Page 10 of From West, With Regret
I spin around, finding his blue eyes staring back at me. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” I shiver at his touch, the pulse of electricity shooting straight for my heart. “I need to go.”
He frowns, his eyes soft. “You don’t have to leave,” he says, breathless from catching up to me.
“You said it yourself. The truth is easier than the lies. I can’t stand up there and lie to hundreds of people.”
He hasn’t let go of my arm as he allows the silence to descend around us. I want to tell him all the reasons I shouldn’t have come, but he already knows the truth. I want to tell him more. I want to tell him that the other reason I can’t stay has nothing to do with my blank eulogy and everything to do with this feeling. The one taking over every nerve and muscle in my body.
Instead, the words lodge in my throat and my tears fall for a loss felt deep in my bones. One I can’t place, but know it definitely has nothing to do with Heath.
“Don’t leave,” he pleads quietly on a heavy breath.
I sniff and stare into his eyes. “Was Heath your brother?”
His lack of response is enough for me to have my answer.
My body slumps, and he finally loosens his grip enough for me to back away, only for him to take a step closer.
“He was,” I whisper for him, wiping the tears away from my face and nodding. “Heath never mentioned you.”
“We—”
“And I told you everything,” I cut in, clamping my hand over my mouth, cursing myself for opening up to him. I shake my head, tears welling in my eyes. “Oh, God.” I lower my hand and press it to my chest. “I told you all those horrible things about him, and you’re hisbrother.”
“Yes.” He grits his teeth. “And yes, I am his brother, but I think we’ve already established that.”
I soften my gaze. As with Glenna, I feel sorry for his loss, not mine. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You were being honest and spilling your secrets to a stranger you thought you’d never see again.”
“Yeah.” I scoff. “But now I’ve broken your mom’s heart and humiliated your family in front of everyone.”
“They will be fine, and so will my mother.”
My mind doesn’t have enough room in it to search for the deeper meaning to that statement, though. “I really shouldn’t be here. I’m not family anymore, and I’ve hurt too many people trying to do the right thing. I thought it was what I needed to do, but I was wrong. This was a mistake.”
I need to get out of here.
Then reality hits. I don’t have a car, and I have no clue where I’m heading. Maybe I can head back toward the city, toward the direction of The Veiled Door, and ask Selene to pick me up somewhere down that street.
“That isn’t why you’re leaving,” he says, his gaze falling to my mouth. He takes another step closer, and his scent surrounds me. Fresh rain and pine. I breathe him in when he steps closer, bringing his face inches in front of mine.
My attention falls to the chain around his neck once more. Whatever dangles at the end of it is still shielded by his buttoned black shirt, making it even more concealed than at the bar.
But he’s right. I’m not leaving because of my failed eulogy.
I’m leaving because of him.
“I shouldn’t be here.” I back away. “I’m sorry for your and your family’s loss.”
“Wait.” His hand flies to my arm again. This time, he starts at my bicep before slowly lowering his hand down the length of my arm, leaving a burning trail in its wake. His fingers feather against my skin before he rests them on my hand, which they delicately hold onto before he drops it and fishes in his pocket, pulling out a small, folded, white napkin. Heunfolds it, then grabs my hands, turning it over. He lays the napkin in my palm, and suddenly I’m staring at the drawing I made earlier. A drawing of the same image that comes to mind every single day.
The tears I was shedding earlier had subsided only for a moment, but now they’re back.
“Did you draw this?” he asks, his hand resting under mine holding the napkin.
“I did.” I blink the tears away and look up at him. “But it’s nothing.”
“Whydid you draw it?”
Table of Contents
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