by B. Cranford
And it always led her back to, “Why didn’t I see it?”, creating a vicious cycle of questions, regrets, frustrations, angers.
“You had every right to. You still do, you know.” He sounded pained, like he didn’t want her to know that she should still hate him, but the thing was, she couldn’t.
“I don’t need you to tell me that. I know I have every right. I know.” Except . . . she couldn’t hate when she still loved him so much, when she still felt his hands on her and his lips on hers and all the words he’d ever given her that made her feel like she was his everything. His North Star, his Bright Star, his universe. And that was what made her stall. To forgive, she needed to trust that he was better. To forget . . . well, that wasn’t ever going to happen.
To move on, she needed to attempt forgiveness, at the very least. Like Declan had.
I can forgive him for making huge mistakes because I trust he won’t do it again.
Her mind and her heart began to war, as she thought over everything he’d told her, or not told her. On one hand, bitterness at all that he’d done, all the lies and deception. The betrayal.
And on the other, a heartache unlike any she’d ever experienced. Knowing how close to the edge he’d been, that his thoughts had taken him down such a dark, albeit brief, road, made her want to rage in a completely different way.
She wasn’t sure what she would do or say next, only that she needed out of this conversation before she exploded in a mess of untamed, unnamed, uncontrollable feelings.
“I have to go,” she whispered, aware that she needed time to process but unable to vocalize that. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You don’t ever have to thank me, Bright Star.” She nodded, though he couldn’t see her, and quietly disconnected the call, wishing all the time that her mind was as blank as her phone screen now was.
Sebastian sat in his desk chair, still thinking about the conversation, still wondering if he should have told her more or less, or . . .
No. Telling her was the right thing to do, and it was always coming. There was more to say but unless she asked him, he wouldn't force it upon her. He could tell it hurt her to hear, but he hoped that it would help her find her way.
Even if her way meant never forgiving him.
Please, God, let her forgive me,
He checked the lines of everything on his desk, then began tapping his fingers on the surface, a repetitive rhythm that calmed his nerves and slowed his heart. He recited the prime numbers at the same time, two distractions that always helped.
But today . . . today they couldn’t stop him thinking about her. About what she might be doing, and how she might be feeling. Unable to let it go, he decided on a text, a short missive so she knew he was still thinking about her.
That he would always be thinking about her.
Sebastian: Remember, not your fault. Mine. Only mine. You were, you are, perfect and I’ll never be able to stop thinking about all the ways I should have been better. If you let me, I’ll show them to you. If you won’t, I’ll still love you, and I will never stop.
Sebastian: I need you to know that I’ll never, ever stop.
Her reply was a gold star, a tiny glimpse of her mindset—not able to talk just yet, but able to acknowledge his words, wanting to let him know he was heard. He appreciated it more than he could say, and as he left his office that night, he looked to the sky for the North Star and said a little thank you.
Thank you for leading me home. I won’t get lost again.
I promise.
Chapter Thirteen
The upscale restaurant near Declan’s office in Madison was busy, which wasn’t unexpected for a Saturday night. Her friend had called earlier in the day and asked Brighton out for a meal, hinting that he wanted to talk to her about something.
What, she didn’t know, though she had her suspicions. If Sebastian had spoken to him about their conversation, then Declan would know she’d been hurting. Unsure of what to do.
But, if he asked her about Jade, she wouldn’t be surprised by that either. There was definitely something happening there, she just didn’t know what.
Yet.
The door behind her opened and Declan walked in, bringing with him a waft of air that smelled like the rain that had started falling not long after she herself had entered to wait for him.
“Bright, you look good.” Declan made an exaggerated show of looking her up and down, like she had when she’d lamented not loving him over Sebastian. It was playful, something they’d started doing when she was first dating Sebastian, because it pissed Seb off so much. Over the years, it had become their inside joke.
Laughing, Brighton did a little spin, showing off the outfit she’d chosen for their night out—a deep red dress printed with little white apples and a full pleated skirt that flirted with her legs as she turned 360 degrees for Declan’s viewing pleasure. Her nude heels had a little peep toe, and she’d even taken the time to paint her nails red to match the dress.
Normally, she wouldn’t go to quite this much effort but Jade had asked her to go out dancing after her dinner with Declan—though Jade still referred to him as that jackass, much to Brighton’s amusement—and she wanted to look her best.
“Why, thank you. You do too, of course.” She couldn’t help the eye roll, since Declan never looked anything but good, especially in a suit like the one he was currently rocking. “Did you make a reservation? It’s busy.”
He nodded, before grabbing her hand and walking her over to the hostess’ station. Addressing the slender woman currently standing there looking over their reservation book, Declan gave her the name, then walked beside Brighton as they were led to their table.
He held her hand the whole way there, and it was a comfort. Declan was, until recently, not just her best friend, but pretty much her only friend. After Sebastian, he’d upped his game in the friendship department, and she couldn’t help but love him for it.
