Take This Regret

  I pushed it aside and laughed through my embarrassment as our server suddenly appeared at the edge of our table and shouted over the clamor of the room, demanding attention as he cal ed out, “We have a birthday in the house!”

  Christian’s eyes glinted with deep satisfaction as he sang me the birthday song along with the rest of the restaurant. He seemed to make his own wish when I blew out the single candle stuck in a massive piece of chocolate cake.

  “So how does it feel to be twenty-nine, Ms. Ayers?” Al teasing from earlier aside, Christian’s eyes softened as he asked, truly wanting to know.

  Like you missed too many years, I thought much too quickly before I had the time to dismiss its meaning.

  Before I answered, I glanced at Lizzie, my reason for living, and back at the man who had somehow snaked his way back into my life and had become such an important part of my family. I realized in al honesty that it felt amazing.

  For the first time in many years, I was truly happy. Even if being with him took great restraint, at times tore me apart and turned me inside out, it was worth every second. I swal owed and answered, “It feels . . . real y . . . great.” Christian grinned and touched the tip of his shoe to mine under the table, a gentle caress, chaste affection.

  I blushed, flicked the bangs from my face, a subconscious tic, and knocked my bal oon hat from my head.

  Squinting, Christian suddenly leaned forward as he tilted his head to one side. “How’d you get that scar above your eye?”

  He reached across the table to brush my bangs aside, and instinctively I jerked away. I shook my head and forced out a feeble it’s nothing.

  Christian frowned, and slowly withdrew his hand with my reaction.

  “Shawn was mean to Mommy.”

  Christian’s head whipped in Lizzie’s direction as she spoke the words before fiery eyes darted back to me, and I watched as a storm raced in, violent and destructive. And just like that, the peace of our evening was gone, leaving in its place a Christian I’d never seen, didn’t know.

  He put distance between himself and Lizzie, sitting rigid in the booth and saying nothing as he paid the bil . He wouldn’t look my way, not even when I whispered, “Thank-you for dinner.”

  He just stood and ushered Lizzie from the bench, never looked up from the ground as he walked behind us out to the car, and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

  It took only seconds for Lizzie to fal asleep in the backseat of his car. Christian stared ahead and left me alone to suffocate in his seething silence. He said nothing as he rose from the car and col ected our slumbering daughter from his backseat. He stood aside and waited for me to unlock the front door, and took her up to her room.

  I waited at the bottom of the stairs to give him space.

  I understood he was angry, not with me, but with Shawn.

  Minutes later, he emerged from Lizzie’s room and stared down at me with raging torment.

  Something inside him had fractured, ruptured.

  “Christian . . . ,” I cal ed out, my tone quiet, pleading for him not to make a big deal of this. It was something I’d not wanted to delve into with him. I had no desire to resurrect old ghosts, and had been thankful to have dodged the subject when Christian had asked about Shawn at the beach. What happened with Shawn was long over and done with, something I’d dealt with emotional y, had come to terms with, and had vowed to never repeat.

  Unable to escape from the intensity of Christian’s gaze as he slowly took the stairs, I knew there was no way to evade it now.

  On the last step, he stopped inches from me and clenched his fists. “Shawn who?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Over.

  Done.

  Forgotten.

  Christian studied his feet, palmed the back of his neck, pushed past me, and paced my living room. Coming to an abrupt halt, he turned and glared at me. “It doesn’t matter?” His voice rose. “It doesn’t fucking matter? Are you kidding me, Elizabeth?” He flung his arm out in a wild gesture at my head.

  I didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. I knew none of the fury flooding from him was directed at me.

  This time he begged, wanted me to agree, “That asshole hurt you, and it doesn’t matter?” He turned away, buried both hands in his hair, and hid his head as he released his torment toward the floor. “I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”

  Taking a step forward, I placed a cautious hand against his back and pressed my palm into the warmth of his body. Tremors rol ed through his muscles with the contact, and my explanation came in hushed tones and fil ed the otherwise dark, silent room. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve healed, Christian. He means nothing to me, meant nothing to me, and he paid the price for what he did.

