Page 52 of Written with Regret (The Regret Duet 1)
I’d have bet fifty dollars that, much like me at the front door, he’d practiced this conversation, including that casual, completely-not-causal lean at least a dozen times before I’d arrived.
Something about him being nervous too set me at ease.
The paper was written in legal jargon, but I gathered the gist.
No telling Rosie that I was her biological mother and/or family member, implied or otherwise.
No telling her about the shooting at the Watersedge Mall, including any reference to how my parents died.
No telling her who Caven’s father was, his name, or his role in the shooting.
And last but not least, no mentioning that she’d been left on his doorstep or abandoned at any point.
He was right; all of this was very straightforward. Which was why I was so confused when I looked up and found him watching me with a hard expression.
“She’s too young,” he said. “For all of this. I hate lying to her, but she’s four. It’s my job to keep this kind of sludge from seeping into her life.” He paused and let out a groan. “And I don’t mean to insinuate that you’re sludge, but our past most certainly is.”
“Caven,” I whispered, closing the distance between us. “I understand.”
He didn’t even flinch as I placed my hand on his forearm, that hum in my veins becoming deafening at the contact.
I had to stop touching him all the time.
He was starting to get used to it.
And I was starting to crave it more and more.
I’d work on that the next day though, because in the moment, I’d have done anything to ease the guilt carved into his handsome features.
“You don’t need to explain anything to me. You’re right. Everything from the moment we met has been covered in sludge. But not her. I know you don’t trust me, but I swear I’m on your team. We can work together to make sure it never touches her. I’m completely content being Hadley the art teacher. She doesn’t need to know anything else.” With that, I released his arm, picked up the pen, and signed my name.
Beautiful relief sifted through him, all the way down through his tall, muscular frame. “Thank you.”
I didn’t want his thanks.
I hadn’t earned his gratitude.
But I would eventually.
Until then, all I could do was try to make this adjustment easier on everyone involved. A little levity went a long way in the middle of a raging storm.
Slapping a hand over my chest, I swung my gaze around the empty kitchen, talking to no one as I asked, “Did he just thank me? Me. Hadley the Terrible?” I replied for no one too. “I think he did.”
He glowered as he slid the paper back into the envelope and sealed it with the brass clip. This particular glower though was packed with only slightly more heat than Rosalee’s.
Meaning he did it with a sly curl to his lips.
Also meaning it stole my breath.
He shoved the envelope back in the drawer. “Maybe. But I also locked up my computer, tablet, and wallet in the safe, so I’m not sure we’re out of the woods yet.”
It wasn’t funny. It was actually sad. But it gave me hope that we were making progress.
“And he made a joke?” I told my invisible friends.
He tipped his head to the side, still smiling, thus still wreaking havoc on my heart. “Oh, that was no joke.” He stopped just on the wrong side of close—the right side being pressed against me—and dipped his head so his lips were painfully close to my ear. “I hope you’re serious about this, because if you break her heart, I will ruin you.”
As his breath drifted across my neck like a feather, drawing a chill from my skin, it wasn’t Rosalee’s heart that I was worried about.
But that was my problem.
He didn’t know how often I’d thought about him since the shooting or dreamed of him every night for the majority of my adolescence.
Or how, in the middle of a raging storm, it was his eyes that would flash on the backs of my lids.
And if I was careful, he never would.
“We were both ruined a long time ago, Caven. Maybe it’s time for us to clear the wreckage and rebuild. Starting with her.”CAVEN“Oh my—”
“Don’t say God,” I corrected Rosalee from my spot at the end of the dining room table, where she and Hadley had set up art station central. I had my laptop open and was going through some of the data Ian had sent over from the Lance Goodman deal. The man had been blowing up my phone wondering where his money was, and while legal was still going through all the contract and bank statements, something just didn’t feel right.
“Why not?” Rosalee argued. “Molly says ‘oh my God’ all the time.”
“I’m not Molly’s dad.”
“I know. Her dad lets her eat donuts for breakfast when it’s not even her birthday.”
