Page 31 of The Homemaker (The Chain of Lakes #1)

Chapter Thirty-One

Alice

Pain doesn’t disappear.

It multiplies, divides, disperses,

and even hides for a while.

It’s a thirty-minute dip in the pool. Yet, I’ve tried on all three bikinis a half dozen times. Murphy is marrying Blair. I’m in love having sex with Callen. I like my job. It’s been eight years. And the list of reasons I don’t need to fuss over what bikini to wear goes to infinity.

When I reach the pool, he’s casually doing back strokes. He lifts his head to look at me. And when he smiles, I jump in so he doesn’t see my whole body blush. Before I lose my nerve, I go straight into a series of pikes, arches, thrusts, and twists.

Murphy gives me a slow clap and whistles when I finish. After I swim to the shallow end, I return a dramatic bow .

“Damn. And here I thought you were feeding me a line of shit about synchronized swimming.”

I slick back my hair and wring it out over one shoulder. “Okay. Your turn.”

“My turn?” He jabs his thumb into his chest.

I nod.

“You’re supposed to teach me.”

“I just did.”

He laughs. “That’s not teaching, but fine.

I’ll show you my moves. Prepare to be impressed.

” He dives under the water and does a handstand in the shallow end, followed by several somersaults in the deep end.

Pushing off the bottom of the pool, he shoots into the air with his arms out like the aquatic edition of YMCA.

When he finishes, I reciprocate the enthusiastic applause and whistle. He shakes his head like a dog, his grin on the verge of cracking his face in two.

“Not gonna lie, I’ve been practicing,” he says.

I roll my lips together and nod, eyes wide.

“Are you mocking me?”

I shake my head.

He narrows his eyes, moving toward me like a shark. “You are.”

I shake my head faster. “No!” A squeal escapes my chest when he scoops me up and tosses me into the deep end. When I come up for air, I swipe my arm along the surface, splashing water in his direction.

He laughs, turning his head to the side.

The straps around my neck are not totally untied, but they’re loose, so I adjust them and retie it. “You about made me lose my top.”

Murphy lets his focus slip to my chest before our eyes meet again, and he smirks. It feels both wrong and familiar. We didn’t fade. The attraction didn’t die. We simply ended. It’s like the emotion and passion have been on pause. Does he feel it too? Is it why moving on feels like going nowhere?

“I can think of worse things,” he says in a husky voice that makes my insides turn to molten lava.

How many times can a heart break? I feel like mine has the ability to crumble into infinitely small pieces.

He was so concerned about my marital status because he’s a good man with morals.

Now, I’m feeling the same, but his relationship status isn’t in question.

It’s solidified with thousands of dollars in a venue reservation, caterers, a live band, and a big diamond ring on the finger of a woman who I want to hate, but can’t manage to fully do.

My smile fades as I climb out of the pool and wrap a towel around my body. Murphy follows me, drying off as I avoid eye contact. When he steps directly in front of me, demanding my attention, I stare at our bare feet until I find the courage to lift my chin.

I know that look in his eyes. It’s like no time has passed. He’s going to kiss me. And I want to let him. When he wets his lips while staring at mine, I offer something else.

“I was engaged.”

His gaze lifts.

“He died.” I don’t know if there will ever come a day when those two words don’t rip open deep wounds. “A month later, I rented a lovely little house for two weeks in Minneapolis.”

Murphy’s brow tightens as he swallows hard.

“For two weeks, I pretended it was all just a bad dream. In fact, I pretended he never existed. Because people who never existed can’t break your heart.

” Tears burn my eyes, and I draw in a shaky breath.

“Then I met a guy who was the best escape.” I smile, wiping my eyes before my emotions break free. “He was funny and sexy.”

Murphy returns a painful smile.

“And kind of shy, but confident when it mattered. An extroverted introvert. He had phenomenal taste in music and the most fascinating talent. A man who knew how to handle his wood.”

He grunts a tiny laugh.

“My break from reality turned into something so real that it felt like an alternate universe. How could I feel so lost and yet found at the same time?”

Murphy doesn’t try to fill a single breath of air between us with words that won’t change anything. He just lets me feel, reminding me why my heart opened wide enough to let him in while grieving Chris. Murphy’s patience is more intimate than a kiss.

“I wanted you to have the best version of me. And I thought”—I shake my head—“I thought I could face reality again, and push through the grief, knowing that you were on the other side. But that’s not how grief works.

It’s grueling and unforgiving.” Again, I blot my eyes before tears escape.

“It’s like falling into the water, and the only thing that can propel you to the top is your feet pushing off the bottom.

But the bottom was so deep, I could hardly breathe, and—” My voice cracks.

Murphy reaches for my face, and I shake my head, taking a step back and swallowing a sob. The pain in his eyes compounds the ache in my chest.

“It felt like cinder blocks tied to my feet. I couldn’t move. All I could do was hold my breath until my lungs burned. And I felt so guilty over you and our time together. I thought I deserved everything that was happening to me.”

He takes a hesitant step toward me. I know I should turn and run. Get dressed. Dry my hair. Do my job.

But I yearn for the comfort of his arms, so when he wraps them around me, hand on the back of my head, holding me against his chest, I let him.

“Nobody deserves what happened to you. I’m so very sorry,” he whispers.

I could stay in his arms forever, and that scares me, so I pull away and wipe my face. “I uh … should get back to work.”

Murphy frowns. “Yeah, me too.”

“Don’t forget to turn the cameras back on.”

He nods, glancing up at one of them just outside the mammoth sliding door. “Alice, had I known?—”

“You didn’t,” I say because I did everything to hide my grief, my reality. “Had you known, you wouldn’t have been anything more than a guy renting me a place to stay for two weeks. And I don’t regret anything except,” I shake my head.

“Except what?”

“Nothing,” I whisper. “No regrets. Right? Isn’t that how we should live?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I suppose if the world were perfect. But it’s not, and neither are we. So my list of regrets is long and ever-growing.”

With a sad smile, I tighten my towel around my body and turn to head back to the guesthouse.

“Alice?” he calls.

I stop.

“My regrets? You’re not one of them.”