The Brightest Star

by B. Cranford

  “Shit, man. She’s beside herself worried about you.” Declan handed Sebastian back his phone, shaking his head all the while, his anger fading somewhat now he knew that Sebastian hadn’t completely failed. Only partially. “You need to clear this mess up now, not tonight.”

  Jade didn’t utter a word, but with a quick, pointed glance at Sebastian, she walked from the office and back to her desk.

  On Brighton’s side, no doubt, Sebastian thought, a smile wanting to form at the idea his girl’s new friend was showing solidarity by being pissed off with him. He was glad she had that, even though it meant he’d have to win back both their trust this time.

  After all, if your girlfriend’s best friend doesn’t like you, you don’t stand a chance.

  Turning to his dad, he started to tell him—not ask, because there was no way he was sticking around while Brighton was still hanging—he was leaving for the day, only to be cut off by his old man offering one more piece of sage advice. “Grovel. Apologize. Grovel some more. Give her something special—I think you know what. And maybe pray that she’s a better person than you, and can forgive you.”

  Declan laughed a little, a surprising and welcome change from the anger that had clouded his face when he’d stormed into the office.

  With just a brief wave over his shoulder as he stormed from his father’s office to his own, grabbing his car keys in such haste that he knocked his perfectly centered nameplate from the desk to the floor—not bothering to replace it carefully—Sebastian headed towards Brighton.

  And, hopefully, towards their future.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  With the cheery beep of a message received, Brighton felt like her phone was mocking her. She thought about ignoring it, her worry straddling anger, her mood tilting back and forth between the two like a see-saw. Knowing Declan could be calling with an update, however, she snatched up her phone from her bedside table.

  She’d gone to lie down after speaking to Dec, weariness taking over her body. Who knew concern was so tiring?

  Before she had a chance to open the text, she heard loud knocking at her front door, followed by the sound she’d been listening for all night long.

  Sebastian’s voice.

  “Brighton. Open the door, I’m so fucking sorry.” She hurried toward the door, undecided whether she’d throw it open and punch him for making her worry, or throw her arms around him and promise him the world, all the help she could muster and the best sex of his life, because she was so relieved to see him.

  Ultimately, she did neither. Opening the door, she just stared. She carefully catalogued Sebastian’s face, looking for signs of distress, finding nothing but apology.

  Every line, every groove, every flicker of his eyes told her he was sorry. But for what?

  “Can I come in?” His voice was pleading, and she stood aside quickly, wanting to get to the bottom of everything so they could move on.

  God, she hoped they’d be able to move on.

  “Where were you?” She didn’t like sounding so small. She didn’t like feeling so weak. She wasn’t that person. She was a strong woman, one who’d overcome losing both her parents and this man in front of her, while still making a name for herself as a successful and, dammit, beloved, children’s book author.

  She straightened her spine, holding Sebastian’s gaze in a way that brooked no argument. He would tell her what happened, then she’d decide what she wanted to do about it. She wouldn’t let her emotions decide for her.

  There, that’s the Brighton I want to be.

  “I’m sorry. I—” He stopped talking, moving so fast Brighton didn’t see it coming, drawing her into the strong loop of his arms, his whispers in her ear fervent and heartfelt. “I talked to Dad yesterday, about you. Us. About how I didn’t want to let you down. And, fuck, I didn’t think I’d do it so soon.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, what she didn’t know, but before she could, he pressed a gentle kiss on the shell of her ear and continued. “He told me I could do it, and I thought about it, worked on it. For so long. My phone died and I just . . . shit, Brighton, I forgot to tell you I wouldn’t be there. But I promise you, I promise, I wasn’t anywhere but planning for us.”

  Planning how?

  Brighton considered the urgency in his tone, the way he held her so close, so tightly, but with a softness that told her she was special to him.

  But then, she thought about her night. About the waiting and the wondering and the worry.

  She took a step back, so she could look straight into his blue eyes, still filled with apology. “I was out of my mind with worry, Sebastian. I just got you back, and you forgot? How could you forget?” Now he was here in front of her, she felt the anger begin to pour from her very center. “I waited. I messaged you. I called you. I thought the worst and then felt guilty for thinking the worst because I promised to trust you. And you forgot.”

  She didn’t feel the first tears that slid down her cheeks, but she watched as Sebastian began to swim before her. Water clouded her vision and, suddenly, her fight was . . . gone.

  “I don’t want to live like this; I can’t.”

  Brighton’s straight spine began to curve right in front of Sebastian’s eyes, her words threatening to break him. “All I have left now is what I worked for, and if I lost everything again, I’d . . . I don’t know what I’d do.”

  He felt the truth in her words, how much he’d asked of her when he’d come back seeking forgiveness and a second chance. He knew he was selfish, more so now he knew he’d left her to wait for him while he took his time figuring out what should have been painfully obvious.

