The Regret Series Complete Collection Box Set: Lost to You, Take This Regret, and if Forever Comes (42 page)

I’d seen the shame Natalie bore, and I was the last person she could talk to during that time. I’d just been thankful Carrie had been there to keep her together while I’d helplessly watched her falling apart.

Mom and Donna dove into their favorite topic—greatly exaggerated stories of our youth. Each of us added our own memories to them. Laughter rang out, our smiles wide, the volume of our voices increasing with each story told, every glass emptied.

I found I was really enjoying myself, unable to remember feeling so relaxed in a very long time. It wasn’t as if I didn’t treasure every second with Lizzie. But Mom was right. I needed a break, a night without responsibility.

Natalie and Carrie grew louder, giggling and chatting amongst themselves, but not so wrapped up in each other that they weren’t a part of the rest of us.

Sarah finally moved from her post in the kitchen and took a seat beside me at the table. She groaned in pleasure when she
propped her feet up at the edge of my chair and sipped one of the drinks she’d been feeding Natalie and Carrie all night. I flashed a meaningful smile in her direction, one that told her she deserved a break too.

As the night progressed, we went around in a circle, each one filling in the rest of us on her life, what had happened since the last time we’d all met. Some stories were of little significance, others of great importance, our joys and struggles, the everyday, the life changing.

“So, how’s my sweet little Lizzie?” Mom asked, turning the attention to me.

Apparently, it was my turn.

“She’s doing great,” I answered without hesitation. I’m sure the smile on my face was a mile wide as I gushed with mother’s pride. It was so strange that my baby girl was now already in kindergarten, and I told them of how well she’d adjusted from preschool to “big girl” school as Lizzie liked to call it, how she blossomed every day, and how I worried if I closed my eyes for too long, when I opened them, she’d be a woman.

I opened and closed my mouth, unsure how to phrase it.

“Christian’s around . . . a lot,” I said carefully, hopeful not to upset Mom. Every time she’d asked, I’d skirted around the subject and never answered her directly. It wasn’t that I was trying to be dishonest or hide it from her. I just knew I wouldn’t know how to answer the questions she would have.

Just like now.

She frowned, the natural creases that lined her face deepening. “What does that mean?”

I tried to sound casual. “He just . . . tries to spend a lot of time with Lizzie.”

“Pssh . . . spend a lot of time with Lizzie?” Natalie cut in as she waved her hand in a gesture that said my statement was
ridiculous. Shaking her head, she leaned forward as if she had the juiciest bit of gossip to share. She should have known better, because to the occupants of this house, it was. “That man is at her house every day, and it’s
not
just to see Lizzie.”

I shot her a look that told her to
shut the hell up
.

“What?” Natalie asked in defense as if I should have no problem with her sharing something so private. “It’s not a big deal, Liz. I think it’s great . . . so does Matthew,” she added with a shrug.

A collective gasp went around the room, and that shock shifted to unease.

A mixture of embarrassment and anger flared on my face and heated my cheeks. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. I’d wanted to ease the rest of my family into the idea of Christian being a part of our lives, not have Nat giving them fuel for the assumptions I was sure they were already going to make. She knew my mother didn’t know Christian had become something so
significant
.

To the rest of these women, he was still the “infamous Christian Davison.”

“Are you back together with him?” Mom demanded with her brow knitted in what I could only assume was disgust. I couldn’t tell if that disgust was due to the idea of that being a reality or if she was hurt because she thought she’d been kept in the dark about something so important in my life.

“No . . . no . . . of course not . . . he’s just . . . ” I rambled, shaking my head, unsure of what to say because I had no explanation for what he was. I didn’t know myself.

“Well if you don’t want him, I’ll take him,” Carrie piped up, laughing through slurred words as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever said. “That is one gorgeous man.”

“Shut up, Carrie,” I spat in her direction. She had no right to say something like that, drunk or not.

She laughed, not even fazed that she’d upset me. She’d probably not even noticed.

“I mean, come on, Liz. Have you seen the man? You think he’s going stick around? Wait for you forever? Somebody’s gonna catch him.” She shrugged and smirked. “Might as well be me.”

My hands shook and tears pricked at my eyes. Right then, I hated my little sister.

“Shut up,” I said through gritted teeth, seething before I stood and slammed my wine glass down on the kitchen table. “Just shut the hell up!”

She sat back, shocked by my reaction, before a horrified expression crossed her face when she realized she’d really hurt me. “Oh, my—my God, Liz, I . . . I’m . . . ” she stuttered, reaching for me.

I shrugged her hand off and shook my head. I couldn’t listen to her right now.

I stormed from the room to the sound of Sarah’s mock applause. “That’s really great, Carrie. Real cute.”

“I didn’t mean . . . ” Carrie said, trying to defend herself, but stopping short when Sarah’s voice overtook hers.

