Written with You (The Regret Duet #2)(3)

It was slight at first, the tiniest chin quiver ever witnessed. But my heart soared knowing she was still in there.

I took her hand in both of mine and brought it up to rest on my chest. “It’s me and you, Hadley. It’s always been me and you. I’m here. Be here with me. I’m begging you. Just be here with me.”

I was damn near euphoric as I watched it happen. Her tough exterior crumbling to reveal that familiar broken and scared little girl was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

My sister was still in there, lost in addiction, stolen by an obsession, and shattered by a gruesome past that owned us both.

But she was in there. Therefore, I was there too.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “I should have told you about Keira. I should have…” She didn’t finish the thought before pulling me into a hug.

Hadley gave the best hugs. They were just like our mother’s—so warm and soothing, like the perfect cocoon of assurance.

“I didn’t know what to do with a baby,” she confessed. “It was a really…dark time.”

I returned her embrace, hoping it was even a fraction as good as hers. “I know I’m a nosy little brat and read all your journals.” We both half laughed and half sobbed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I can’t imagine how scared you had to be when you were in labor. I should have been there.”

She loosened her hold on me and leaned away to capture my gaze. “Stop. You didn’t know.”

“I feel like—”

“No. Please. I don’t want to talk about this right now. Let me sober up. Let’s order some food and then maybe watch a movie? You finally watch TV now, right?”

I laughed sadly. “You’d be so proud. I ordered Netflix and everything.”

“Gasp!” she said with a teasing half smile. “You rebel.”

I smiled back at her. “We’re going to figure this out. Okay? No matter what it takes. We’re going to figure this out.”

“Okay.” She rubbed the pad of her thumb over my tear-streaked cheek. “Go wash your face. Your mascara is running like you were in a horror movie.”

Truth be told, our entire life had been a horror movie. It was nothing new. But maybe it could be.

Hadley had a daughter.

We could be a family again.

And that family, in some crazy way, now included Caven Hunt.

I could spend the rest of my life being bitter and jealous that she’d gone after him. That she’d slept with him. Made a baby with him. Given that child to him to raise on his own.

But my family was more important than any of that.

Hadley had a daughter.

I had a niece.

Her name was Keira.

That was all that mattered.

And as I walked back from the bathroom two minutes later after washing my face and grabbing my phone to order delivery, I realized that that little girl was all that would ever matter.

Because Hadley was gone.

So were my keys.

My purse.

And my heart.





CAVEN



Present day…



“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you,” I sang as I carried a cake covered with rainbow sprinkles and a bonfire of candles out to the back deck. Rosalee was leading the march, swaying under the sheer weight of the pink gift bag she was hauling with both hands.

I’d felt like an ass for not buying anything for Hadley. But I hadn’t even known it was her birthday until the night before. I also hadn’t known I was going to end my night fucking us both into oblivion.

Luckily, my girl was the MacGyver of birthday presents. She’d made an entire bag full of gifts for Hadley in twenty minutes with nothing more than the two markers she owned that hadn’t dried out, six broken crayons, two rocks, a paperclip, and four cotton swabs she’d snuck out of my bathroom.

Now, what was in that bag? I had no idea. But I knew with an absolute certainty that Hadley would love each and every one of them. For as much as she oohed and ahhed during “art classes,” they would be her most cherished possessions for no other reason than Rosalee had made them. I got it. It was the same reason I held multimillion-dollar business deals in my office surrounded by crayon drawings rather than pretentious paintings to impress clients.

When you’re a parent, anything your child touches is priceless. It becomes a memory, an age trapped in time. And while I was still struggling with the fact that Hadley was her mother and what that meant for my future, there was no denying that she loved Rosalee something fierce.

“Happy birthday, dear Ha—” I abruptly stopped singing when I caught sight of her standing on the deck.

Standing.

Not sitting and relaxing the way I’d told her to when I’d sent her out back so we could finish preparing the cake. She was tense, her face pale, and her smile so fake it instantly set me on edge. I cut my gaze to my brother as Rosalee and Jenn finished off the final verse of the song. He was grinning, a beer in his hand, nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that he was alone outside with her.

Still feeling like a dick for not warning her how much he looked like Malcom, I’d asked him to give her space. When I looked at Trent, I didn’t see our father anymore. I saw the nineteen-year-old kid who had done his best to protect me when the flames of our father’s hell had surrounded us after the shooting.