  The only part that hurts me now is dealing with the fact that my daughter had to witness it.”

  Christian’s shoulders slumped further, Lizzie’s involvement another blow. Defeated, he choked over more guilty words, “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.” I caressed his back, ran my hand up his spine, and twisted my fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

  “You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened while you were away.”

  He looked at me over his shoulder. His beautiful face was il uminated by the light on the stairs and contorted in what could only be physical pain. “How can I not?” This time, I reached for him, turned him, and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  He exhaled his burden, groaning from somewhere deep within his chest when he wound a single arm around my waist and tugged me flush against his body. With the other, he brushed away my bangs, tucked the heavy lock of hair behind my ear, cupped my face, and ran his thumb over the long healed scar.

  My heart thrashed, protested its chains, loosened its binds.

  Dropping his hand from my face, he brought it to my hip and dug in his fingers to draw me closer. He massaged his way up my back and to my neck and buried his hand in my hair.

  Held me.

  Rocked me.

  Loved me.

  The clock against the wal chimed midnight.

  Christian pressed his heated cheek to mine and

  whispered, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”

  As Lizzie posed in front of the ful -length mirror in my bedroom, she slicked bright red lipstick across her lips, smearing more of it around her mouth and over her teeth than on her lips, and teetered in a pair of four-inch heels three times too big for her tiny feet.

  I laughed under my breath from where I watched her out of the corner of my eye and wondered where I’d left my camera.

  “Look at me, Mommy. Don’t I look pretty?” She spun in place, twirling the old red skirt I’d discarded on the floor as I’d dug through my closet for something to wear.

  Crossing the room, I took both of her tiny hands, whirled her around, and dipped her in an old-fashioned, impromptu dance. “You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” Then I tickled her and kissed her solidly on the cheek.

  She howled with laughter, her face red from both the lipstick and her surprise. She sobered, reached out, and touched my cheek as she searched my face with observant eyes.

  “You look real y pretty too, Mommy,” she said in quiet assurance, surely having noticed my nerves as I’d hunted through my clothes, tossing aside the modest outfits I typical y wore to work for something Natalie and my sisters would find appropriate for the night.

  I’d settled on a too short, black, tiered skirt, coupled it with a white ruffled blouse that showed just a bit too much cleavage, and, of course, a pair of much too high black heels. Even though it made me a bit self-conscious, I didn’t even bother to dress in something more conservative.

  Natalie would have just marched me straight back upstairs to change.

  Before I could thank Lizzie, the doorbel rang, and she wriggled from my arms and bolted out the door and down the stairs.

  Christian.

  A tremor of apprehension rol ed through me, flared, and bal
ed in my stomach as I heard his voice drift up from below.

  Sleep had evaded me for most of last night. I’d chased it, only to drift to the edges of unconsciousness to find myself back in his arms surrounded by his presence, begging for his touch. Panic would bring me back, jolting me up in bed, leaving me gasping for air as blood pounded through my veins.

  Those immeasurable minutes spent in Christian’s arms had felt so good, so right, like peace and eternity, made me feel as if I would choose to stay.

  Then the solace offered in my arms had shifted, and we’d both felt it—when it’d become more—when the heat of his body had washed over me in waves, hot and hard, nearly drowning me in his desire.

  I wouldn’t have had the strength to say no.

  It had only taken him untangling himself from my hold and forcing himself out my front door for me to slip back into fear, to question what I’d done—what I’d agreed to.

  In six weeks, I was supposed to go to New York with Christian, and I had no idea what that meant, what he expected, or what I could give.

  I shook my head, smoothed out my shirt, and adjusted my skirt, wishing not everything had to be so complicated. I wished that I didn’t have so much hurt buried inside, so many deep-seated fears. I wished I could trust in him and believe that this time he wouldn’t let me down.

