Take This Regret (11 page)

her tiny toes painted pink. My baby girl liked pink. The soft skin of her arms and legs was pale and smooth.

Desperately wishing to hold her, I wanted nothing more than to have her wrap her arms around my neck.

Smiling softly when I looked back at her face, I spoke for the first time to my daughter. “Hi, Lizzie.” She giggled. “Hi.”

The sound of her laugh took my breath away.

“I’m . . .” Suddenly, I became very uneasy, unsure of how to introduce myself. Wary, I glanced up at Elizabeth, hoping for direction, an indication of how she would want me to proceed. She glared at me almost as if she were daring me to say it.

Swal owing heavily, I opened my mouth once more, trying to force out the words, “I’m your—” Lizzie laughed again. “I know who you are, sil y. You’re my daddy.”

Daddy.

I was struck with the magnitude of what that meant, the responsibility of being a father. Waves of devotion swept through me as I silently promised her I would always be there for her, would always love her, would be the best father I could possibly be.

Nodding slowly, I reached a shaky hand out to her face, running the back of my hand along the softness of her cheek. “Yes, I’m your daddy.”

A wounded cry escaped Elizabeth, and she jerked, her body shrinking away from us while she stil held onto Lizzie’s hand as if she were trying to remove herself from the situation without leaving her daughter’s side. She turned her face as far from us as possible but not far enough to hide the stream of tears that flowed down her cheeks.

Guilt that would have brought me to my knees brought me to my feet. Stepping to her side, I tried to meet her face.

“Elizabeth.” It came out strangled and smal , fil ed with desperation.

She put up her hand to block the obvious apology that was coming. “Just . . . don’t.”

Dropping her hand and shifting her focus from me, she looked down at Lizzie, and her hardened face melted into sudden tenderness. “Let’s get something to eat, sweetheart.”

Lizzie nodded with excitement and fol owed her mother, Elizabeth’s hold stil firm on our daughter’s hand. I trailed by a few steps, getting in line directly behind them.

While a gentleman would have volunteered to pay, I was wise enough to know the firestorm that particular offer would bring. I watched in adoration as Lizzie swayed beside her mother, glancing over her shoulder at me every few seconds and flashing me the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. I loved her—so much so it hurt, and with each second that passed, it only grew.

After ordering, Elizabeth moved aside, and I stepped to the register. Honestly, the last thing I felt like doing was eating, but I asked for first thing I saw when I glanced at the menu. I al owed Elizabeth to lead, fol owing her and my child to fil our drinks before setting my tray on the opposite side of the table from them.

It was probably the most awkward situation I’d ever been in as I slid into the booth. I watched as Elizabeth hovered over the table. She took their food from the tray and put it on the table, jamming straws into their drinks and refusing to meet my face. The worst part was I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Very unsuccessful y, I tried not to ogle her as she leaned in, tried to ignore how the grey tank top she wore exposed just a hint of the swel of her breasts, tried to pretend her tight black jeans didn’t remind me of the perfection of her body and how it had felt against mine.

Damn it, Christian. Get yourself together.
This was not why I was here. That reason suddenly climbed into the spot beside me, shocking me by choosing to sit next to me.

I grinned at her and scooted down a little to make room for her. She sat on her knees so she could reach the table, and then inched even closer so we were touching. Instinctively, I wrapped my arm around her back and pul ed her closer, nestling her against my side. It felt amazing. Then she
kissed
my cheek.

I froze, overcome with the staggering warmth created with that one simple gesture. I stared at her, unwil ing to look away from the love swimming in Lizzie eyes.

“Lizzie, please eat your dinner.”

Affectionately, I patted my daughter’s side, gesturing with my head toward her food. As much as I didn’t want break the connection we’d just shared, the bond we were building, I hoped to keep from upsetting Elizabeth any more than I already had.

Eating in front of Elizabeth felt odd. We’d shared what seemed like a mil ion meals before, but now I felt extremely self-conscious as I took smal bites of my burger, feeling on edge as silence loomed over the table. Elizabeth appeared even more uncomfortable, probably because of the glances I kept sneaking at her every chance I got.

