Change of Hart (Wells Ranch, #3)(96)
“It’s fucking stupid, though, Blair. I don’t want you to hate me all over again.”
“I never hated you,” I admit. “I was heartbroken.”
“To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
I give his side a little pinch. “You’re breaking the rules. You’re supposed to be giving me your truth right now.”
“I drove to Vancouver the night before and knew you were with Cass, so I stayed away. In the morning, I went to Stanley Park and walked along the seawall trying to clear my head—ended up scaring some old ladies because I was crying so hard. I had no reason not to be at your appointment. Hell, I sat in my truck in the hospital parking lot the entire time. And I knew I was being a complete piece of shit by skipping it, but I just couldn’t.”
My eyebrows pull together, and I tear myself from his arms to look at him. “I waited in the lobby for an embarrassing amount of time, hoping you’d show up. And you…were sitting in the parking lot?”
“See, I told you it was a shit excuse. I was so fucking lost that day.” In a rapid succession of blinks, tears pool in his eyes, then dissipate. “After I left, I convinced somebody to bootleg alcohol for me, then I sat in the back of my truck bed drinking for the rest of the day. Cassidy sent me some threatening text messages, and I didn’t bother responding because there was no explaining myself.”
“What about after? Why not come after? Or call me. Something.”
“Figured I’d already lost everything I cared about, and there was no way you’d forgive me after that, so I gave up. Losing you was my punishment.”
“You’re my person. I would’ve forgiven you in a heartbeat.”
“I-I wish I could change the way things went down. I shouldn’t have proposed to you in the middle of the night in your dorm room in a last-ditch effort to keep you. I shouldn’t have tried to make you give up your dreams because I saw a way to have a family while mine was crumbling. And I really shouldn’t have made you go through it alone.” His fingers press so hard to the inner corners of his eyes, I begin to worry he’ll blind himself. “That is the biggest regret of my life. Followed closely by every action that made you think I’d moved on over the last fourteen years.”
“I forgive you. A thousand times over, I forgive you.” I pull away from his chest to look into the rich browns of his sad eyes, then I kiss the worry away from his face. Letting my tongue swipe across his lower lip and trailing my fingertips over the muscular ridges of his shoulders. “I hurt you, too. You needed me there for you just as badly as I needed you there for me. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I forgave you so long ago, Blair.”
We didn’t break—not completely. Years ago we splintered, but every whispered truth and healing kiss is bonding us back together. Stronger than before, with any luck.
Licking my lips between kisses, I test the way telling him I’m in love with him would feel. Last night it was said in a way that made it seem like a throwaway statement, rather than the emotional confession it should be. And he deserves more. He deserves the world.
My phone rings on the bedside table, and I groan at the intrusion, reluctantly peeling my skin from his to reach for it. If it were anyone but my dad, I’d ignore it without a second thought, never wanting to leave this moment with Denver.
“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“I know you’re having your weekend away, so I hate to bug you.” His voice is quiet, like he’s trying not to let anybody overhear. “But Mom grabbed a hot pan and burned herself pretty good here, so uh, if you could come take a look at it.”
“Shit.” I watch Denver take a slow bite of melty ice cream in my periphery. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
He’s already out of bed and slipping into a pair of blue jeans when I hang up. And for a second, I do nothing except watch him with adoration.
“You gonna get dressed, or continue to eye-fuck me?” he quips. “Maybe do both at the same time, so we can get to your parents faster.”
“You’re coming with me?” I throw back the sheets, and stand to find my legs still wobbly from last night.
Covering the last traces of bare abdomen, he pulls the hem of his navy T-shirt down. “Of course I am, silly. One day you’ll understand how serious I am about being here for you.”
* * *
—
The antibiotic burn cream smooths across Mom’s blistered palm, and the muscles in her forearm contract under my touch in an attempt to pull away.
“Almost done, Mom. Those painkillers kicking in at all?”
“Maybe a bit,” she says through gritted teeth, clarifying that no, they’re not kicking in.
Despite the pain of a second-degree burn—one which hopefully we’ll be able to keep from getting infected, so long as Dad and I can stay on top of her to ensure she doesn’t mess with the bandaging—she’s smiling and cheerful. The entire drive to town was tense as I prepared myself to deal with an indignant Alzheimer’s patient. Instead, I found my lovely mom sitting with a cool washcloth over her hand, watching Wheel of Fortune while eating a chocolate chip cookie, seemingly without the dementia fog clouding her memory and judgment.
She’s herself today.
Thank God.