Guilty Needs(21)

Putting together a proposal was a good idea.

His muscles were starting to burn but he didn’t quit swimming until he’d managed to hammer out the basics in his mind and formulate a somewhat formal letter to his agent. Angela Browning wasn’t the overly formal type, but since he’d been playing mute the past year, going formal wasn’t a bad idea.

He swam another two laps and then just let his body float.

Overhead, the moon shone down—a pure, clear circle of silvery-white. His mind drifted, with little surprise, to Bree.

It just means you’re ready to love her.

Ready to love Bree.

For some reason, the idea of it didn’t rub him quite so raw. Ready. Was he ready?

Always one to test himself, Colby deliberately thought about his wife. For the longest time after she’d died, he wouldn’t let himself think about her and when he had, he’d tried to jerk his thoughts away before he got lost in them. Thinking about her bought a stab of pain that threatened to eviscerate him.

It got to be habit, until he found himself thinking intentionally less and less. Wayward thoughts would intrude and he’d find himself fighting the tidal wave of grief, but thinking back, he realized that had been slowly ebbing down over the past couple of months.

It no longer had the power to level him.

And now? It was the first time he’d deliberately tried to do much more than visualize her face in his mind—excluding all the times he’d done it just to punish himself.

He went through a mental list, tried to recall the way she smelled. The way she tasted. The way she felt against him. It was all too hazy and vague. A surreal memory that would grow ever fainter with every passing day. Some part of him hated that—he wanted to keep her memory alive. But, even as he tried to make his thoughts of Alyssa clearer, more vivid, he realized other thoughts were trying to intrude.

Bree.

He closed his eyes, and just like that, he could see her. The way she knelt in the grass, her long, slender fingers digging through the earth. The way she smelled of flowers and sunshine. The smooth, golden glow of her skin and the quiet, deep gray of her eyes. Her smile. The way one look at her had his knees going weak while his dick got hard.

It just means you’re ready to love her.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

Of course, just because he was ready to admit that maybe he was falling in love with Bree didn’t mean she felt the same.

And one thing he knew he wasn’t ready for was to have his heart shatter inside his chest again.





Chapter Five


Saturday dawned a little cooler, the skies a leaden shade of gray and threatening rain. Although Bree tended to sleep in a little on weekends, she rolled out of bed and hit the shower. Saturday—she needed to cut some flowers from the backyard and take them to Alyssa.

It was a ritual.

After a quick shower, she cut a couple of stargazer lilies from one of her flowerbeds in the back, their pale petals streaked with deep pink. She wrapped the stems in wet paper towels and climbed into her truck—only to swear, the second she looked at the gas gauge.

She’d forgotten to fill up. If she took the truck, she might not have enough gas to make the drive to the cemetery. Weird for her, but the past few weeks had been a study in weirdness. So much so that she couldn’t do more than sigh and swear under her breath as she climbed out and headed for her bike.

Half an hour later, she knelt by Alyssa’s grave and took out the flowers she’d brought last week, replacing them with the fresh lilies. They’d fared okay on the bike ride, she guessed. Good thing she hadn’t decided to bring roses this time.

“So are you still going to be bringing me flowers this time next year? Five years down the road?”

Blowing a sigh, Bree looked up to see Alyssa sitting on the stone bench a few feet away. “You know, it’s sort of a respect thing.”

Alyssa shrugged. “No. It’s sort of a comfort thing people do for their loved ones.” Her face softened with a smile and she said, “I’m glad you still think about me, but you don’t need to bring flowers to do that.”

“I’ll bring flowers if I want to bring flowers.”

Alyssa’s dimples appeared. “Which means, knowing you, you’ll still be hobbling down to my grave when you’re ninety, just to bring me flowers.”

“So what if I do?” Tears stung her eyes. Ninety—hell, was she really going to be still doing this in sixty years? Spending her nights alone, making Saturday treks to a cemetery to sit with a friend who never should have died so young?

“If I wasn’t meant to die so young, Bree, I wouldn’t have died.”

Feeling more than a little bitchy, Bree snapped, “Are you still going to be fussing at me for bringing you flowers when I’m ninety?”

But the expected retort didn’t come. She looked at Alyssa and found her friend gazing at her with something between grief and peace. “No. I don’t think I’m going to be fussing at you much more at all.”

Bree blinked. “Huh?”

Alyssa shifted her gaze, staring at a point behind Bree. “I still love him, you know. And if it was anybody but you, I think this would hurt like hell.”

“What are you talking about?”

Alyssa smiled. Her body shimmered, faded. “I love you, Bree. You were the best friend any girl could have ever wanted. Be happy with him.”