Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(45)
Author: A.L. Jackson

I shook my head, stopping her. “It’s okay, Elizabeth.” She shouldn’t apologize for my deficiencies. The truth was that I’d left her.

“Anyway,” she went on, “We talked the entire night, and we both decided if he stayed, we were only prolonging the inevitable. He packed a smal bag and checked into a hotel down the street from my apartment. Within two weeks he had moved in with Natalie.” She sighed with a shrug. “When it didn’t hurt, I knew we’d made the right decision.” She looked at me with a grimace etched into her beautiful face.

“Al I felt was relief.”

I had no clue what to say—if I should say anything at all .

All I knew was that I owed more gratitude to Matthew than I had ever imagined.

“But he continued to take care of you?” I inclined my head toward Lizzie while still holding her gaze, unwil ing to break this free flow of trust.

She smiled, the warmth of her face the same as if it were directly focused on Matthew. “Yeah, he did everything he could for us. That first year after he and Natalie got together, I hated being a constant burden on him, so I tried to hide things from him.” From this came the first amount of regret I’d seen from Elizabeth when she talked of Matthew, and she shifted in discomfort. “Al it did was cause him more worry, so we ended up becoming this strange little family that we are.”

Running a hand through my windblown hair, I deliberated for a second before I decided that since we’d final y found ourselves being so candid, I should take it as far as it would go.

“Was there ever anyone else?” I asked, worried I might not be able to stomach her answer.

She bit her bottom lip, shaking off what must have been an involuntary shudder. “There was this guy . . .

Shawn”—she gulped for air—“he was an ass**le.” She shook her head again and looked at me, almost pleading. “I real y don’t want to talk about him.”

Now I felt like the ass**le, but still I pushed. “Did you love him?”

“No,” she said, the word flying from her mouth before I could finish the sentence. From the look of disgust set deep at the core of her eyes, I knew she was speaking the truth.

While I wanted to ask more about him, I could see that it was a shut door, one that needn’t be pried open by my jealousy.

“And Scott?” I asked, again feeling guilty for digging so deep, but unable to stop myself when I found myself so close to Elizabeth’s heart, to her soul that been laid bare, taking just a little more.

She appeared to be amused by my prodding, embracing me in the warmth of her smal , knowing smile.

“No, Christian. Last night was”—the levity from seconds before was replaced with total resolution and a tinge of remorse—“a mistake.”

The relief that escaped me was audible, and I ducked my head, chuckling at just how obvious I was.

She nudged me with her elbow, the heat of her arm spurring a reaction in me that was becoming harder and harder to suppress. I hadn’t realized we’d gravitated to each other, our bodies now just inches apart. “So what about you?” It came out as almost a tease, though I could feel the pain simmering just below the surface.

I brought my face up to meet hers and saw the fear in the way her eyes, never at ease, skittered across my face, her sun-kissed skin blanching where she dug her nails into her legs.

“God, Elizabeth, do you real y want to know?” She averted her eyes, contemplative, before raising them back to mine and nodding.

“I think I do.” She seemed to resolve, her gaze becoming firm as she stared at me across the smal space.

There was a moment that I considered lying to her, sparing her the obscene, especial y in light of the divulgence of her not-so-scandalous past, but I just couldn’t bring myself to that type of dishonesty.

I searched for air and my voice. Final y, I just forced myself to speak. “That first year”— when you were pregnant and sick and needed me—“I tried to forget you.” I snorted in revulsion at the memory. “I slept with any girl who’d let me.”

Elizabeth whimpered, and her eyes glistened, but she lifted her chin and waited for me to continue.

“Then after seeing you at the hospital . . . I just . . . I realized that who I’d become made me sick, and I couldn’t continue on that way.”

That brave chin quivered, but I didn’t stop. I just looked away and let the words bleed from my mouth, low and monotone. “I dated a little bit but pretty much fil ed my time with school. Then I met Brittany.” I felt Elizabeth tense at my side, heard the sharp intake of air. “We lived together for almost two years.”

I could sense that Elizabeth had begun to cry again, but I continued with my attention trained on the ground, wishing I could somehow find a way to bury my shame there. “She wanted to get married, and when I couldn’t make that commitment, she left me.”

While it had been sad to see my friend go, watching Brittany pack her things and leave had been so much like Elizabeth’s depiction of when Matthew had gone. The winning emotion had been one of intense relief.

“You didn’t love her?” Elizabeth choked as she squeezed the words out one by one.

“Yes . . . in a way. I mean, I cared for her. She was kind and sweet but . . .”

But just like she and Matthew, I never loved Brittany that way.

“But what?”

Without hesitation, I looked up to meet Elizabeth’s face, her cheeks wet and blotchy, and answered, “She wasn’t you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, sending more tears racing down her beautiful face.

The hurt she wore broke me, and I couldn’t stand the distance any longer. “Elizabeth . . . ,” I said so slowly, so softly as I reached out to cup her face to give her comfort for all the pain I had caused her, to show her how much I still loved her.

She winced with the contact and pulled away as her eyes fluttered open, leaving my hand suspended midair.

“Don’t.” She shook her head and swall owed. “It’s too late for us, Christian.”

I didn’t miss the doubt that washed over her when she spoke those words, though she continued in delusive determination. “I can’t do this,” she said as she gestured rapidly between the two of us, squeezing her eyes shut again as if she didn’t believe it herself. When she opened her eyes again, she amended the motion to include Lizzie and an expectant smile displaced the despondent resignation of seconds before. “But I can do this . . . I want to do this.” She nodded vigorously, and her soggy smile spread, hopeful of my response.