by B. Cranford
What the hell?
He’d thought about it for a while, then decided to go to the store and see if looking at the endless shelves of games would jog his memory.
He catalogued each one as his eyes passed over them. From the corner of his eye, he saw a poker kit—a silver handled case, complete with cards and chips—and he waited to feel the rush, the urge to play. To gamble.
He began to recite prime numbers in his head, slipping his hand into his pocket to grasp the button he kept there, before realizing that the Pavlovian response to the instruments of his addiction didn't come.
It's not like he was suddenly cured. Lord knew he'd experienced waves of doubt and desire even as recently as the day before but, right at that moment, his focus was elsewhere.
On his Bright Star.
Then, returning to his search, he saw the colorful box of Sorry.
Apologies. Her note, Do you wanna play?, written in red, blue, yellow and green, the colors bright on the front of the box.
He smiled to himself as he grabbed it from the shelf and held it up, attempting to snap a picture of himself holding it to send back to Brighton.
It was awkward, and he got a few different stares from parents and kids alike, but he didn't care. He managed to get a shot good enough to send, and then walked to the register to pay for the game.
He was taking it to his girl, and he was going to find out why this game.
On the surface, it seemed logical. He'd spent every day since he came back into her life making sure she knew he was sorry, but this felt different. This wasn't her looking for another apology from him, this was her telling him that she was sorry. But why?
What did she have to be sorry for?
He paid for the game, walking back to his car on auto-pilot as he tried to figure out the second half of her riddle.
Brighton had been perfect. As far as he was concerned, she still was. He was the one that fucked up.
What else is there to be sorry for?
Worst case scenarios ran back and forth, around and around his anxious mind. Had there been someone else? Even if there had, did he even have a right to be upset? He'd known he was coming back, but he'd made sure she didn't, in case . . .
In case he couldn't.
He continued thinking it over in his mind as he made his way to her apartment, but as he got closer, his mind wandered.
There'd been no more kissing, touching, anything since the night of his accident, as much as it pained him. In fact, she’d seen his office manager more in the past few days than she’d seen him.
Which wasn’t hard, since he hadn’t seen her at all. She continued to limit their exchanges to electronic only and the lack of contact meant that his balls weren't just blue, they were practically navy at this point.
That was the way he wanted it though. Maybe not the navy balls, but their back-and-forth, establishing a foundation of consistency, of trust, of promises kept. More than anything, Sebastian wanted Brighton to know he was there to stay. Not for sex. Not for any kind of physical relationship.
Well, okay, not only for that.
He wanted to talk to her, confide in her where he hadn't before. He wanted to make her laugh and play silly games. He wanted to listen to her stories about her mom, her dad, and Fox in Socks.
And he didn't want to give her any reason to doubt it or him. Ever again.
But that didn't mean he didn't want her. He wanted her now more than ever. Now that he knew how much she'd overcome, how strong she was. She'd always been the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, with her silky brown waves and bright green eyes. Eyes that now had something else behind them; shadows of grief, pillars of steel. They were the eyes of a woman who knew her own mind, a woman who could ride out the roller coaster of life without faltering.
Those eyes were a turn-on.
Parking his car and grabbing the Toys R Us bag from the passenger seat, Sebastian walked slowly to Brighton’s apartment, hoping the evidence of his thoughts would lessen before they came face to face.
It didn't. Oh well, let her see what she does to me.
What did it matter if she knew he was hot for her? Did she doubt it? Hardly.
His knock at the door was answered swiftly, as though she'd been anticipating his arrival, though they'd never actually made plans. He looked her up and down, torn between being glad she’d changed out of her see-through tank and disappointed.
“You brought it,” was all she said before she fisted the front of his grey T-shirt and pulled him into her home.
“Uh, was I not supposed to?” He assumed the invitation wasn't just for fun but, rather, an expectation, but perhaps he was wrong.
She didn't say anything at first. Taking the bag from him, she set it gently on the floor by the door before grabbing his hand and leading him to the couch they'd bought together. The couch that held so many good memories.
And some bad ones too.
His gut churned as he imagined what was to come. Was this it, their final goodbye? It didn't feel like it. But it didn't feel like a hello, either.
Instead of taking a seat in her rocking chair as she had the first night he'd been there, Brighton sat at one end of the couch, her back to the arm, her arms wrapped around knees that were bent against her chest.
Sebastian sat at the opposite end and watched emotions play on her face, before shifting forward slightly; just enough to brush a stray hair from her forehead and tuck it gently behind her ear.
She leaned into the movement minutely, a sign—he hoped—that meant this wasn't the end.
Clearing her throat, Brighton pulled back again, allowing Sebastian's hand to drop from where it had come to rest on the delicate shell of her ear.
“I need you to know,” she began, “that I'm sorry.”
It felt like he'd been punched in the stomach, all the breath leaving his body as he tried to work out in what universe this sweet, smart woman needed to apologize to him.
The man who took and took and took from her until she had nothing left to give.
He opened his mouth to tell her that, no, she wasn't to apologize, but she held up her hand to halt him.