But she didn’t love him, which she’d thought before was something of a pity. He’d never let her down, though, at one point, she’d have said the same for Sebastian.
“How are things going?” Once seated, Declan asked his question with his attention half on her, half on the wine list. When she didn’t answer immediately, he looked up, meeting her gaze and smiling encouragingly. “With Sebastian?”
“I don’t know,” she replied tersely, unsure why she suddenly felt . . . angry. “How are things with Jade?” She gave her friend a pointed look, which he ignored in favor of giving their drink order to the waiter.
“There’s nothing between me and Jade,” he finally responded as the waiter walked away, but Brighton didn’t fail to notice that Declan didn’t look at her when he spoke.
The noise she made in response to what she believed was a blatant lie was a cross between a snort and a cough. “Uh huh.”
Declan finally made eye contact, seriousness in the depths of all that grey. He had such expressive eyes and at that moment, she could tell he wasn’t there to talk about Jade. Or anything other than Sebastian. “He told me you two talked, finally. How are things going, Bright?”
She didn’t avoid the question a second time. “Good. I mean, for the most part.” She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts, before continuing. “He’s saying and doing all the right things, and . . . I don’t know. I didn’t realize how much I missed it all until he brought it back with him.”
“Brought it back?” he asked, cocking his head to the side, as if trying to understand.
“The feelings, the memories, the freshness of it all.” Brighton stopped speaking as the waiter reappeared, offering Declan a sip of their wine, before pouring them both a generous glass. “Like it was yesterday and not two years ago. More than.”
“And?” It was a simple question, asked without any hint of bias. Declan genuinely wanted to know, because that’s the kind of guy he was. Caring. Kind. And, if Jade was to be believed, a jackass.
Brighton took a long
sip of her wine, then followed it up with another. And another. And another. Suddenly, her wine glass was empty, but her head wasn’t.
No, instead, her head was spilling over with frustration, anger which had been boiling since their conversation, since the day Sebastian had come back into her life.
Dammit, since before then, if she was truly being honest. After all, he’d left before she had a chance to say what she needed to say.
Before she had a chance to say anything.
She blinked, once, twice, three times and opened her mouth to explain, but what came out was nothing she expected and everything she’d been holding back. “And most days I’m glad he’s back because I missed him, but I can’t stop feeling like I want to, God, I don’t even know. Punch him? Slap him? Tie him to a fucking chair and grill him.” She took a deep breath, the words rolling off her tongue now like an avalanche. “I want to rage at him and show him my scars—the ones he can’t see and the ones he can. The one I got when we were moving my stuff because I didn’t have a place to live anymore and I rammed my shoulder into that brick wall. It bled for ages, Declan, and now there’s a scar. There will always be a scar and it is . . . All. His. Fault.”
Declan didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to, the look on his face telling her that she could keep going, that he wouldn’t stop her.
So, she did. “But the scars he can’t see? God, I want to shove them in his face. He took everything, everything, including my heart with him when he left and he never said he was coming back. Was I supposed to fucking assume? Hope? Wonder? And you. You didn’t tell me either. Why?” She pointed a hard finger at her friend, who still stayed silent. “Why didn’t you, huh? You’re my friend too, dammit.”
Around them, patrons began looking over, Brighton’s voice increasingly loud as her agitation grew. She was on a roll, though, and now she’d started, she wasn’t stopping.
Her outburst was two years overdue and it felt good. Cathartic.
“And the lies, the lies, all the fucking lies. He knew things that I needed to know and he didn’t share them. He said he couldn’t, but because he was scared, I was, argh.” She exhaled a long sound of pent-up anger.
“Do you, does anyone, have any idea what it’s like to see your world crumble around you, and not even know that it’s happening? I felt like a fool. An idiot. A blinded-by-love girl who deserved to be betrayed because she was too stupid to see. Fuck. Fuck.” The wine was well and truly affecting Brighton now. She knew, but she didn’t let the knowledge stop her. “I thought I had it all—no, scrap that, I did have it all and he took it. No, scrap that too, because he didn’t take it. That’s letting him off too lightly. He stole it from me, and then told me it was so he could give me something back. So he could give me a house that I don't have.”
Tears welled in Brighton’s eyes as the waiter stepped closer to their table.
He probably wants me to shut the hell up.
“I didn’t want anything but what I already had. That’s still all I want, after all this time.” She hung her head, her anger starting to ebb away as the humiliation of cursing and yelling and ranting in public took over. At least her ass was covered this time.
Color bloomed in Brighton’s cheeks—a red not dissimilar to the dress she’d taken such care in choosing. She’d wanted to look good. Have fun. Forget about life for a minute and just enjoy the company of a man who hadn’t let her down, no matter what she’d just said about him withholding the truth about Sebastian’s intentions.
She knew he’d done it to protect her.
“Brighton . . .” Declan’s voice was low, calm and gentle, and it made even more tears form in Brighton’s green eyes. The consequence was an overflow, a rush of salt water down, down, down until the first one dropped onto the fabric of her dress.
