Page 35 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Regret – New Order

Nash

H aving Lily laid out on the dining table after making her come hard again had to be the single best thing I'd ever seen. She was beautiful—thoroughly fucked, skin flushed pink, chest heaving with the remnants of pleasure. She looked like a fever dream that had come to life.

Strands of her hair clung to her damp skin, the scent of lavender and rain still lingering around her like a halo. She was wrecked in the most perfect way, and my name was written across every inch of her in invisible ink.

God, I'd missed this. Missed her.

I buried my face in the curve of her neck, just breathing her in.

Trying to hold on to the feel of her, the way her skin warmed underneath mine, the way her heartbeat thudded strong and steady beneath my palm.

Her body instinctively molding into mine like it remembered the way we used to fit. As if no time had passed at all.

I should’ve worried about someone coming home, should’ve had a fucking ounce of control but after having her in the lavender field, I’d lost all of it.

Having her here, on my old man’s hideous fucking table, made it feel like reclaiming something.

Like winning something back that had been stolen from me.

Running a finger down the valley between her breasts, across the dip of her stomach, I watched her tremble under my touch. The way she responded to me hadn’t changed. If anything, it was even more intense.

It hadn’t been tentative or awkward like that first time all those years ago. It had been fire and fury, teeth and tongue, a collision of everything we'd pent up for a decade. It was desperation in motion.

"You look glorious," I rasped, my voice still wrecked.

Lily cracked a breathless smile. "I think you broke me." Even in the aftermath, her humor shone through. God, I’d always loved that about her.

"Think you’ve been punished enough for leaving?"

She shook her head, mischief dancing in her eyes, and her thighs instinctively pressed together. My heart squeezed in my chest. I could spend the rest of my life touching her and never get enough.

God, she was everything.

I glanced at the hideous ornate clock on the sideboard and grimaced. "Shit I don’t have time for what I want to do to you." And that was the truth.

Disappointment flickered across her face, and she scrambled upright, her hands clutching the edges of the table for balance. Her wide eyes darted around the room like reality was rushing back all at once.

"Where's my dress? My underwear?"

Her panties lay crumpled by my feet. Her dress, ruined, muddy, and missing most of its buttons, hung over the stupid globe-shaped drinks cabinet Dad loved.

I hated it not just because it was ugly.

It reminded me of him. Pouring himself a glass of his precious whisky while he gave us a lecture on something that didn’t fucking matter.

Memories and nightmares made me realize this room was the wrong place.

I bent down, snatching up her underwear and handing them to her. Her fingers brushed mine and a jolt of something fierce traveled up my arm.

"Thanks," she whispered, avoiding my gaze. The space between us felt fragile now, like it might crack under the weight of unspoken things.

I grabbed her ruined dress, holding it up with a frown. "Not sure you can wear this."

"It's okay," she said hurriedly, trying to pull herself together, but she winced as she struggled with the dress. No. No way was I letting her walk out of here like that, torn, vulnerable, like I’d used her and cast her aside.

"Wait here." I yanked on my jeans and sprinted to the laundry room, grabbing one of my flannel shirts from the dryer.

Jogging back, I found her trying to pull her dress closed with trembling fingers.

"Lila, put this on," I said gruffly, holding out the shirt.

She looked up at me, and something inside me cracked.

The sight of her bare-legged, wild-haired, standing there in my shirt was a sucker punch straight to my soul. It stirred up memories of her sitting in the stands, wearing my jersey, screaming my name like I was her entire world.

Only now, the context was all wrong. Now she was wearing it because I'd shredded her clothes in a rage of lust and heartbreak. Regret settled deep in my gut.

"What's wrong?" she asked, rolling the sleeves up her tiny arms. "Nash?"

I scrubbed a hand over my face, muttering a low, "Fuck." I didn’t have the words to tell her what was tearing me up.

Her face fell.

"I knew it. I knew you'd regret it. I just?—"

"Lily, that's not?—"

"I need my phone," she said, panicked, eyes searching for her purse. "I need to get out of here."

"Lila, please, just listen?—"

She wouldn't. She found her purse, snatched it up, and flung the door open, and…there stood Wilder. Dripping wet, grinning like the asshole little brother he was.

"Woah. Someone’s in a rush," he said, taking in Lily’s wild appearance and my half-dressed, disheveled state with a flick of his eyes. “You okay?”

"I hate to ask you this when you just got back, but can you give me a ride home?" Lily begged, clutching my shirt tighter around her.

His stare raked over me, from my head to my feet, taking in my appearance.

There was no disguising the fact we’d just had sex.

I had bare feet; my shirt was open, and you could smell it in the air.

And there Lily was wearing my flannel, hair wild and her dress clutched against her chest like a shield.

My brother opened his mouth to say something. I shook my head slightly. No explanations. Not now.

"I'll take you," I said quietly. "We can talk."

