Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(44)

Caven laughed, and I took the second to relish in the sound.

I liked seeing him like that. Happy, content, guilt-free.

And more than anything I loved that he’d made a life for himself after everything he’d gone through.

He deserved it.

He’d always deserved it.

Which was why my decision to come back had almost never happened.

“Invite Ms. Banks in, Rosie.”

Rosie. Be still my heart, he called her Rosie. How freaking cute was that?

She reached out and grabbed my hand, tugging on it as I returned to my full height.

It was crazy the way children could heal a broken soul.

As I walked through that door, I wasn’t just following a little girl with wild, red curls.

I was following my mother.

My father.

My sister.

Our whole family was holding my hand for the first time in eighteen years.

And Caven, the boy who had saved my life, was right there, his smile small but his warmth consuming me all the same.

I paused before she pulled me past him. “Would it be okay if she calls me Hadley? Ms. Banks always makes me feel like my mother.”

His face filled with apology. “Of course. I’m—”

“Don’t say sorry.” It was a risk. But everything, including coming back, had been a risk. That was a big part of living in the seconds. So, without concern for how he might react, I reached out and caught his hand, giving it a tender squeeze.

He glanced at our connection, something dark flashing across his face, but he didn’t pull away. He just stared, heartbreaking and lost. But for the first time ever, I stared back at him with hope for a better future—for all of us.

I released his hand and succumbed to Rosalee’s relentless tugging, allowing her to drag me through the house.

And through it all, I felt Caven’s gaze on my back.

She held my hand as we entered a large open-concept living room, kitchen, and dining combination that smelled of garlic and oregano. It was set up similarly to my place, but everything was nicer. A lot nicer. Mine was decorated better though. His was all muted grays and browns, not a primary color in sight unless I counted the few rogue building blocks that had tumbled out of the wicker basket in the corner. Everything was clean and tidy—again, something we had in common. My attention was on the tall built-in bookshelves on either side of his fireplace ,where several rows of children’s books lined the bottom, when a woman’s voice surprised me.

“Rosalee,” an older Hispanic woman with beautiful raven hair called as she walked toward us.

I braced for more of the detest Ian had slapped me with, but she offered me a kind smile.

“Hi, I’m Alejandra. Can I borrow Rosalee for a few minutes?”

“No!” Rosalee whined. “She’s going to let me melt crayons, Ale.”

“Well, that sounds…messy. I’m sure Ms. Banks can—”

“Hadley,” Caven corrected. “We can all call her Hadley. Even you, Rosie Posie.”

Rosie Posie.

Dear. Lord. Forget about crayons. I was the one who was going to melt.

“Okay, then,” Alejandra said. “I’m sure Hadley can wait a few minutes to get started. I need you to pick out a dress for picture day at school this week. Your dad bought a few new ones today that you can choose from.”

Her whole little body jerked like she’d been struck by lightning. “Are they pretty dresses?”

“Uhhh…” She pointedly avoided Caven’s gaze. “Well… He tried. That’s the important thing.”

I bit back a smile at the idea of Caven Hunt strolling through the dress section for his baby girl’s picture day at preschool.

“Ugh,” Rosalee groaned. “Cats again?”

“What’s wrong with cats?” Caven defended. “You begged for that cat dress a few weeks ago.”

“But now I like ferrets.”

“You don’t even know what a ferret looks like.”

“Yes, I do. They look like my very favorite animal in the world.”

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh.

Rosie saw it.

Caven too.

But they were too busy in a heated debate over ferrets to pay me any mind.

Caven planted a hand on his hip. “Maybe you should have Hadley teach you how to draw a ferret tonight.”

She planted her hand on her hip right back. “I don’t need her to teach me. I already know.”

And that’s when I really saw it.

She looked like my mom.

She had her father’s lips.

But her attitude? That was a hundred percent my sister.

“Then you know it’s a long weasel-looking rat, right?” Caven argued. “Just like that stuffed animal Uncle Ian got you.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Afraid so, baby doll.”

She crinkled her nose. “Have you ever even seen a ferret?”

“Yes,” Caven answered decisively. “And it looks like a rat.”

“No!” She stretched her hands high above her head. “It’s tall and has a long neck and curly hair and big lips.”

“A giraffe?”

She huffed. “No. A ferret.”

Setting my bag on the floor, I pulled my phone out and Googled: tall long neck curly hair big lips.