now before he completely destroyed Lizzie and me, while Lizzie still had a chance to recover. In time she would heal, though I knew I would not. No amount of time could undo the devastation I felt as I turned on him and wrenched myself from his grip, spitting venomous words as I inched back toward him and slammed his shirt against his chest.

“I want you out of my house . . . out of our lives.” He seemed to sway, to lose his balance. His face contorted in agony as he first looked at the wadded up shirt fisted in his hand and then back at me. Is that what I’d looked like when he’d cast me aside? Is that what the shock of heartbreak looked like? Could he ever feel the way he had made me feel? Could he ever understand?

His expression shifted and set in determination as he clenched his jaw. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”

I closed my eyes, refusing to see the commitment on his face as I wheezed the words get out.

I opened my eyes, dragging to the forefront the memories of what he had done. I remembered the call used expression on his face when he’d told me to choose him or my daughter. I remembered how it had felt to be alone, sick, and scared; remembered what it felt like to fight for my child’s life.

I’d given up my goals, not because of my daughter, but because he had been too much of a coward to stand up for what was right, because he had refused to take responsibility for his family. I clung to long suppressed secrets of shame. I’d hidden from my family just how bad off Lizzie and I had gotten. When I’d already asked my family for far too much, I’d gone hungry because I couldn’t afford to feed both of us. The time Lizzie and I had been evicted from our smal apartment and I’d driven through the night, feeling too ashamed to tel my mother and Matthew that I’d failed again, and I’d still ended up at Matthew’s house at four in the morning. It was then that Matthew and Natalie had taken us in to live with them. I held fast to the memories of their sacrifice—a sacrifice Christian hadn’t been man enough to make.

I stalked forward, backed him into the next room, and let everything boil over. “Get out!”

This time he pled, reached for me, and attempted to restrain me in his arms. “No, Elizabeth. I won’t leave you, not this time. I love you . . . oh, my God, please don’t do this.”

I fought against him and twisted out of his grip, refusing to all ow him to convince me of anything different than what he’d shown me the night before—remembered the five-minute exchange on my bedroom floor where he’d reminded me just how little I actual y meant to him and let that anger bleed free.

“I hate you.”

He jumped back, releasing me as if he’d been stung.

I didn’t stop, but spewed my anger. “How dare you come in here and turn my life upside down . . . lead me on .. . make me believe you’d changed. I trusted you, and the second I was vulnerable, you took advantage of it!” His eyes were wide with shock when they flew up to meet the tortured fury in my own. “What?” he demanded in a low voice as he took two steps forward. “Is that what you think last night was?” His eyes narrowed, and I cowered as he took another step that had me backed against the wal .

“Don’t you dare stand there and act like you didn’t want it every bit as much as I wanted it, Elizabeth . . . pretend that this”—he gestured wildly between us—“wasn’t already happening. Yeah, things got a little out of control last night, but it doesn’t change anything.” He was right. Nothing had changed. He was just the same. He would promise his heart until it no longer suited him. He would take what he wanted and toss aside what he didn’t.