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Chapter 13
I woke up the next morning alone. Still, I could feel, rather than see Brandon's absence. When I turned over, he was standing at one of the picture windows, looking over Boston like a king.
He wore nothing but his usual black boxer briefs, the ones that slung just below his hip bones and perfectly set off the ridiculously cut muscles of his lower abs. His arms, crossed over his chest, bulged slightly, and the lean muscles in his legs were flexed all the way to the floor.
I might have tried to lure him back to bed if it hadn't been for the look on his face. His brow was furrowed, and the late morning light cast shadows over the notched scar and tiny frown lines above his eyebrows and at the side of his eyes. His hair looked like he'd spent most of the morning tugging on it, but for now, he was obviously lost in thought.
As if he sensed my gaze, suddenly he turned his head, and his blue eyes, now the color of the sky behind him, zeroed in on mine and brightened.
"Hey," he said. "You're up."
I pushed myself up, propping my head on one elbow. "Just barely. You okay? You looked awfully deep in thought over there."
Despite his size, Brandon moved with the grace of a cat. In a few brief steps, he slid back into bed and lay on his side, facing me. I lay back again, allowing him to drape an arm over my torso. His hand drifted over my collarbone, between my breasts. I thought I knew where he was going, but his fingers stilled just over the flat expanse of my stomach, right over my navel.
"I was just thinking," he said quietly. "Of what could have been."
My breath caught in my throat. Oh. Was he rethinking everything? Maybe forgiveness was still too much to ask, no matter what he had said last night.
"I think..." he started low, so quietly his voice almost blended in with the rustle of the covers. "I think I understand now. Why you...didn't keep the baby, I mean."
Terror tore through me. Was this the part where he told me he couldn't get over it after all? I tried to move, but his hand stilled my hips, and his penetrating blue gaze pinned me in place.
"Just listen?"
I took a deep breath and obeyed, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe it was better that we didn't look at each other. I didn't think I could handle the depths of that stare right now. Maybe he couldn't handle mine either.
"Okay," I said.
He grazed his fingernails over the length of my forearm, the shimmer of light hair there.
"We...weren't together," he said, stumbling a little over the words. "And you...you were afraid. Of our kid being caught, like you were, between parents who wouldn't always be there for it. I mean, I knew I loved you, Skylar, but I was still married. And I did keep that from you. And how I went about dealing with that shit with your dad...Jesus. You must have been so scared. So confused."
Wordlessly, I nodded. There was nothing I could say. I wasn't interested in defending myself, even if he did speak the truth. I had been scared––terrified, in fact.
"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.
Brandon's thumb lightly stroked just below my navel. The tenderness of the small gesture made me choke up.
"I..." I started softly, entranced by the movements of his fingers. "Sometimes."
It was the best I could do. I cleared my throat, determined this time not to internalize everything. I had made this decision for the both of us, in my own way railroaded him the same way I was always accusing him of doing to me. In so many ways, our problems often came when I kept things to myself.
"I regret losing that potential, that future," I said, "I love you so much now, and I loved you then too. And that part of me, the part that does want to raise a family with you one day, Brandon, that part regrets it a lot. That part mourns. Will probably always mourn."
We stared together at the space below his hand, entranced by the fickle quality of his rough callouses stroking the smooth skin, tickling my navel. A tear trickled down my cheek. I didn't wipe it away.
"Mostly," I continued, "I regret not telling you. Not letting you decide with me. I took that away from you, and... Jesus, Brandon, sorry doesn't even begin to cover it. I never should have done that. I should have told you from the start. From the second I knew I was pregnant."
I hiccupped over my own voice, the tears falling faster now.
"I'm so sorry," I choked out. "More than you'll ever know."
His hands were so gentle, more than I deserved.
Brandon said nothing for a long time, just let me cry, his hand remaining on my stomach. I turned my head into his neck, letting the tears come, letting both of us be vulnerable together in a way we never had before. For the first time since I'd met him, everything was out on the table, good, bad, and ugly. There were no secrets, no lies. Just us, imperfect as we were.
Eventually, all of the pain from the last several months apart, the yearning, the guilt, flowed out, until all that was left was the warm length of his body next to mine, and the complete and utter love I still felt flowing between us. It gave me hope.