With her head still down, Brighton watched as the liquid spread a little, making a dark spot on the red, between two of the apples. “Declan,” she whispered, hating the brokenness in her voice, but needing to know. “Did you—do you think I’m an idiot? That I should have known?”
She braced herself for the answer, but silence greeted her ears. Brighton closed her eyes against the continuing onslaught of tears, unable to even summon the energy to wipe them away. One after another dripped from her face to her dress, and she just . . . let them go.
Let them, like I let Sebastian go.
Except she hadn’t let him go, not all the way. She still held onto her dream of them.
The swoosh of a chair against carpet, the clearing of a throat and then, like a warm blanket in the cold, Declan’s hand settled on her shoulder, slid across her upper back to the opposite side and settled around her.
Brighton raised her head, the watery vision of Declan crouching before her stilling her tears.
He cleared his throat again and leaned into her, so she could hear and only she could hear. “You couldn’t have known, Bright. None of us knew, and we all knew him as well or better than you. I hate myself for not seeing it, for not sparing you and, fuck, even him, the pain of it all.”
The comforting words began to crumble walls inside that Brighton hadn’t even really known she’d erected. “But Brighton, we can’t change anything about what happened then. I can’t go back and make sure you knew what he was doing and where he was, though now I wish I had. I made a promise to him—”
“No.” Brighton didn’t want him taking blame she never should have laid on his doorstep. She wasn’t usually one to do that, to blame, and she wasn’t going to start now. Not with this man. “You gave your word to your best friend, and you kept it. It was the right thing.”
“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but the fact remains, sweetheart, that I think . . . maybe we all caused each other some pain, somehow. But only Sebastian truly has anything to atone for. And he’s working on it, right?” The arm Declan still had around Brighton tightened a fraction, a squeeze to make sure she was listening.
And she was. “He is.” A sniffle, the remnants of her outburst and subsequent tears drying up as quickly as they’d rained down. “He’s doing so well.”
Her mind drifted a little as Declan rose and returned to his seat. They didn’t speak again for several minutes, Declan studying the menu and Brighton just . . .
Thinking. Remembering. Wondering.
It could have been so different.
I should have known.
He must have been so scared.
I was so scared.
I wish I knew what to do.
She excused herself to the bathroom, to clean up the mess she'd made of her face, and by the time their meal was finished—Brighton refusing the offer of any more wine after the first glass—the mood had shifted away from the anger and recrimination that she’d spewed forth. Her dress had dried, her worries and wonderings moved to the back of her mind.
Declan had regaled her with tales of wayward athletes and they’d eaten an incredible meal. Now she was ready to dance the night away with Jade.
After all, her problems would still be there in the morning but the lightness that had come after her long-overdue rant might not be.
Chapter Fourteen
Sebastian made sure to tell her she was beautiful, that she was still his North Star, morning and night without fail. Ten days and counting since the response that he had read and re-read just to be sure it was real.
I'm so happy you finally made it home, Seb.
The past few days had been difficult, his confessions still heavy on his mind, and still a barrier between them. He wanted Brighton to know he wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted her to know that he hadn’t forgotten all the things that had made them them. And beyond everything else—including his current pursuit of her—he wanted her to know that he was there, the same Sebastian as before, but . . . better.
And for her to know he was better, she’d needed to know him at his worst. That was why he’d told her all he had, even though he’d felt her distance the last few days.
He lived f
or her replies to his messages, whether they came in response to his morning and night texts or to the gifts he continued to send. Sometimes, just her star—which was always enough. But other times he got sweet sentiments, funny jokes, a trip down memory lane or, his personal favorite, a selfie.
And once, one memorable and amazing time, she’d sent him a message, seemingly for no other reason but to send it. That one might have been his favorite one of all.
But last night, in response to his final message of the day, she had sent a picture of herself with Jade at a club in Madison—a town about thirty minutes away, where Declan lived and worked—captioned My New Girl. It had made him chuckle, and made some of that heavy weight lift, her smiling face pressed against the freckled one of Jade a sign that maybe things were getting back on track.
And then, this morning, she responded with a picture of herself, no-one else. It was a shot to his heart, a race of adrenaline through his veins, a pulsing beacon of hope in his campaign to win her back.
His Bright Star, in a flimsy sleep tank, one he recognized as her favorite from when they were together. It was so old, it was practically see through. Which was not why he was currently standing in the middle of a crowded Toys R Us on a Sunday mid-morning, staring at the largest collection of board and card games he’d ever seen. No, he was at the toy store because of what else was in the picture. Nearby, a family of three boys and one tiny girl were arguing over something, breaking his concentration as he tried to find the game her photo had alluded to.
She was dressed in those pajamas, holding a piece of paper, which simply said Do you wanna play? in her pretty handwriting. Each word had been a different color. And when he’d asked for a clue what game she meant, she sent back a smiley face and a simple Apologies, no.