  He wouldn’t let her down again. Couldn’t, because the pain she was experiencing right in front of his eyes was like a bullet through the heart. He hadn’t been around to experience it the first time, but this time he wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll say it every day, in a thousand ways, until you can believe me. It won’t happen again. I’ll let you track my phone with one of those stalker apps that kind of freak me out, if I’m honest, but want you to have so you know I’m always where I say I am. And if I’m not, you know where I am instead. I’ll call you at set times every day, and send you all the messages telling you how much I need you and love you, and how losing you would feel endlessly worse than any bet I ever lost, any amount of money I watched being dragged away across the felt.” He took a deep breath, prepared to tell her more. Make more promises. Drop to his knees and shuffle towards her, resting his head against her soft perfect stomach, laying his heart at her feet.

  And why wouldn’t he offer her his heart? It had belonged to her for five years—even through their time apart and all the mistakes he’d made.

  And he’d made a lot of mistakes. But not Brighton. Brighton wasn’t a mistake. Taking her for granted was a mistake, and one he would rue until he took his last breath.

  “I don’t want to stalk you. Or make you check in. I don’t want to need that stuff, Seb, that’s the point. I want to just—” Her voice hitched, the tears tracking down her flushed cheeks still coming thick and fast. “Believe you. Believe in you.”

  “I’ll make it happen. I will do anything.” God, he was begging and he wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of it.

  “I need to think.” Her words felt like knives, but he couldn’t blame her. One day in and he was already making mistakes, making her doubt him.

  As she had every right to.

  “Okay, but can you do something for me?” He drew his shoulders back, feeling the sting of tears in his eyes, not ashamed to admit that losing Brighton—again—would be enough to send him spiraling. “When you’re ready, read this.” He held out the envelope he’d retrieved from his father before Declan stormed into the office, alerting him to his epic failure.

  “What is it?” She reached out to take it, but Sebastian held on a moment longer, feeling tethered to her by the white rectangle, wishing he could snap his fingers and make it righ
t.

  “You’ll see. It’s from my parents. And from me. When you’re ready, read it, and meet me there.” He let the envelope go, and couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, brushing his lips across Brighton’s plush ones. “Anything, okay? I’ll do anything.”

  Pausing a moment, he added, “I know it doesn't mean much, but I tried to send you a message first thing this morning. When I realized. But it didn't send and I didn't know, and . . .” He trailed off, knowing it wasn't an excuse, that he'd made a huge mess when he'd spent the night cleaning one up. “I'm sorry.”

  And with that, he walked to the door, opening it quickly so he wasn’t tempted to turn back, and left.

  Hoping she would meet him halfway.

  Hoping she would meet him where their future began.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brighton was shaking by the time Sebastian closed the door behind him, the evidence in the way the envelope wobbled in her grip. On unsteady feet, she made her way to her rocking chair—the comfort of it what she needed to process what was happening.

  It had always been her favorite place to think.

  She sat the envelope on her lap and closed her eyes, trying to enjoy the gentle sway of the chair as she worked to calm her breathing, her racing heart, her fears.

  Part of her knew she was overreacting. People forgot things. People didn’t always call when they should—she’d done so before, she could admit—so why was she so upset?

  Because he just promised to talk to me, always. Because I just promised to trust him.

  She didn’t know if she was making the right decision, sending him away to think about everything. What if she’d been too hasty in forgiving him?

  Her heart told her it wasn’t too soon.

  Her mind told her she had to be careful.

  His apology face? Was sexy as hell. And the memories of their reunion haunted her.

  That she wanted more of. More of the good times, not this stupid angst that made her question everything.

  Her choices.

  Her reactions.

  Her very being.

  Ugh, this is so stupid.

  Why couldn’t it be easier, she wondered. But then again, nothing good is ever easy, isn’t that what they say?

  Opening her eyes again, realizing that no answers were going to come while her mind was a raging storm of indecision and arousal, Brighton lifted the envelope, realizing for the first time that it felt weighted.

  It was thick, like it contained documents, and had something else inside. She pressed her fingers along the length, trying to make head or tail of it.

  A key?

  Only one way to find out.

  She carefully opened the seal, ensuring that nothing fell out or was accidentally ripped in doing so. It was possible she was taking longer because she wanted to delay, but she wasn’t going to own up to that.

  Inside, a sheaf of paper, documents, as she suspected. She drew them out and unfolded them, the key she’d speculated was inside falling in her lap. Attached to a small keychain in the shape of a license plate with the word, “Star”. She rolled her eyes, a moment of amusement as she considered all the times she’d looked at those personalized gifts in search of her name, only to come up empty.

  Sometimes, being Brighton sucked.

  Like when your boyfriend doesn’t show up.

  Her inner voice was getting sassy, and brutally honest to boot, so she diverted her attention to the pieces of paper in her hand. The top sheet was a letter. Without reading it, she glanced at the bottom of the page, seeing the names of Sebastian’s parents.

  She flicked over the page, and looked at the one beneath it, her breath catching as she realized what she was holding.

  A deed.

  But not just any deed. A deed to the house she and Sebastian were supposed to be living in. Would have been living in two years ago, if only . . .

