Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(32)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Sighing, I pointed the remote at the television and clicked it off, deciding to give up on the failed attempt to entertain myself. I tossed the pil ow aside, stood, and stretched my arms overhead, yawning as I made my way to my bedroom. I shrugged out of my shirt, figuring a hot shower was my best shot at a soothing distraction.

From the other room my phone rumbled against the glass coffee table, buzzing before giving way to its shril ring. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

Eight twenty-three.

I rushed back out to the main room, expecting it to be Mom call ing to wish me a goodnight, although part of me hoped that it was Lizzie thinking of me. I pictured her sweet face pressed to her mother’s phone as she call ed just to say she loved me one more time before her mother tucked her into bed.

I grinned when I saw the call er ID.

Elizabeth’s name and number flashed on the screen as the phone vibrated and rang out again.

I grabbed it, sliding my finger across the faceplate just before it went to voicemail.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I could feel the force of my smile, thankful for the welcomed surprise.

“Christian . . .” I felt sick when I heard her voice, panicked and afraid.

“Elizabeth?” Immediately the panic in my voice matched hers. “What’s wrong?”

When she spoke, her voice trembled, and I could tel she was crying. “Lizzie fel down the stairs.” Fear clawed up my spine, and I fought against the nausea rushing up my throat with the sick image that flashed through my mind. I was back in my room and dragging my shirt over my head before I had time to respond. “Is she okay?” I tried to remain calm and clearheaded, but I knew I was about five seconds from a breakdown. The thought of something happening to Lizzie—I’d never survive.

Elizabeth spoke in quiet distress, whispering, “I think she broke her arm, and she has a cut above her eye . . . it won’t stop bleeding.” She stumbled over the last, choking on her worry, although her news instantly eased my racing nerves.

Lizzie’s injuries definitely didn’t sound as serious I’d first imagined them to be. I shoved my feet in my shoes and grabbed my keys from my desk.

I had started for the door when Elizabeth began fumbling over earnest words. “I tried to call Matthew, but he didn’t answer . . . and Lizzie won’t stop crying . . . and she keeps asking for you.” Her voice dropped as her unease increased. “Can you come? I don’t want to take her to the hospital by myself.” A brief moment of silence fel between us at her request. Her discomfort in asking for my help was clear, but the need of our daughter was so much greater than that.

My condo door slammed closed behind me as I hit the hal and rushed for the elevator.

“I’m already on my way.”

Traffic was heavier than I’d hoped, but I still made the short trip to Elizabeth’s house faster than I ever had. The neighborhood was already quiet when I turned onto their street. Children no longer played on the grassy lawns of their front yards or on the sidewalks. Instead windows glowed as families had taken their activities inside.

I jumped from my car, not bothering to pause to knock when I reached the door. I threw it open to find Lizzie on Elizabeth’s lap where they were huddled on the couch.

Lizzie clutched her left arm protectively to her chest and whimpered while Elizabeth held a damp towel to her head.

“Lizzie,” I said as both worry and relief rushed out of me from where I stood in the doorway, still clutching the door handle. My heart ached to see her this way but was thankful it had not been so much worse.

“Daddy.” She sniffled but still managed to welcome me with a smal smile.

I crossed the room, dropped to my knees in front of her, and brushed back the matted hair stuck to her face.

“Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?” My gaze swept over her, ultimately landing on the towel slowly saturating with blood that Elizabeth had pressed to Lizzie’s forehead.

“My arm hurts.” She grimaced and hugged her arm closer, her bright eyes wet with tears. The sharp stabbing in my chest made me wonder if it were physical y possible to feel someone else’s pain.

“I know, baby girl, I know.” I smiled sadly and then shifted so I could pick her up. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

Lizzie’s eyes grew wide, and she pulled away. For a moment, my heart fel with rejection before she shook her head stubbornly. “No, Daddy, I don’t like doctors.” Oh.

I glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes pleading. Say something.

I scooted closer. I tried to ignore the fact that as I did so, I hovered over Elizabeth, her knees brushing against my chest with every unsteady breath I took.

Instead, I focused on what was important—reassuring my daughter.

“Did you know I used to be scared of the doctor when I was a little boy?” I asked, keeping my tone light in an effort to comfort Lizzie.

She looked surprised. “You were?”

“Yep,” I answered, nodding. “And do you know what I learned?”

She shook her head.

“That doctors want to help us feel better,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing enough.

“But doctors give shots,” Lizzie said, pressing her lips together in defiance.

I suppressed a chuckle. Even in her distress, she was still the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I felt Elizabeth’s smile, and imagined she was thinking the same thing.

Reaching out, I cupped Lizzie’s face, running my thumb over her cheek. “Sometimes they do, but it’s only to help you feel better.”

Lizzie’s bottom lip trembled. “But I hate shots, Daddy.” My expression softened in sympathy. This was the first time I’d real y seen my daughter frightened, and while I wanted to take away all her fear, to be her hero and to promise her I’d never let anyone or anything hurt her, I couldn’t do that. I had to be honest with her.

“I know, Lizzie.” I leaned in further. “But if you have to get a shot, Mommy and I wil be right there with you the whole time, okay?”

“Promise?” Lizzie whispered, still fearful, though I could feel her resistance fading.

“Promise.” That was a promise I could make.

“Okay, Daddy.”

Careful y, I took Lizzie into my arms and murmured how proud I was of her. Elizabeth looked up at me as she handed Lizzie over and mouthed, “Thank-you.” Her lips moved slowly, cautiously. I knew it was hard for her to put this much trust in me, to place our injured daughter in my waiting arms. I nodded once as I met her eyes, wordlessly promising to never give her reason to regret it.