Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(50)

“Wait.”

She stabbed the start button before fumbling with her seat belt. “Caven, it’s okay. Really. I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Walking around to the opening, I rested my forearm on the roof and bent down so I could see her. Her chin was to her chest as she peered at her lap.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Look at me.” I blanched when her bright-green eyes came up, tears filling them all over again. “I don’t mind if you call her Rosie. And I hate that you had to ask me that, and worse that you were notably nervous while you did it. But I appreciate it. I know this isn’t easy on you. And the fact that you recognize that it’s hard on me too, well…that means a lot. So, thanks.”

“I’m trying, Caven. It’s such a weird position to be in. I feel like she’s mine in my heart, but then I know she’s yours in every other way. The lines are all so blurry.”

I dug my wallet out of my back pocket and slipped out the picture I always carried inside. I updated it every year on her birthday, and despite Hadley’s reappearance, that year had been no different. It was the first picture my baby didn’t look like a baby anymore. Laughing in the backyard with bubbles all around her, she resembled a teenager more than the eight pounds of terrifying I’d held in the hospital.

Passing the laminated photo to Hadley, I said, “She’s not blurry though. I think, no matter what happens, as long as she’s our focus, everything else will be clear.”

She bit her bottom lip, more tears welling in her eyes. “Can I—”

“You can keep it.”

Her shoulders rounded forward as she clutched the picture to her chest. “She’s an amazing kid, Caven. You should be so proud.”

“I am. Every single day.”

“Thank you for this. It’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.”

“Yeah, well. The same could be said about you giving me her.”

The tears finally fell as she nodded.

I nodded back, patting the top of her car and knowing it was time to go.

And then I stood there.

Staring at her.

Like.

A.

Fucking.

Idiot.

Again.

Much like the last time my legs had broken free of my brain, she put me out of my awkwardness. “Have a good day, Caven.”

I shut her door, mumbling, “You too.” Then I watched her drive away with the strangest feeling of dread settling in my stomach.





HADLEY


I put my car into park and looked at the clock on my dash.

Four-fifty. Great I had ten minutes to kill before I could go inside. That was going to be nothing short of torture to my kid-on-Christmas-morning soul.

Three months ago, I’d have been cursing Hump Day and its unfair distance to the weekend. Not that a photographer worked set hours or days of the week, but gallery buyers who would never pay R.K. Banks prices, marketing experts with no real experience, and all-around general spammers seemed to take a few days off. So, on the weekends, my life was blissfully quiet.

But now on Wednesdays, I saw Rosalee. Save for Saturday, when I also saw her, it was my favorite day of the week.

For the last three months, my life had been blissfully dull. Beth came over every Thursday morning and Saturday afternoon to get an update—a.k.a.: to interrogate me—on how my visits were going. She didn’t trust Caven. She didn’t trust this agreement. She was convinced that he had a nanny cam aimed at me, waiting for me to slip up and say or do something he could use against me in court.

She was right. He probably did.

At least, if he was smart, he did.

I didn’t care. I wasn’t slipping up with Rosie.

During my time “teaching” her art—yes, even I was using air-quotes now—I’d highly underestimated a four-year-old’s attention span. We’d made it through Roy G Biv and… Well, that was about it educationally speaking. But she was still learning, even if it was things like tie-dying T-shirts and making friendship bracelets. Come on. Braiding was a necessary skill for a child. Especially one with hair like mine who would look like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical socket if she didn’t dry it before going to bed. Trust me, last-minute braids came in handy.

Besides, I loved doing all the silly arts and crafts with her. When I was a kid, my mom used to make a big deal out of our projects. She’d kept boxes upon boxes of all the knickknacks we’d made together over the years.

Now, I had boxes and boxes of stuff Rosalee had created. We made two of everything, sometimes three, so sneaking one out in my bag at the end of our time together wasn’t a big deal. I had big plans to decorate my studio with her work as soon as the contractors were finished. Which, let’s be honest, at the rate they were going, it might have been never.

Though that would give me time to gather more pieces from the Rosalee Hunt collection. I just hoped it wasn’t long enough for me to add her high school diploma.

If I’d thought I’d loved her the first time I saw her, nothing had prepared me for getting to know her. She was so damn smart.

And sweet.

And funny.

And bright.

And…everything.

My heart was so full when I was with her that it actually hurt.

And then, when I inevitably had to say goodbye for a few more days, it hurt even more.