  Most of al , I just wished to give up and give in.

  God, I wanted to give in.

  I clutched the railing for support at the top of the stairs as I looked down over my living room where Christian gazed up at me, hugging our daughter in his arms.

  He was in dark low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair unruly, his eyes intense. It was as if the moment our eyes connected our bodies picked up on where we’d left off last night. The energy was dense, swirling with need and dripping with want. It rained down, sucked us in, and urged me forward.

  Christian settled Lizzie onto the couch so she was Christian settled Lizzie onto the couch so she was facing the television, not in neglect but as if this were something she could take no part in, the moment too intimate, not to be shared.

  As I edged down the stairs, I watched him as he watched me, didn’t shy from the touch of his gaze, but welcomed it as it traveled down, kissed my body, and caressed my legs.

  His lips parted; tacit desire cal ed my name.

  I stopped a foot away.

  He hesitated and swal owed deeply before he final y took a step forward, assailing my senses as he placed a heated palm against my cheek. With the pad of his thumb, he caressed my jaw.

  I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch as the sweet of his breath washed over my face. I waited, wanting more than I should.

  His movements were tentative as he slanted forward and brushed his nose along the opposite cheek. He ran it to my ear and whispered, “You are so beautiful.” His words sent a thril rushing over my skin. He ghosted his lips over the same line and pressed his mouth against my jaw.

  I gasped and clutched his shoulders for support, unprepared for the onslaught of emotion—for the ache.

  For the first time, I was completely defenseless, subject to Christian’s mercy.

  Somewhere inside me, I knew he would hurt me; that once again he’d stolen my heart and held in his hand; that he had taken control and I didn’t know how to get it back.

  I recognized it in the panic I felt when he pul ed away, in I recognized it in the panic I felt when he pul ed away, in the way my nails burrowed into the skin of his shoulders and begged him— don’t let me go.

  Christian dropped his arm completely and stepped away. A low ahem made me turn my attention to a red-faced Matthew standing frozen in my doorway. He looked down and cringed over an apology.

  Natalie popped up on her tiptoes, peeking over Matthew’s shoulder to find what it was that had caused her husband to stumble to a standstil .

  I didn’t want to let go—ever.

  Elizabeth’s fingers burned into my skin and anchored in my soul.

  Did she understand how much I cherished her? As I pressed my mouth to her jaw and held her face, did she know that I was praising the goodness of her heart and her ability to forgive, and that I fel in love with her more and more each day?

  It took everything I had to pul away, to step back, but I knew where we were heading; and the last thing I wanted was an audience for the first kiss Elizabeth and I had shared in six years.

  Elizabeth was so wrapped up in the moment I’m sure she hadn’t even realized Matthew and Natalie were standing in her doorway with their mouths gaping.

  Spreading a frustrated hand through my hair, I looked to the opposite wal , hoping to quiet my thundering heart, to quel the roar screaming through my veins, demanding Elizabeth.

  When I looked back, Matthew remained frozen in the doorway and appeared to be studying Elizabeth. Natalie broke through the tension, pushed under her husband’s arm, and entered the room to embrace Elizabeth as if she hadn’t just walked in on one of the most pivotal moments of our lives. “Happy birthday, Liz. You ready to go?” I watched as Elizabeth nodded and returned Natalie’s hug before she gathered her purse and black sweater from the entryway table. She looked back at me warily. Once again, the two of us were propel ed back into the unknown, unsure of where we stood.

  I offered her a gentle smile, one that I hoped told her I understood, that I was scared too, but that I was finished wasting time—done wasting nights without those I loved.

  I’d boarded the flight from my father’s funeral with a newfound resolve, an unvoiced pledge to my daughter and to Elizabeth that I would final y make this right.

  It was time to take back my family.

