Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(51)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Could I handle it when one day he came to me, his blue eyes dancing as he told me that he’d met someone, as he confided in his friend that he had fal en in love?

Would I be able to smile and tel him how happy I was for him? Could I give him encouragement? Offer advice?

I rol ed my eyes at myself.

I couldn’t even handle my little sister joking about it.

I typed back a quick response, one that would ease her and let her know it was okay, that she was forgiven—a simple I love you too.

Fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulled up to the curb in front of my house. The windows were dark and the faint yel ow glow of the porch lamp offered the only light.

Alone.

The driver looked over his shoulder, frowning.

Shaking myself out of my daze, I pulled my wal et from my purse and handed him a twenty, mumbling a quiet thank-you, as I floundered my way from the backseat of the car. He waited until I opened the door to the emptiness of my house before he drove away.

I locked the door behind me and dragged myself upstairs. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, couldn’t keep the thoughts at bay.

Brittany.

That name had eaten at me over the last couple of months. Unknown pictures of her had swam through my head as I imagined what she had been like and what had drawn him to her, and I’d often fal en asleep thinking of him fal ing asleep with her.

The shame had been clear, as he’d admitted his past to me, the many faceless women he’d been with, those whose names he’d probably not even known. It wasn’t those that had bothered me, though, those that haunted me in the night, those that evoked an ache in my chest and made it hard to breathe.

What bothered me was that he’d found someone he’d cared enough about to lie beside night after night, someone he cared enough to hold and to share the day-today.

How long before he found someone like her again?

It was with those thoughts that I found myself sitting up in bed in the darkness of my room, clutching my phone with my eyes closed, wil ing myself to stay strong—to ignore the need to hear his voice. It was only after midnight, not so late that he would think it strange that I was call ing, asking about Lizzie an easy excuse. Would he know that it wasn’t the true reason I call ed? Would he know I was already certain that my daughter was fine, safe and happy and resting easily in the smal bedroom that her father had set up just for her?

Would he know that I longed for his warmth, the way his voice would wrap around me just as if it were his arms?

Would he know that I needed him?

Once again, I found myself on the edge looking down, wondering when I’d get so close that I’d fal . Or maybe I’d just jump.

I shook my head.

No.

No.

I talked myself back from the ledge, forced myself to place the phone down on my nightstand, and cried myself to sleep.

“Hey, Liz,” the deep voice call ed from behind.

I stood at my kitchen counter, my fingers wet from slicing tomatoes in preparation for our barbecue, and glanced over my shoulder at Matthew standing in the archway. In my humiliation, I turned away and focused on the task in front of me.

“Hey,” I mumbled toward the counter.

Matthew approached, stood next to me, and wrapped an arm around my back with a gentle squeeze. “You okay?” Nodding, I leaned into him a bit and felt myself relax against my friend. While I was embarrassed, I knew I real y had no reason to be. Matthew only cared, and I knew he wouldn’t judge or tease, would offer no ridicule for my actions of the evening before.

“Nat and I brought your car back.” He smiled as if nothing had happened, case closed, and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of beer and walked out the back door.

I could sense Natalie hovering in the same spot where Matthew had been. She was fidgeting and feeling as unsure with me as I felt with her. I wasn’t exactly mad at her, but I wasn’t thril ed with how she’d acted last night either.

She released a soft but audible sigh as if she needed to make herself known, to warn me of her presence, or maybe even needed reassurance of her welcome.

“Hey, Natalie.” It came out low with a hint of disappointment, but it was mostly fil ed with my need to make things right between us.

It was enough to bring her across the room, her feet light. She rose up on her tiptoes behind me, rested her chin on my shoulder, and wrapped her arms around my middle to hug me to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Liz.” Far from flippant, her apology was solemn and sincere. “We were just messing around. I shouldn’t have . . . I know how . . .” She swall owed heavy with remorse and shook her head. “It was rude, Liz. We made light of something that causes you pain, and for that I’m so sorry.”

I tilted my head to hers in a smal embrace, and I set the knife I was holding on the cutting board so I could reach down to cover her hands with mine. “It’s okay.” I rubbed my thumbs over the back of her hands.

We stood like that for a few moments, looking out the window into the backyard. Matthew and Christian sat at the smal patio table, chatting as they sipped their beers, laughing as if they were old friends. Lizzie was perched on Christian’s knee, grinning while she played with the smal dol s in front of her. It seemed that without thought Christian would run his fingers through Lizzie’s long hair flowing down her back and play with the ends.

“Sweet, isn’t it?” Nat murmured, her attention focused on Lizzie and Christian.

“Mmm hmm,” I said from somewhere in the back of my throat, unable to voice how it real y made me feel; how it made my heart soar and made me question everything I’d held onto for so long. How it made me want to believe he would treat me the same way.

“You don’t have to be miserable anymore, Elizabeth,” Natalie whispered as she pressed her cheek into mine, a gentle encouragement.

I closed my eyes to block my mind from what I so desperately wanted, shook my head ever so slightly, and disagreed. “I’m not miserable.”

She snorted although it sounded like sympathy and hugged me closer before she walked to the back door, only to pause just before she stepped out. “That’s not what it looked like last night.”

She slid the door closed behind her, pulled a chair out from the patio table, and sat down with her back to me.

I gazed out at my family, the family that had grown by one, and couldn’t imagine it any other way. Christian caught me staring and looked up at me with eyes fil ed with adoration, need, want, tender affection, and overt desire.

For once, I didn’t look away, and I hoped he’d see in my expression that I felt the same, that he’d know that I loved him even though I’d never all ow myself to say the words.