I had missed her so badly, never imagining I’d see her again. My eyes wandered over her face, taking in the changes and al that remained the same. She was thinner now, her cheekbones more prominent but not to the point of appearing unhealthy as she did when I had seen her just appearing unhealthy as she did when I had seen her just weeks before she had given birth to Lizzie. Her hair was mostly the same, stil dark blond and woven with natural highlights just a shade lighter than the rest, though she now wore long bangs that continual y seemed to fal over her eyes. When she’d push them aside, I would glimpse a foreign scar that ran just above her left eye. My gut wrenched with the possibilities of where it had come from. I stayed away from her honey-colored eyes as much as possible, not wishing to see the repulsion I knew I would find there.

Lizzie ate her nuggets and apples quietly, almost reserved, as if she could sense the tension in the air.

Hugging her body closer, I tried to pul her attention away from the sad place her mind seemed to have gone and whispered against her head, “I’m so happy to be here with you.”

She turned to me, her expression hopeful. “Real y?” I wanted to ask her why she would think I wouldn’t be, but I already knew the answer. Instead, I reassured her with a resolute nod of my head. “Real y.”

With that, her insecurities seemed to fade away, and she launched into what seemed to be an impromptu game of twenty questions. She would ask me something, and after I answered, I would ask her a variation of the same question in return. It made me terribly sad that I was asking my daughter these things for the first time when she was almost five years old, but the fact remained that I didn’t know what she did on a daily basis, her favorite foods, her favorite places. I didn’t know what made her scared or favorite places. I didn’t know what made her scared or made her cry. I learned today that it was seeing her mommy cry. I wanted to tel her it made me sad, too, but couldn’t find the courage to say it aloud.

Elizabeth squirmed through our conversation, never offering an opinion and only answering when Lizzie specifical y asked something of her. Many times, she looked away, holding her jaw rigid, though it stil shook as she seemed to struggle through every minute of the conversation Lizzie and I shared. The only time she added anything was when Lizzie asked me where I lived, and I told her down near the water on Harbor. Elizabeth huffed and visibly rol ed her eyes as she mouthed a sarcastic “nice.” I winced, expecting her anger but not her spite.

Lizzie, on the other hand, was thril ed to hear I lived by the water. She bounced in her seat as she squealed, “You live at the beach?”

Lizzie kept up an almost constant chatter as we ate—

not that I minded. She had the sweetest voice I’d ever heard. She drifted closer the longer we talked, so close she was nearly sitting in my lap by the time she finished off her last nugget. She continual y smiled and constantly reached out to touch my face and hug my neck.

I felt so unworthy of the affection she gave. She loved so freely, trusted so easily. Would she feel the same when the innocence of her mind faded away, when she understood the meaning of betrayal?

“Al done,” she sang as she swal owed her last bite.

“Can I play now, Momma?”

Elizabeth nodded tightly. It was apparent she would Elizabeth nodded tightly. It was apparent she would prefer not to be left alone with me. I, on the other hand, had been praying I’d have a chance to talk to her in private.

Lizzie started to scramble down, but she paused and looked at me. “Daddy, is it okay if I play now?” Trying to be discrete, I glanced over to Elizabeth, sure the simple sentence would cause her great distress, before uttering softly, “Of course, sweetheart.” I understood what that sentence meant. She had accepted me, not only as her daddy, but also as her parent. Clearly, Elizabeth understood it too. Her face flashed red, burning resentment.

I watched my daughter until she disappeared into a red tube before I slowly turned to face Elizabeth. She leaned heavily on the table, staring at a fry she absentmindedly swirled in ketchup.

“Elizabeth,” I said tentatively, hoping for once to have a civil discussion with her. She lifted her head, leveling her eyes at me. I sighed, averting my gaze as I ran my hand over the back of my neck, trying to chase away some of the tension before I gathered enough courage to look directly at her.

“Thank-you.” I needed her to know how grateful I was that she was giving me a chance, even if it didn’t seem like she real y wanted to give it.

“You didn’t leave me much of a choice now, did you, Christian?” she said, her voice low and ful of hostility.

I shook my head, stupefied. “What are you talking about?”

