Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(24)
Author: A.L. Jackson

The group of children came barreling back outside, all of them chasing Lizzie who laughed harder than I’d ever seen.

I watched her, all owing her to remind me of why I was here and relaxing as that knowledge soothed me, calmed me.

Matthew laughed, cynical and sarcastic when he caught me staring at Lizzie. “Did you know you almost got your way?” Matthew gestured to her with his head as she ran by.

His statement tore my attention from Lizzie. “What?”

“You have no idea what Elizabeth went through while you went on living your cushy little life, do you?” He pressed his clenched fists into his thighs, his anger barely constrained. “How she struggled every day, how she sacrificed . . . how she almost lost that child because of what you did.”

Al the blood drained from my face. I felt lightheaded, faint with visions of Elizabeth suffering, the idea of Lizzie not being a part of this world a sick delusion.

And I had wanted it, demanded it.

I gripped the back of my neck, struck by searing guilt.

“And now she final y has her life together, and you waltz back into it like it’s your God-given right,” Matthew said with a tone that held a hint of a growl, each word delivering a blow directly to my gut.

But I took it, deserved it—needed it. I needed to know what I’d done.

Elizabeth’s laughter carried in our direction. I looked at her, pained and sickened with the realization that I’d wronged her so severely. I was sure the surface of that wrong hadn’t even been scratched. It seemed that at every turn, I learned I’d only cut her deeper than I could have imagined.

So much for unfounded nobility, so much for the fairy tale I’d painted in my mind, one I now realized I’d conjured only to make myself feel better.

Matthew’s lip trembled as he swall owed and dug his fists deeper into his legs. “I don’t know what your game is, but you need to know I wil do whatever it takes to protect them. Do you understand what I’m tel ing you?”

“What do you want me to say, Matthew?” My voice came out raspy, regret laced with frustration. “That I’m sorry? Because I wil if it makes you feel better, but that’s not going to change anything that I did in the past.” He snapped, turning to me in what seemed to be disbelief. “You think I want an apology?” He shook his head, looking incredulous. “What I want is for you to stay out of their lives.”

“Wel , that’s not going to happen,” I retorted harder and faster than I’d anticipated. Matthew needed to understand that I was not playing some game and there was no way in hel he would keep me from Lizzie.

He narrowed his eyes. “If you real y care about them, you’l stay out of their lives.”

I wanted to laugh because he was feeding me the same bul shit line I’d fed myself for the last five years—to the day.

“I’m not going anywhere, Matthew.” I kept my voice low and determined, but free of contempt. Matthew might hate me, but he had been there when I hadn’t, and my daughter adored him. Without fail, Lizzie had mentioned him in every call we’d shared this week. The bottom line was I respected him, and my actions had given him no reason to return the favor. I accepted that.

He hesitated, dubious, before his expression hardened and he stood to hover over me. “Hurt them, and I swear to God I’l make you pay for it.”

I saw his threat for what it was—a desperate attempt to protect two people he loved and a threat no sane man would ever make good on. I could have easily thrown it back in his face. Instead, I nodded in submissive understanding, knowing I’d never give him a reason to consider it. He bobbed his head, curt and with what seemed to be a sense of satisfaction, before he turned and joined the very young woman who I now knew to be his wife.

How Matthew had ended up with Elizabeth’s cousin remained a mystery. When Lizzie had gone on about her Uncle Maffew and Auntie Natalie, I’d burned with curiosity, wishing I could come right out and ask about it. Somehow, I knew Matthew and Elizabeth had been together, but for one reason or another had ended up only as friends—or whatever they were. Seeing Matthew and Elizabeth interact was like watching an overprotective brother worrying over a little sister.

I sank further into the chair and forced myself to relax while observing the people who were here because they loved my daughter. The yard was smal enough to overhear names. Some names I recognized from stories Elizabeth had told me, and I recognized some faces from pictures.

There were also the unknown, smal children and friends who had become a part of Elizabeth’s life after I’d left.

It had probably been close to seven years since I’d seen Linda, Elizabeth’s mother. Her face and hands were worn from years of hard work, but her eyes were gentle as she watched her family from where she sat on the patio under the awning. She’d always struck me as cautious, slow to trust, but having loved with everything she had when she did. To Elizabeth she’d been a hero, a rock.

Elizabeth’s older sister, Sarah, worked ceaselessly, flitting in and out of the kitchen with bowls of food while her husband, Greg, manned the barbecue. Their little sister, Carrie, stayed at Natalie’s side, the two in constant conversation, laughing and giggling with their elbows hooked as if they were the best of friends.

And then there was Elizabeth. It was useless to try to keep from watching her. I sensed her every move, so I final y gave up and gave in. My eyes trailed her as she mingled with her guests, her smile wide and gracious as she welcomed each one, thankful for their presence.

I knew she could feel me, conscious of watchful eyes.

Being near her stirred me—my love and guilt and desire—emotions that left my heart heavy and my legs weak.

It hurt.

I had to remind myself that anything I felt now could only pale in comparison to what I had put Elizabeth through.

Self-pity would only serve to discount my own actions.

Knowing that wasn’t enough to stop the surge of jealousy I felt toward him—Scott. He was the same man who had told me to leave the bank that day I’d shown up at Elizabeth’s work, the one who I heard her call out to as he stepped through her door, the one who continual y reached for her. They were light touches, smal caresses from hands that clearly wanted more. I found myself thanking God when she returned none of them, but put space between them in an almost indiscernible way, in a way likely only noticed by Scott and me.

It fil ed me with relief, which I realized only made me all the more pathetic, taking comfort in the hope that Elizabeth was alone.