Written with Regret (The Regret Duet #1)(56)

Regardless of how much my body objected when I released her.

“We should probably go check on her,” she whispered, backing away.

“Yeah.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “I’ll give you a few minutes. Let me know if you need anything.”

I turned and pulled open the door.

“Hey, Caven?”

I didn’t have the strength to look at her again. “Yeah?” I replied, my gaze trained on the handle of the door.

“Thank you.” Her voice broke and the jagged edges of her gratitude raked across my skin.

I didn’t deserve it, but I could make damn sure she knew I would always be there.

Putting my chin to my shoulder, I caught her gaze. “Anytime, Hadley. If you ever need someone who can understand, I’ll be there. And not just about Rosalee.”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with the most profound regret. “You too, okay? I’m here if you ever need to talk…or something.”

Or something. That was what I was scared of.

As I forced myself out of that bathroom, I definitely wanted to take her up on the or something.

Fuck. My. Life.





CAVEN


“Daddy, look!” Rosalee yelled when I reached the top of the stairs. She had her arms and legs stretched between the doorjambs, scaling to the top.

“Get down from there,” I rumbled, closing in on her.

“Did you know I could do this?”

I folded her over my shoulder and carried her into her bedroom. “I know you just busted your lip, and I’m hoping not to add a broken leg to tonight’s laundry list of injuries.”

She bounced on her twin bed when I gently tossed her onto it. “Did Hadley leave?”

“She did. She told me to tell you bye for her.”

“Why didn’t she tell me herself?”

Because she’d been crying and neither of us wanted to explain to you why. Oh, and there was also the tiny little fact that I hadn’t been able to keep my hands off her and nearly suffocated in the desire to kiss her in that damn bathroom. So, when the door opened, we both sprinted out of there in opposite directions like two feral cats. Ya know. The regular stuff.

I sat on the edge of her bed, knocking off approximately twelve stuffed animals in the process. “She…had an emergency and had to go.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“Art.”

“What kind of art?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. My head was still a mess after my coulda, woulda, shoulda moment with Hadley. I was not prepared for an inquisition. “Paint.”

“What happened to her paint?”

“Her…cat knocked it over. It got all over her carpet and her alarm went off and she had to rush home to clean it before it dried. Fingers crossed everything works out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hadley doesn’t have a cat.”

I poked her belly. “You don’t know that.”

She squirmed, laughing. “Yes, I do. She’s allergic to them. So I’m never getting one on my farm. But she’s not allergic to llamas or emus, so I can have as many of those as I want.”

“What the heck is an emu?”

“A really big bird.”

I leaned back on the bed, spreading my arm wide in invitation, and she didn’t delay in curling into my side. “I thought you were scared of birds. You once dove into shark-infested waters to escape a seagull at the beach.”

“There weren’t any sharks.” She popped her head up, worry crinkling her nose. “Were there?”

“Nah. I’m kidding.”

She lay back down, draping her arm across my stomach, going straight for the scar on my side.

She’d had an obsession with the two scars on my abdomen since she was a baby. She would lie on my chest or at my side, rubbing her chubby little fingers back and forth over the puckered flesh.

I’d hated it at first.

I hated those scars and the nightmares that accompanied them.

And I’d hated that something as pure and good as my Rosalee would even touch such filth.

But God was doing something right, because my baby girl loved them. Over time, I’d stopped associating them with how I’d gotten them and instead connected them with the perfection and comfort I felt as she fell asleep in my arms while stroking them.

And still, four years later, it didn’t matter if I was wearing a shirt or not. That was where her hands always went.

“Did you know Hadley had a guinea pig when she was little?”

I kissed the top of her head. “Really?”

“Yeah, her sister named it Bacon. She thought that was a funny name, but I don’t know why because she said it didn’t eat bacon or anything. A guinea pig isn’t a real pig. Did you know that?” She didn’t take a breath long enough for me to answer. “It’s a little guy with lots of hair. Well, not all of them have lots of hair. Hadley showed me a picture of one on her phone and it had no hair at all. It looked kinda gross. But I told her if she comes and visits me on my farm that I’ll let her keep a guinea pig there.”

“Wow, you are racking up some serious animals. Maybe you should start a zoo instead of a farm.”

“Zoos have snakes. I hate snakes.”