Written with You (The Regret Duet #2)(41)

My gaze jumped to his, emotion swirling in my chest. He was going to let me read her a book. It was something so small, but to me, it meant so much.

“Will you read—”

“Yes,” I replied immediately. “Absolutely. Whatever book you want. I’m there.”

“Good, I’m going to pick a really, really long one so maybe you’ll fall asleep like Daddy does and then you won’t have to sleep in the stinking guestroom.”

I gasped and clutched my chest. “The guestroom is stinky? What’s it smell like?”

“Like brown. It’s all brown.”

Caven chuckled. “We’ve established you aren’t a fan of my decorating, but not everything can be pink. As far as I know, Willow isn’t allergic to brown, right?”

“Nope. Not at all.” I looked back at Rosalee and waved my hand front of my nose, making her giggle.

“Traitor,” Caven mumbled.

I shot him a megawatt smile and let Rosalee pull me to my feet and then straight up the stairs.

We read six books. Six long books. Rosalee only heard five and a half of them though because she fell asleep while the princess was still stuck in the tower. With her curled into my side, I was in no rush to move, so I finished reading. And even after that, I remained in her bed, watching her sleep until my lids got heavy. As I drifted off beside her, I decided she was right. The brown guestroom really did stink.

I didn’t know how long I’d been out when I was startled awake by a man standing over me.

“Shhh,” he whispered, scooping me into his arms.

It took several heartbeats for my mind to make sense of the fact that it was Caven and he was carrying me out of Rosalee’s room, the day coming back to me with a crash.

It was embarrassing, given our situation, but a pang of disappointment hit me hard as he bypassed his bedroom door and carried me straight into the guestroom.

He set me on my bed then walked around to move my bag to the floor.

“You could have left me. I didn’t mind sleeping with her.”

“She kicks,” he said without looking at me.

And it was done without looking at me because he was grabbing the back of his shirt with one hand and tugging it over his head.

My mouth dried as I watched the muscles on his back and his shoulders ripple when he closed the bedroom door. And then I lost him completely when he turned out the lights.

“Caven,” I breathed.

“Lay down.”

My heart was in my throat, but I obeyed, eager for anything and everything he was about to give me. The bed dipped along with my stomach as he crawled in beside me.

Like a juggling routine, he turned me, facing away from him, and scooted in close, his front becoming flush with my back and his face nuzzling into my hair at the curve of my neck.

I struggled to breathe as his every exhale danced across my skin, but it was his hand that ever so slowly inched under the hem of my shirt that stole the air from my lungs.

Only it didn’t drift up to my breasts or down into my panties.

It moved only far enough to rest directly over my scar.

My chest ached as he let out an agonizing groan, his finger curling into my skin as if the marred flesh were burning his palm. He’d seen it the day at my house when he’d found out who I truly was, but this was different. This was tangible.

This was the brutal past crawling into bed with us.

“Caven,” I whispered, trying to roll toward him, but he had me anchored to his front.

“Please,” he murmured into my hair. “Just let me have this.”

I would have let him have anything. But why that? Why did he need that?

“Oh, God, Willow,” he rumbled like the words had been torn from his throat. His shoulders shook as his hold on me became tighter.

I screwed my eyes shut, hating the thought of the memories ricocheting in his head far worse than I’d ever hated the scar. Unable to take it any longer, I covered his hand in an attempt to move it, but he laced our fingers instead.

“I don’t want to be the girl from the shooting,” I confessed into the darkness. “In your head, I want to be the woman you were falling in love with, not a reminder of that horrible, horrible day. And I know that might not be a possibility anymore because of what I did, and you now have an even worse reminder of me from when I lied to you. But if I could wish anything, it would be that we were strangers so we could have something real that wasn’t tainted.”

His hand flinched, and his body went solid. “If we were strangers, Willow, I’d be dead.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I croaked, unable to keep the devastation out of my voice. “The paramedics weren’t going to let you die that day.”

Suddenly, his hand was gone and I was flipped over, first to my back and then to my side, facing him. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and as his head came down, sharing a pillow with mine, his face was the picture of desolation.

“You didn’t save my life that day because you made me get medical help. You saved my life because you forgave me.”

Chills exploded across my skin. “W-what?”

“It’s taken years, but I do realize that I’m not responsible for what he did. But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever be able to stop blaming myself for what happened. It’s haunted me since the first shot was fired. I was the only reason he came to the mall that day. But then there was this little girl who, at the very least, had lost her mother and was bleeding out of her stomach, with no idea at the time if she was going to survive or not. And she forgave me. Truly forgave me. Knowing that someone was out there who didn’t blame me was the only way I got through a lot of really dark times.”