Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(67)
Author: A.L. Jackson

He will never stay.

Defeated, I slid down the wal and buried my head in my hands, unable to stop the rush of emotion. He will never stay. I felt myself breaking apart as tears poured unchecked down my face and the reality of my foolishness sank in and became real, and I whispered again, “I hate you.”

Christian leaned down, his nose nearly touching mine, his voice fire. “You’re a liar.” He glared down at me with heartbroken rage and pointed up toward Lizzie’s room. “I love you, Elizabeth, but you need to know . . . I wil fight for her.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I put back up the wal s he had torn down, wouldn’t listen to what he said. I lost myself in self-pity, in my mistakes, in his betrayal. In my mind, I saw him as the selfish boy who had ripped me apart.

He will never stay.

My tortured cries did nothing to drown out the echo of Christian’s feet as he walked away, taking with him the last piece of my heart. The front door grated on its hinges as it opened, taunted, He’s leaving you.

I couldn’t have imagined anything could have hurt worse than what had just transpired, that there could be anything more painful than cutting Christian from my life.

But I should have known better, known that it would only compound.

I fought for resolve, for a way to stay strong when Lizzie suddenly appeared on the stairs, panic in the clamor of her feet and in the flood of hysteria from her mouth.

“No! Daddy, don’t go!”

Christian turned in the doorway as if in slow motion. all color drained from his face as he dropped to his knees to catch Lizzie in his arms. She clung to his neck and cried again, barely coherent as she begged, “Don’t leave me, Daddy! Please don’t leave me!”

The nausea from before made a resurgence as I lay limply against the wal , disconnected, and watched my daughter fal apart while Christian tried to hold her together.

He rocked her, whispered against her head, and promised, “It’l be okay. It’l be okay.” He pulled back, faked a smile. “I’l come back, sweetheart. It might take a little while, but I promise I’l come back.”

Lizzie held him tighter. “Please stay with me, Daddy.” He choked over her plea and hugged her to his chest.

Over her shoulder, he begged me with his eyes.

I looked away.

He will never stay.

I had to end it now for her sake—and mine.

“I can’t right now, princess. Mommy and Daddy just need a little time apart.” His eyes flitted over her face as he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Try not to be sad and just remember that, no matter what, Daddy loves you.” Then he stood and walked out the door.

With the click of the latch, a sob erupted from Lizzie, and she rushed to the window. She pressed her face against the glass, her voice smal and broken. “Daddy.” It escalated with each breath as she repeatedly call ed for him, “Daddy . . . Daddy . . . Daddy!” When he backed his car from the driveway and his tires squealed on the road, she slid to the floor where her cries became muddled and distorted, an echo of my own heartbreak sounding out from my baby girl who rocked herself in a bal on the floor.

For a fleeting moment, I thought I might die, that my heart would falter in my chest, seize as the ultimate punishment for what I had done.

I’d broken the two people I loved the most. I’d destroyed my daughter, destroyed Christian, had ruined what I knew Christian and I could have had—what I knew somewhere beneath the fear that we had already built—broke my own heart.

Christian was right. I didn’t hate him. I hated myself.

Lizzie stared at the untouched plate of food in front of her.

She hadn’t said a word the entire day but had lain on the floor for uncountable minutes or hours as I’d done the same, unresponsive from the impact. Sometime during the day, she’d moved to her room and had shut the door and shut me out. I’d given her space because I’d needed it too. I had call ed her downstairs when I’d realized the sun had set more than an hour ago and she hadn’t eaten all day.

“Lizzie, baby, you need to eat,” I said, my voice cracking from the hoarseness of my voice, and pushed her plate closer to her. Please.

My request was met with silence, no reaction, as if I hadn’t spoken at all .

I turned away to hide the tears that gathered in my eyes. I blinked and they fel . I wiped them with the back of my hand.

My cel phone rang from inside my purse on the kitchen counter.

I closed my eyes, but not before they had instinctively sought out the clock on the wal .

Seven fifteen.

The night was long and lonely, fil ed with restlessness—too many thoughts and too much hurt. Christian chased me down in my dreams, haunted, hunted, woke me as he shook me, and demanded to know why.

I’d left Lizzie’s door wide open, hoping she’d call out for me, need me. Instead, the same quiet distress as my own had seeped from her room. She’d tossed, turned, and whimpered through her burdened sleep. In the early morning, I found her awake, sitting up in bed glassy-eyed and staring at nothing while she rocked the dol Christian had given her in her arms.

I call ed in to work, barely able to form a coherent sentence as I told Anita I wasn’t feeling wel . She laughed and teased that I must have had too much fun on Saturday night to still be suffering the effects on Monday morning. I mumbled a weak something like that before I hung up the phone and hung my head, having no idea how to deal with what I felt inside.

My gut twisted in guilt when I dropped my daughter at school, still mute, her face expressionless—numb.

But I left her as I couldn’t stand to stay to face what I’d done.

Our beach was nearly deserted on a Monday morning in November. I sat at the edge of the water with my arms wrapped around my knees. The wind stung my face as it licked at my tears. I clutched my phone as it buzzed, the wind and waves drowning out the sounds erupting from my throat as I wept when his name lit up the screen again and again.

I pulled up in front of Matthew and Natalie’s house at five. The door opened a second later, and Matthew stepped out. Pressure seemed to drain from him when he saw me before it changed, and the corners of his eyes creased in worry masked with anger. He met me halfway down the walkway, demanding to know what was wrong with Lizzie, why she wouldn’t speak, and why I hadn’t returned their call s all afternoon.

I stared at him and whispered, “Christian’s gone.” I felt another piece of myself wedge itself free when I admitted it aloud.

Christian is gone—because of me.