“No, just . . . let me say this, okay?” Her face was determined, so he did the only thing he could.
He nodded, the churning that had plagued him earlier returning in full force, and gave her permission to continue. “Okay.”
Brighton swallowed, trying to form the words she needed to say to Sebastian—the apology that had been plaguing her for days. “After you left,” she started, watching his face intently, looking for any sign of what he was thinking.
He had a clear what the hell look.
She cleared her throat, and started again. “After you left, I blamed you for everything. Every. Single. Thing.” She emphasized each word, so Sebastian would know the extent of her anger, his betrayal. “And I never truly stopped to think that I’d let you down.”
Sebastian was shaking his head, but she kept going. He needed to hear this and she needed to say it, if ever they were going to get their second chance. Properly. “I didn’t notice a thing. For months, you were dealing with this thing, and I didn’t see it. Why didn’t I see it?” She could hear the disgust in her own tone.
“Bright, I—” This time, it was Brighton shaking her head, interrupting him before he could finish interrupting her.
“No, Seb. No, let me finish.” She fixed a glare on him, trying to lighten the tense mood, pointless though it was. “I was so busy, thinking about the move, the house, Patrick, my mom, everything but you. Because you were always so steady. My rock.”
She blinked back tears, her voice wavering. “If I was your North Star, then you were my rock. Sturdy, something, someone to lean on. I was so sure of you, that I didn’t see the crack. I didn’t see you splitting in two.”
Sebastian’s expression changed from what the hell to sadness in the space of a moment. She didn’t know if it was for her, for him or, most likely, for them. For all they�
�d lost, because he couldn’t stop and she couldn’t see.
He reached out to her, sliding closer, waiting for her to drop her knees from her chest so he could hold her.
She wanted him to hold her. To touch her.
To make it all better again.
She turned her body around, so she was seated against the back cushion, her feet on the floor, her thigh pressed against Sebastian’s beside her. Slowly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her even closer.
There was no space between them now. Brighton looked at him in profile, his jaw tight, and moved her lips closer to his ear, her voice nothing but a whisper. “I’ve been so angry with you for so long. I’ve missed you and hated you, and wanted to yell and scream and curse at you. And I don’t want to be that anymore.” She took a long, trembling breath, speaking no louder, but her words coming stronger. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you. I’m sorry I took you for granted. I’m sorry my need for a home caused you to fall. I’m sorry I hated you.”
She felt more than saw the shudder wrack his body and before she knew what was happening, his mouth crashed into hers, taking her lips in a kiss that sent sparks ricocheting through her.
He pulled his lips away after a moment, his words urgent. “You were right to hate me; I deserved it. I’ll take it. Forever, I’d take your anger if it meant that I’d get to be a part of your life, if it meant that I’d be allowed to try to make it up to you. This isn’t on you, Bright. I told you, it wasn’t your fault and I meant it. I hid it for a reason, and that’s on me. I’m the asshole. I’m the addict.” He kissed her again. And again. Until their breaths mingled, their tongues tangled, and their world—the world as it had been, and as it was now—filtered through Brighton’s mind.
She’d been drying her dishes at 8:09 when his daily text came in and, with it, a wave of knowledge. Since he’d talked to her about his problem, about that last day and the dark path he’d forged, Brighton had been thinking. Of course she’d wondered before if she’d failed him, but she’d never told him that or asked him about it—about anything—until recently.
She absolutely never let him see that she was to blame, too. Not as much as he was, certainly. But, after talking to him, yelling at Declan and dancing with Jade, she’d come to a conclusion.
She wouldn’t be able to build anything with him unless she apologized too.
Maybe she was stupid for doing it. Maybe other women, men, addicts would think she was wrong for taking some of the responsibility but, for her, it felt right.
It felt like she was finally on the right path.
She’d already planned to send the photo as a game so, without thinking, she’d attached it to her return message and hit send. She wanted to be silly with him, to bring back the playfulness that had been missing of late. She wanted him to know that her hearing and accepting his apology was the ultimate goal.
That was why she’d spent time the night before creating a playlist of songs with “sorry” in the title, which suddenly started playing over her surround sound speakers.
“You listen to Justin Bieber?” Sebastian asked the question with a chuckle, drawing his head back to look at Brighton, making a show of taking in her whole body. “You have changed.”
She couldn’t hold back the laugh, so instead she embraced it. It fell from her lips and once she started, she couldn’t seem to stop. She fumbled for her phone, which she’d stuffed in the back pocket of her jeans when she’d heard Seb’s knock at the door, and hit the button to stop the music.
How the hell did I butt-dial a Bieber song?
She didn’t even remember adding the song, but it didn’t matter. What mattered now was controlling her laughter long enough to explain what was happening to Sebastian.
The song.
Her laughter.
Her plan.
Drawing on all her inner strength—and a few not-so-funny memories of her most embarrassing moments, like showing her ass in a chain restaurant, breaking a door and a hand dryer in a chain restaurant, knocking over a table in a . . . basically remembering every awkward moment of the day she and Sebastian came face-to-face again at Panera—she calmed.