  If only.

  Quickly turning back to the first page, she read the attached letter, the tears she’d managed to stem after Sebastian’s departure returning as she took in their kind, loving words.

  Dearest Brighton,

  There’s nothing we can say to make up for Sebastian’s choices, nor should there be. Our son, though we love him, made some terrible mistakes, and hurt all of us.

  You most of all.

  We’ve tried to contact you, but understanding that things are a little too difficult, we’ve decided to let you be for now, in the hopes that, one day, we can share this gift with you.

  We’ve always admired you, Brighton. Your spirit, your kindness, your hard work. And the way you’ve loved our son—no parents could ever ask for more. And that is why we wanted to salvage a part of your dream.

  Sebastian told us you two wanted to do this on your own, so please, don’t take this as a sign we don’t believe in you. We do still, and always have. But this was taken from you in the unfairest of ways, and no-one deserves such.

  Please, as you walk through the rooms of your house—yours and only yours—remember that you will always be our family, no matter what comes next. We pray for your happiness, for Sebastian’s recovery, and for a second chance to welcome you officially into our family.

  With love,

  Peter and Delaney

  Brighton’s tears became full-out sobs as she read through the letter twice more, realizing that they’d given her back her dream house. And to her, solely. It was her name on that deed.

  This time, she couldn’t lose it to someone else.

  This time, it was hers.

  She wanted to share it with Sebastian.

  Sebastian sat out front of Brighton’s dream house, hoping she wouldn't take too long to open the envelope and make her decision.

  Either way, he wanted to know what their next step would be.

  He called Declan to check in, assuring him that he'd seen Brighton and that she was angry but otherwise okay. He called his dad, let him know he'd handed over the letter and deed, which had sat for two long years in Peter’s desk, waiting to be given to their rightful owner.

  Finally, he called his mom to reassure her he was doing well after his accident over a week ago—according to her, her medical training didn't hold as much weight when it was her son she worried about—and just to . . . talk.

  Anything to keep his mind off Brighton.

  But it didn't work. He sat on the porch, tapping his foot, checking his phone, replaying every decision that had led him to this point. Finally, he stood and, using the key he’d had copied, did another walk-through of the house, making sure that the cleaning and minor repair work he’d done overnight was still looking good, that the one room he’d managed to paint was airing out and drying nicely.

  It would be her room, to use however she wanted—an office, wall-to-wall bookshelves, a place to retreat when he invariably fucked up. Again.

  He’d just made it back to the porch, his foot-tapping picking up where he’d left off, when she arrived. His Brighton was a sight for sore eyes, the same flowery skirt she’d been wearing that day at Panera flirting with her legs and taking his breath away as she hopped out of her car. She paused for a short moment beside her vehicle to stare at the home that was hers, but which should have been theirs.

  “Hi.” He wished he had something more profound to say, but what? She held all the cards. It was her move. Whatever she said or did next, that was what could change everything.

  “I failed.” She starting speaking at the same time she started walking towards him, and it was all he could do to hold still. To listen. “You asked for my trust, and I said I'd given it, but at the first test, I failed.”

  “Bright—” He tried to interrupt, but she wasn't having it.

  She stopped a foot from him and held up a hand to stop him, before continuing. “Instead of giving you the benefit of the doubt, instead of trusting that something simple had happened, I assumed the worst. I said the right things in my message, but I didn't believe them. I spent all night wondering what yo
u were gambling, not if. I was that sure that's where you'd gone.”

  “You didn't fail. It was the logical conclusion.” He raised his hands in a what are you gonna do? shrug, surprised to see it making Brighton laugh. “It could be worse. You could have worked hard to prove to someone they could trust you, only to give them a—very good, I might add—reason to doubt you. The very next day, no less.” He playfully rolled his eyes, Brighton rewarding him with more laughter, an ease about her in this moment that he recognized had been missing since he came back.

  “So, we both suck then?” Her question was asked through her laughter and with a mischievous wiggle of her eyebrows, and Sebastian couldn't stop himself from closing the gap between them and taking her in his arms.

  She softened into his embrace, wrapping her own arms around his waist, resting her chin against him and tilting her face up, so her sparkling green eyes could connect with his baby blue ones. He was certain his eyes reflected back the same love and forgiveness and happiness he caught in hers.

  “I love you. I'm sorry. I’m sorry.” He broke their eye contact to kiss her, starting slowly, a gentle mating of lips that had kissed a thousand times before, but never like this.

  Never with a wash of hope, a feeling of starting over, a promise to do better and be better.

  The sweetness of the kiss gave way to something hotter, though, as Sebastian allowed his hands to roam down Brighton's body, settling first at her hips, giving the gentlest of caresses to the tattoo he knew was on her left side, before landing on her perfect ass, squeezing the peachy globes as he slipped his tongue between her lips.

  They stood pressed together, mouths and bodies intertwined, not noticing the time tick past, not worrying about what came next at that particular moment.

  Just enjoying themselves and each other.