Brant’s blood was boiling, his rage barely in check. His grandfather had no fucking right to bring up the past in front of the entire family—in front of the hotel staff. What the hell had he been thinking?
The pain in Nik’s eyes was like a punch to the gut. And then she ran.
He knew how desperate she had to be to run when she couldn’t really see. The doctors had always said it was possible she’d get her vision back, but the chance of it ever happening was grim at best. Obviously that ship had sailed. Guilt attacked full force, ugly and painful.
His stomach dropped as his shaking hands lifted her shirt over her head; his fingers unhooked her bra then skimmed down her hips, tugging her black pants down to the white tiled floor.
Teeth chattering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared blankly ahead, her face pale. Beautiful. So striking. Her full lips parted as her body shook, her olive skin just begged to be touched.
But the look on her face sobered his thoughts. She looked afraid.
Your fault.
The skin on her right forearm was turning a bright pink.
“Keep your right arm away from the water,” he said gruffly.
“’Kay.” She breathed out a sigh and then held out her hands to reach for him.
He pulled her into his arms, and she let out a little gasp.
“What?”
“You’re naked.”
“Not all the way.” He smiled down at her even though she couldn’t see him. “I figured the best way for you to clean up was with a shower partner.”
“And let me guess—you’re volunteering?”
“Yeah, well, it’s my hotel room, my rules. Besides, I don’t see anyone else jumping at the chance.”
“Probably because nobody else is here.”
“Lucky you,” he whispered.
She sucked in a breath and jerked her head away. He’d almost kissed her. He’d wanted to touch those lips, to kiss them into submission, to press her against the shower wall and worship her body.
And then what?
Leave them both more fucked than they already were?
No, the last thing he needed was to kiss her; hell, even touching her was doing a number on his self-control. Because he wanted to run, just like she’d just done. He wanted to run until his legs burned, until his chest ached, until his bloody feet brought him to the end of the world, where memories of what they shared and the reminder that it was that good would be gone.
An apology hung between them.
He knew he should go first. But how do you apologize for something you’re still not sure you’re sorry for?
And if he did actually apologize, that meant he’d been wrong, and being wrong meant acknowledging how much he’d fucked up.
It would force them to deal with the present. And the past. And grieve.
He shuddered beneath the hot spray as it massaged his back. After a few minutes, she relaxed against his chest, the tips of her breasts sliding against his skin, making it impossible not to react.
Brant clenched his teeth. “How’s the arm?”
“Hurts.”
“I’m sorry.” His eyes burned; he squeezed them shut and kept talking. “I’m so damn sorry he brought that up, he had no right.”
She sighed. “Normally I’m okay with answering questions about…about the fire.” Her voice weakened. “But in front of you, your family…and your grandfather sounded concerned and then everyone else was quiet, like they had no idea how serious it really was.”
“They didn’t,” Brant admitted. “Only Grandfather knew. He helped me cover up the truth of how bad it was from my brothers.”
She pulled away, her eyes glancing up at him. He could almost believe she could see him. “What do you mean?”
“I never told them.”
“About the fire?”
“I—” He took a step away.
“Brant!” She reached for him.
He was a complete ass. Because he wanted to leave her there, in his shower, in his hotel room, he wanted to run and never look back.
“I can’t.” God, he didn’t recognize his own voice. “Don’t make me talk about this.” About how he failed his child—and then her.
“So that’s it?” She threw her hands in the air. “You just ignore everything that makes you sad? To what end?”
“Sad?” he yelled. “You think I’m sad?” He moved closer, pressing her body against the tile, pinning her arms above her head. “I’m fucking devastated!”
She sucked in a breath.
“I’m destroyed!”
Tears mixed with the water streaming down her face, trickling in her mouth.
“I’m empty!” he roared, releasing her hand and slamming his against the tile over and over again. “I almost killed you! You lost your sight weeks after losing our ch—” He couldn’t even say it. He backed away.
Nikki grabbed his arm. “Say it.”
“Sometimes…” His voice trembled. “Sometimes I think I would have been a horrible father.”
Nikki didn’t say anything.
He kept talking. “I still get nightmares. I can’t even make it through a baby food commercial without losing my shit.”
She hiccupped out a sob and released his hand.
“I think, how the hell would I have been able to take care of one tiny life, when I couldn’t even take care of my own wife? When firemen had to break her out of our shitty apartment because I couldn’t afford something nicer with a working fire alarm? A miracle.” Brant snorted in disgust. “They said it was a miracle you were even alive. And when I saw you at the hospital you weren’t yourself—you were in shock.”
Nikki shook her head. “No. Stop.”
The words wouldn’t stop coming. “You said, ‘My baby died, and now I have nothing. I have nothing.’” Brant shuddered. “You still had me, or at least I thought you did, and then when I found out that you couldn’t see all I kept thinking was ‘I did this, I ruined her life.’ I should have never married you.”
She jerked back as though he’d slapped her.
“I ruined your life. And then I was too hurt to live it with you. Too angry at you for saying those things even though you were in shock. Too angry at myself for not being enough. And too fucking devastated to deal with the pain.” Brant leaned back against the tile wall, then sunk to the floor, putting his head in his hands.
“Brant?” Nikki held out both hands, feeling around the shower. “Brant?”
He wanted to ignore her. To let her believe he’d left. But the look on her face, the real fear that it could possibly be true, wrecked him. “Here, I’m right here.”
She slowly lowered herself to her knees and felt around, her small hands tapping the floor until she found his foot, and then she slowly slid both hands up his body. “Are you looking at me?”
“What do you think?”
She hung her head, her wet hair sticking to her cheeks.
“All I ever do when I’m with you is look at you” he said gruffly. “It’s a kindness that you can’t see.”
“Why?”
“The eyes are the windows to the soul,” he whispered. “And you‘ve always owned mine.”
“Even now?”
He was quiet and then shuddered out an exhale, leaning back against the tile. “Even now.”
Awareness sizzled between them like an electrical current, and then she was laying her head against his chest. “Sometimes I have dreams I’m still pregnant. I wake up empty.”
He clutched his eyes shut and tried to swallow. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“You couldn’t fix it, Brant. You can’t fix everything.”
“Trust me, I know.”
“And you have to trust me on this.” She pressed an open-mouth kiss to his wet chest, her lips searing his skin. “You would have been the best father in the world.”
He stiffened. “You’re wrong.” He didn’t trust himself to say any more, so he held her in his arms, until the water turned cold, until she shivered in his embrace.
And just like that, the moment was gone. So many things still left unsaid. So many things that needed to be said.
He’d opened his mouth a million times to apologize, to tell her he still loved her—to beg her to love him back. To say what he should have said four years ago, to do something beyond allowing the words to fade away.
But he missed the moment, too afraid that he wasn’t worth the risk. Too afraid that the cruelty of the universe would catch up to them again and ruin everything good between them.
So rather than seize the moment, he let it pass and held on to the brief seconds when she was in his arms.
The anger was still there boiling beneath the surface, but it was being pacified by the feel of her in his arms, by the words she said.
He wanted to believe her.
That he would have been a good father, that it wasn’t his fault, but the thing about truth is it doesn’t change your opinion of yourself when all you ever see when you look in the mirror is the lie.
Her fingers slid against his wet arms, and then her palms pressed against his cheeks. Water slid down her lips.
And those empty eyes locked on his in a way that he didn’t deserve.
He’d always felt more with her. The faith she’d always put in him was staggering.
Whole. Things felt whole in her arms.