But she didn’t even look at me. "No. Wilder, please."

I felt every ounce of her rejection like a knife.

"Take her," I said hoarsely.

Wilder nodded. "Come on, Lil," he said, his voice soft and coaxing. “Let’s make a run for the truck.” He paused at the door, throwing me a questioning look and I knew that I was in for a grilling when he got back.

“Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow.” He gave me a single head nod. Jaw tight.

And then she disappeared into the storm, and I watched her go, the ache in my chest almost unbearable.

That should’ve been me. I should’ve been the one to take her home. I’d spent ten years dreaming of touching her again and the first thing I’d done was hurt her.

“Bertie, I won’t ask you again.” I pinched the bridge of my nose as my daughter bounced on her bed. “It’s time for bed and for you to stop disrespecting the furniture.”

She practically paused mid-bounce and frowned. “What does disrespecting mean?” she asked when she landed on her ass.

“You know what it means.” I picked up her discarded clothes and threw them into her dirty laundry hamper. “Stop playing dumb with me, Roberta.”

“What does playing dumb mean?” She tilted her head to one side and frowned.

Damn it. Never mind counting to ten, I was going to have to count to a hundred the way she was winding up my nerves. I had no idea what Felicia had given her after dinner, but something had put a spark in her.

“Whatever questions you ask are not going to delay your bedtime.” I pointed at the bed. “Now get into it before I stop any play dates for a whole month.”

She put a finger to her lips, making it obvious she was thinking about pushing my limits a bit further. Instead, she huffed and puffed as she finally got into bed. Grateful for the reprieve, I bent to tuck her in.

As usual her lips were pursed, head up, urging me to give her a good night kiss.

“Night munchkin,” I dropped a kiss to her forehead, while she kissed my chin, rubbing her lips straight after, just like she always did, because of my stubble.

"Daddy?"

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "What now, munchkin?"

"Do you think Miss. Gray is pretty?"

The air left my lungs in one whoosh.

"I don’t know," I lied. “I’ve never thought about it.”

Bertie erupted into full-on belly laughter.

"Biggest fairy story ever," she giggled. "Night, Daddy. Enjoy dreaming about Miss. Gray."

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “Bertie, I swear to you I?—”

“Don’t swear or sweat it, Daddy. I understand. Now if you don’t mind I really need my beauty sleep.” And the little drama Queen turned her back to me.

What was it they said about out of the mouths of babes?

“Bertie asleep?” Gunner handed me a bottle of beer, the look on his face suggested he knew I needed one.

“I have no clue, but I have two shits and couldn’t give either one of them at this point.”

Gunner smirked and tipped his bottle against mine. “She looked like she had the devil in her eye when she got home. And Wilder told me about Lily. You want to talk about it?”

I took a long swig of my beer and mentally sagged. “Where’s Wild now?”

“In the den watching some UK soccer game.”

We hadn’t had the chance to talk when he’d got back from taking Lily home. Bertie’s little ears were listening. Dinner was us eating while she sat regaling us of lavender wreaths and centerpieces and the apple pie Felicia had made with dinner.

I didn’t want to have to talk if the truth be known, but I knew my brothers. “I may as well talk to you both about my great fuck up of the century.”

Gunner slapped my back. “Sounds serious. You go in and I’ll get us some more beers.”

Nodding, I walked through the dining room to the den, trying not to look at the dining table as I passed it.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Lova Lova Man,” Wilder shot out, still concentrating on the soccer game on our enormous screen TV, the one item we were grateful to Dad for.

“Fuck off, Wild. It isn’t what you think.”

“Yeah, those were the words I gave Carlisle Struthers when he caught me banging his mom.” He gave me a quick glance. “And that was most definitely what he thought it was.”

“What did she say?” I flopped down onto the opposite side of the black leather.

He smirked and in a high-pitched voice cried, “Oh my God, Wilder, you’re incredible.”

“Not Mrs. Struthers, you dick. Lily. What did Lily say?”

Sighing, he muted the screen, just as Gunner walked in with three more beers.

“What did I miss?” he asked, putting a bottle in front of me on the square glass coffee table.

“Wilder was just about to tell me what Lily said on the ride home.” My heart felt heavy as I recalled the look of devastation when she thought I regretted what we’d done. I mean I had but not for the reasons she thought.

“She deserved better,” I groaned. “And I just didn’t convey that properly.”

"You really screwed this up," Wilder said, taking a beer from Gunner.

"Thanks," I muttered, flopping onto the couch.

Gunner leaned forward. "You’re gonna fix it, right?"

"I’m gonna try."

They grilled me. They laughed at me. They gave me hell about the dining table. But in between the jokes, the message was clear:

I needed to fix this.

Lily deserved better. We both did. And no matter what it took, I was going to find a way to make her believe it.

Because this time, I wasn't letting her go.