“When I sent the message, no, actually when I took the picture, I just wanted to tease you a little,” she smiled at him. “Grab the game, play you a bunch of sorry songs—basically make you squirm a little.”
She couldn’t help but notice the redness of his lips from their kisses, as she continued. “But, then, I realized that I needed to say it, too. That I wasn’t completely blameless.” Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she shook herself a little. Her emotions were out of control and she was frustrated with herself. “You came back because you trusted me not to let you down again. Not to let you hide from me again.”
A slight nod was all he gave her, but she could see hope dawn in his eyes. Did he know? Did he know what she was about to say?
“And I figured, if you could trust me, then I could trust you.”
Chapter Fifteen
She’s giving me her trust.
The thought ran around and around Sebastian’s head, shaking him out of a momentary stupor and into action.
He took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to the center of her palm, and stood. He looked down at her still seated and raised one eyebrow in invitation, begging her with his eyes to stand with him and follow him to her bedroom. To know what he was asking of her.
He wanted it so badly, breathing was rapidly becoming an issue.
“The biggest gamble I ever took was leaving you and hoping when I came back, you’d be able to forgive me. Be able to love me.” His confession was soft, and Brighton gave him a small sad smile, then stood, pulling back on his hand as he made to turn—to lead her to bed—so they were face-to-face, toe-to-toe, their hearts beating in time. She captured her bottom lip in her teeth, a frown forming between her perfect green eyes.
Eyes that were looking at him like maybe, just maybe, his gamble had paid off.
“I love you, Brighton.” It was a simple declaration, but the sum of everything that had led them to this point. He did love her—he’d never stopped, and he wanted to see her eyes when he told her that. Not over the phone, or in a message. Face-to-face, eye-to-eye, naked honesty and love. He raised his free hand to her cheek, caressing her flushed soft skin. “I never stopped. I will never stop.”
Her smile was no longer sad. Instead, it was heartbreaking in its beauty. Resting her cheek into his palm, she gave him the very thing he’d been waiting for since the day he left. “I love you too, Seb.”
No flowery words or grand promises. A simple declaration of the love between them because that’s what it was. So damn simple.
Nothing could stop them now.
“Do you want this?” He was certain she did, that they were on the same page, but he had to be sure, because once he got her into bed, into his arms again, he wasn’t letting go. Not ever.
“More than anything,” she whispered, turning slightly to place a kiss in the center of his palm.
That was all he needed to hear. Sliding his hand down from her cheek, across her shoulder and along the length of her arm, he tangled their fingers, and, with a quick brush of his lips to hers, he took her to the bedroom. A feeling he couldn’t describe overtook him when he saw the familiar quilt—a quilt his mother had bought them as a gift when they’d first moved in together. “You still have it.”
A whisper, words he didn’t know he needed soothing more than his heart. Soothing his soul. “I kept everything I could.”
He pulled the quilt from the bed—as happy as he was to know that she’d been cocooned in something of theirs even while he was gone, he didn’t need any reminders of his mother at that moment.
All he needed was to get her clothes off. And then to get her off.
He sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling her so she was standing in front of him, between his spread legs, looking nearly as shy as she had the very first time they’d done this.
&n
bsp; She was back to biting her lower lip and the groan that ripped from his throat was as involuntary as it was inevitable. Just like them. “You are so fucking sexy, Bright. I don’t know where to start.”
She raised her shirt a couple of inches, pointing to a small tattoo above her left hip bone. Ursa Minor, similar to his own but much smaller, more feminine. “Start here.”
“When?” He didn’t need to explain. She knew what he was asking.
“Last Wednesday, remember I told you I ran into Jade in Madison? Well, she took me to a place she knows.” She looked hesitant, and it killed him. This, this right here was one of the best moments of his life—a life that, until two years prior, had been pretty damn amazing. Which made the fact he threw it all away like a pair of dice on a craps table even stupider.
He ran his eyes over it, taking in every breathtaking detail, before leaning in and pressing a light kiss to the still-healing flesh. “It’s perfect. You are perfect.”
She cupped his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs along the soft yet prickly hairs of his beard, and looked him in the eye. Her green to his blue, a flame of truth behind them. “We are perfect.”
The next moments were a flurry of movements, as he first stripped Brighton of her jeans and t-shirt, before removing his own clothing, a graceless dance of speed that nevertheless got the job done.
A whimper from Brighton. Another groan from Sebastian. Two warm bodies, arching into one another, desperate for everything.
Now standing tall in front of her, his cock hard and aching, he drew her into his arms, holding her tightly for just a moment before he began kissing up and down the delicate length of her neck. The tattoo behind her ear. The edge of her jaw and along, before working his way back to her mouth and taking possession of it, like he was made to do exactly that.
And he was.
She returned the kiss with the same passion, same conviction, her hands moving to his pecs, then lower, across the dusting trail of dark hair that led to the place he really wanted her hand.
She wrapped him in her fist, never surrendering his mouth, leaving him to make that same groan once more, as the pleasure and the feeling of her soft hand on his hard cock raced through every nerve in his body.