“Are you joking?” she asked incredulously, hissing,

“You’re real y going to sit there and act like you didn’t threaten to take me to court if I didn’t al ow you to see her?”
Shit.
I should have known. The idle threat I’d made was the only reason I’d been al owed to see my daughter.

Elizabeth hadn’t
chosen
to let me see Lizzie. She felt she’d been
forced
to.

What an ignorant asshole I continual y proved to be.

For one brief, self-indulgent moment, I considered not making the correction.

But while I wanted nothing more than to see Lizzie, to have a relationship with her, and to be a part of her life, there was no way I could go on with Elizabeth living in fear that one day I would try to take Lizzie away from her. If I were ever going to earn her trust back, I would have to start by being honest.

“No, Elizabeth.” I leaned into the table, speaking barely above a whisper, “I won’t do that. I was upset that you weren’t returning my cal s, and . . . I . . . I just got caught up in the moment, and it came out. I won’t put you through that .

. . I won’t.” I made the promise as I searched her face, praying she’d believe what I said, and praying even harder she wouldn’t be angered further by the realization that she’d essential y been tricked into this meeting. When I’d threatened to bring the courts into it while I was at her work, I’d immediately wished I could take the words back. Law was what I knew, what came natural y, and it had dropped from my mouth before I could stop it. I would never want to put Elizabeth through something as harrowing as a child custody battle. I was certain we could work this out between us.

She sat up straight as she shook her head in disbelief.

Oozing cynicism, she said, “You always manage to get your way, don’t you, Christian? I always knew you’d make the best lawyer. What was it you used to say? ‘Twist it until it fits?’ ”

“Elizabeth . . . ,” I pleaded. Manipulating her had never been my goal, but somehow I’d managed to do it without even realizing it. I should have made it clear then, when I’d seen the look on her face, but I’d been too injured by her parting words that it had never dawned on me what had spurred them. “I’m sorry.”

“You say that a lot.”

I shifted uncomfortably, muttering as I stumbled over my remorse. “I have a lot to be sorry for.” The hardness on her face faltered, her eyes washed in sadness, before the wal s were back in place. But in that fleeting moment of vulnerability, I saw it, the light that had been Elizabeth, and it gave me hope.

Elizabeth jerked as she heard
Mommy
cal ed from somewhere above.
Daddy
fol owed quickly after. I looked up to find Lizzie waving wildly from a clear plastic orb that nearly touched the high ceiling. Irrational fear gripped me when I saw her. Logical y, I knew these playgrounds were made for children, designed for their safety, but I couldn’t help the chil that shot down my spine. My eyes darted to Elizabeth who waved with just as much excitement at Lizzie. I turned back, waving too, though clearly without the enthusiasm the two of them shared.

“Isn’t she a little smal to be up there by herself? It seems a little . . . high.”

Elizabeth continued to wave as she spoke through her obviously forced smile, “It’s terrifying being a parent, isn’t it?” For the first time, her voice lacked its biting edge, and it felt like her assertion was more for herself than for me.

Gazing up at Lizzie, I could do nothing but agree.

“Terrifying.”

In silence, Elizabeth and I continued to watch Lizzie, each of us turned to sit sideways at the end of the booth.

The question had been burning in my mouth the entire time we’d been here, and I final y found myself bold enough to ask it before I no longer had the chance. “So, you and Matthew aren’t?” The pregnant pause supplied the rest.

Elizabeth jerked her head toward me, clearly shocked by my question. “What? No.” Her nose wrinkled in the way it always had when she seemed genuinely confused by something. “What . . . how did you?” Her brow creased as she looked at me, puzzled.

“I just—”

She stopped me when the shock seemed to wear off.

“You know what? What I do with my personal life is none of your business.” Shaking her head, she pushed her bangs aggressively from her face before turning her attention back to Lizzie.

Right. None of my business. Frustrated, I leaned on my elbows digging them into my knees and raked my hands over the back of my head while I stared at my shoes.

A now-familiar warmth spread through me, and I looked up, coming face-to-face with a very excited little girl.

“Did you see me up there, Daddy?” She pointed proudly at the clear bal . “I was so high!”