“Just shut up, Carrie. You’ve said enough tonight.”

The door closed behind me, leaving me with trembling hands and the sound of muddled, heated words coming from the other room. I rushed to get my jacket on, shaking as I fumbled with the zipper on my bag and then flung it over my shoulder and onto my back.

The door swung open, and for a moment Aunt Donna’s words became clear as she scolded Natalie and Carrie as if they were schoolgirls who’d been caught smoking in the bathroom,
rebuking their banter, criticizing for inconsiderate words. Mom stood in the doorway, her eyes sympathetic and worried. As soon as they landed on my face, I broke. Tears rolled down my cheeks, hot and angry and hurt. She crossed the room and took me in her arms. She wiped my tears and whispered that Carrie didn’t mean what she’d said.

I shook my head against her shoulder, allowed myself to fall apart in her comfort. “I don’t know what to do,” I cried again and again, desperate for Mom to understand, to have an answer.

I didn’t know what to do.

She shushed me, pushed the matted hair from my face, and shook her head in empathy.

“Oh, Elizabeth, honey.” She tightened her hold and ran her hand through my hair. “I can’t tell you what to do, sweetheart. That’s something you’re going to have to decide for yourself,” she murmured against my head, a hopeless consolation.

I cried harder, clung to her, wished for the day when just her touch had eased my every fear, her advice an answer for my every question.

How could I ever decide if I could never know for sure that he wouldn’t hurt me or wouldn’t leave me once again?

She stepped back and lifted my chin, searching my face. “You still love him?”

I was sure she knew I did, had probably always known, although every word I’d ever spoken of Christian to her had been riddled with scorn.

Closing my eyes, I nodded once against her hand.

She released a heavy breath, and I opened my eyes to her slowly shaking her head. Her eyes were sad and she seemed to struggle with what to say.

After what he’d done, I knew it would take a very long time for her to forgive Christian for hurting her child so deeply, and I could see in her face that she was scared for me, scared for Lizzie. But I also knew she’d never ridicule me if I chose to be with him.

She turned up a small, understanding smile and reached out to squeeze my hands, a reiteration.
You have to decide for yourself
.

I squeezed back. “I love you, Mom.”

Her smile grew just a fraction. “I love you so much, Liz.”

She looked over her shoulder, back to me, and tugged on my hands. “Come on. Let’s not let this ruin our night.”

Grimacing, I stepped back and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I think I’m going to go home.” There were too many thoughts racing through my head, too much confusion, too many suppressed emotions vying for release.

Mom’s face fell. “Liz, honey . . . it’s late and you’ve been drinking.”

“I’ll call a cab. I just want to be alone.” It wasn’t really the truth. I just didn’t want to be here.

She sighed but offered no further argument and instead, stepped forward to take me in her arms again. She made no false promises, didn’t tell me that it would be okay, and didn’t tell me that it’d all work out. She simply smothered me in her warmth, showered me in love and unending support.

Finally, she dropped her arms and told me to call her if I wanted to talk.

“Night, Mom.”

“Goodnight.”

I stepped out, the cool night biting my flaming cheeks. I tugged my jacket tighter and hugged myself. I was feeling
embarrassed, foolish about my overreaction, vulnerable in my thoughts.

Sniffling away the evidence of my tears, I dug in my purse to find my phone and dialed the number I’d seen plastered on the side of taxicabs so many times before. The night was quiet, the city covered in a heavy sheet of dark gray sky. I breathed in the damp air, lifted my face to it, never felt more alone.

It took only a few minutes before headlights cut through the night and lit the street, and a taxicab came to a stop in front of my mother’s house. I stole one last glance behind me before I climbed into the backseat and gave the driver directions to my home.

Blowing the air from my lungs, I tried to clear my mind. My head lolled against the dingy vinyl seat, and I was unsure if the sick feeling in my stomach stemmed from the excess alcohol in my system or from the confrontation I’d just had with my sister.

My phone buzzed in my lap with a text message, then buzzed again and again with a progressive string of apologies from my little sister begging for forgiveness, promising she was just kidding, that she didn’t really mean it, that she loved me.

I knew I really wasn’t upset with my sister, but with the truth of what she’d said. Christian wouldn’t wait around forever.

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 fallen in love? Would I be able to smile and tell him how happy I was for him? Could I give him encouragement? Offer advice?

I rolled 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 yellow 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 wallet 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 fallen asleep thinking of him falling 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 about to share the day-to-day.

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, willing 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 calling, asking about Lizzie an easy excuse. Would he know that it wasn’t the true reason I called? Would he know I was already certain that my daughter was fine, safe and happy and resting easily in the small 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 fall. Or maybe I’d just jump.

I shook my head.

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 called 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 really 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.