  Natalie approached with a knowing smile, wrapped an arm around my waist, and grinned up at me. Draping an arm around her shoulder, I hugged her to my side and smiled down at the girl who had become my friend, my confidant, the one who seemed to get both Elizabeth and me. I dropped my arm from her shoulder to shake Matthew’s hand. His grip was firm but lacked any animosity. His eyes darted to Elizabeth before they rested on me as he shook my hand. It was clear he knew exactly what had been taking place between Elizabeth and me when he’d walked through the door. He squeezed once before he dropped my hand and nodded almost imperceptibly, seeming to be giving me both a blessing and a warning—a statement that he wouldn’t stand in our way; but it was also clear with whom his loyalties rested.

  His protectiveness didn’t bother me because my loyalties were in the very same place. I met his eyes with a nod.

  Natalie and Matthew smothered Lizzie in love and goodbyes, made her giggle as they teased her, and told her to make sure she took good care of her daddy while they were away.

  Elizabeth took Lizzie in her arms, hugged her close, ran a tender hand through our daughter’s hair, and whispered, “Have a great time with Daddy.” Elizabeth seemed uncertain when she stood and turned to me. Vacil ating emotions flickered across her face

  —need and love and too much fear. I’d recognized it in her touch when I’d stepped away, the fear that was rooted deep and clung to her like a disease.

  I’d spend my life driving it out.

  Extending my hand, I reached for her, pul ed her to my chest, and murmured against her ear, “I’l be waiting.” Reticent, I released her hand with a heavy breath and watched as the three of them filed out the front door. I prayed they’d be safe, counted on Matthew to bring my girl home safely to me, refusing myself the sudden surge of possessiveness I felt when I realized I wouldn’t be the one there to witness her on the dance floor with her friends or there to celebrate her birthday. It was shocking how badly I craved to be the man on her arm. But the last thing I had the right to was jealousy, so I forced those thoughts away and glanced at Lizzie who studied me with an astute curiosity from where she leaned over the back of the couch.

  I smiled at my precious daughter. “Guess it’s just you and me tonight, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie trailed me into the kitchen and helped prepare our dinner, a box of
pasta, white sauce, and fresh cut broccoli florets. She grinned at me from across the table as we ate our simple meal. Affection swel ed as I shared the evening with my sweet, sweet girl. I listened to her simple words, so honest and pure, and thanked God for grace because I knew there was nothing I’d done to deserve the sublime. Lizzie asked about New York—what it would be like and what we would see. Then in a quiet voice she asked, “Wil you hold my hand on the plane? I’m a little bit scared, Daddy . . . I’ve never been on a plane before.” I smiled at my daughter, brushed a hand through her bangs, and answered, “Only if you hold mine.”

  After dinner, I helped her into her sweater, and we stepped out into the crisp evening air. Hand-in-hand, we fol owed the sidewalk to the smal park at the end of the street. I pushed her high on the swings, chased her over the grassy hil s, relished in her laughter as I caught her at the bottom of the slide. My spirit danced as we played, rejoiced in this gift, my heart forever devoted to this precious child.

  When Lizzie began to shiver, we returned home and went upstairs where I bathed her in her mother’s alcoved bathroom. I fil ed the tub with bubbles and her smal bathtub toys and didn’t mind when her rambunctious play soaked my shirt. I let her splash and dunk until her fingers had shriveled and the water had turned cool.

  “Come here, sweetheart,” I gently prompted, helped her safely from the tub, and wrapped her in a huge, fluffy white towel. I ran it over her damp skin and dried her hair, wondering how I’d become so favored that in less than a year, my life had gone from completely empty to overflowing.

  “I love you so much, Daddy,” she professed as she peeked up at me through the towel wrapped around her head and body as I carried her to her room.

  Leaning down, I kissed her forehead and pressed her to my chest. “I love you more than anything, Lizzie.” Keen eyes probed my face as she whispered, “But you love Mommy, too.”

  My feet faltered, frozen, amazed at my young daughter’s poignant perception, far from oblivious, always aware.

  I should have known she would have noticed the change between Elizabeth and me in the last week, the newfound affection, the embraces, our timid touches.