Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(57)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Her phone rustled, and I heard her shift, felt her movements. I pictured her lying down on her bed, envisioned her long dark blonde locks splayed out over her pil ow, saw her in the black tank top and pajama pants she wore to bed—wished I were lying down beside her.

“Christian . . . ,” she whispered in what sounded adoration. If I could see her face right now, I knew what I’d find. I’d see what was in the expression she’d worn as she had gazed out at me from her kitchen window on Sunday afternoon, the same thing that I had felt in her touch when she’d knelt before me and begged me to look at her, one I’d recognized but had been unable to respond to.

She swall owed, and in her hesitation, I knew she wasn’t ready to say it.

Turning to lie on the cold sheets of my hotel bed, I faced the wal in a way that I was sure would mirror her position, pretended that she held me, felt her ghost her fingers along my jaw, and listened to her breathe. It calmed me, soothed the sting, caressed the pain. “Elizabeth,” I said again, this time softly, matching the calm her distant presence brought, her name a promise on my tongue— soon.

“I miss you, Christian.” The words were muffled, slurred against what I could only imagine was her pil ow, but still distinct, powerful.

Burying my face in the pil ow, I rejoiced and thanked God she was giving me this moment, as innocent as it was intimate. I gathered myself enough to whisper, “I miss you, too, Elizabeth. More than you know.”

We lay together in silence listening to each other breathe. still wearing my pants and dress shirt, I tugged the sheet and blanket over my body, and hugged a pil ow to my chest. I refused myself the fantasies flickering on the outskirts of my consciousness and forced myself to rest satisfied in Elizabeth’s peace.

Final y, Elizabeth whispered, “I’m so sorry, Christian.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Chapter 14

It was usual y only Lizzie who waited by the window for her father, but today I couldn’t help but join her. Every few minutes I went to stand beside my daughter who waited perched on her knees, peering out at the street. The blinds were drawn wide, opened in invitation. The glass was smudged and painted by Lizzie’s eager hands and dotted by her tiny nose.

Christian had sent a text about twenty minutes before to let us know he’d landed and was on his way.

My heart palpitated, raced in anticipation, sped in fear.

Christian told me he loved me.

My chest constricted as his words flowed through me again with their tenor, their depth.

His declaration had nearly undone me, had almost unraveled the knot I held so tightly twined around my broken heart. I’d wanted to say it so badly. I’d felt it dance on my tongue, longing to admit that I loved him too. Somehow, I’d reined it in, harnessed it, and left it to smolder, knowing it would only grow.

For one more day, I’d kept my heart hidden and protected.

Running my palms over my arms, I attempted to tame my nerves. I forced myself into believing that the moment we’d shared in place of those words hadn’t been so much more powerful than had I just said them aloud. I pretended that my heart wasn’t the farthest from secure and that I didn’t feel more vulnerable today than I had ever in my life.

Movement from the street brought Lizzie to her feet, the tail of Christian’s silver car visible as he pulled into our driveway. “He’s here,” she all but whispered. Her face looked determined as she set out the front door and ran down the sidewalk to meet him.

She had not been herself all week but quiet and contemplative. Final y, last night as I’d tucked her into bed, she’d opened up, confessed her fears, and asked, “What if my Daddy dies too?” It had been one of the hardest things I’d ever discussed with my daughter, the balance of giving her both peace and honesty, the truth that life ultimately ends in death. She’d only been able to fal asleep once I’d lain down next to her and ran my fingers through her hair. I’d whispered for her not to worry and promised that she’d see her father again.

Pushing a hand through my bangs, I steeled myself for the emotion I knew would come. I hesitated at doorway and listened to their greetings.

Even though they were out of view, I could almost feel Christian’s relief when Lizzie was final y in his arms again.

When they rounded the corner, Lizzie was attached to her father’s hip, clinging to his neck as if she’d never let go.

Christian came to a standstil when he saw me, his breath rushing from his chest as his gaze washed over me.

His eyes swam their deepest blue—midnight—warm but so very tired; his body weary, leaden with obvious exhaustion.

Chaotic shocks of black hair stood up in disaccord, salient circles beneath his eyes, his white, printed T-shirt wrinkled, and his expression hopeful.

I couldn’t refrain from taking a step forward and whispering, “Welcome home.”

Slowly he approached, each footfal measured, calculated, and purposed. Every step that brought him closer escalated my already rapid breaths. The pieces of my broken heart were at war, tangled and twisted, the smoldering, conflicting emotions threatening to burst.

Inches from me, he stopped and kissed the side of Lizzie’s head before he set her down, never taking his penetrating gaze from me.

Frozen, I waited, unable to look away.

Somewhere inside me, I knew I shouldn’t reach out when he reached for me; knew I shouldn’t wrap my arms around his waist when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders; knew I shouldn’t bury my face in his chest at the moment he buried his in my hair.

I just couldn’t stop myself.

Christian tugged me closer, his body heavy and perfect against mine, fatigued and seeking support.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered against my ear as he pulled me impossibly closer and breathed me in. The heat of his breath licked at my skin, his nearness setting it aflame.

He clouded every faculty, interrupted reason, tempted me to forget. I closed my eyes against the sensations and tried to block the resurgence of memories, to ignore the familiarity of his touch. I pushed it all aside and focused on what he needed— comfort.

He clung to me as if his life depended on it.

A warning signal flared somewhere deep within my soul.

Dangerous.

For once, I ignored it.

Instead, I crushed my chest to his, all owed the rush of relief to surge through my veins, and savored the heat of his skin and the warmth of his body.

Echoes of our past surfaced in my mind, our happiest moments, the way only he could make me smile, the way only he could make me feel, our most intimate times. I wanted to hold onto them, but they fluttered and flickered and gave way to vivid images so strong I could almost taste them—sick, cold, alone—and I remembered why I could never give into this.