Instead of giving her the placating answers Claire yearned for, Hazel was ticked at her.
“You mean you’ve felt like an unworthy piece of dog poop for three years, and you’ve never talked it through with me?”
Claire gripped the phone as she paced the small bedroom. She’d heard Brig go down the stairs and the outside door open and close. She didn’t think he’d returned so she felt free to talk loudly. “You have no clue how this guilt has consumed me. How it feels to remember looking into a mother’s face as her son dies and knowing you’re responsible. It’s like I’ve got asthma with no inhaler. Like an elephant is sitting on my chest. I’m suffocating, Hazel.”
“I never thought I’d say this to you, but that’s only because you’re stupid. You don’t deal with crap like this on your own. You get a therapist or you turn to your sister, who’s smarter and better than any therapist.”
“Can I please have a little sympathy?” Claire tried not to beg but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face this head on.
“Not tonight! Three years. That’s long enough. On Monday, we’ll get you a therapist if you want someone to be nice, but this isn’t a pity party. It’s time to let it go. Peyton’s mom never blamed you. Peyton loved you, and he wouldn’t want you miserable. You didn’t ever need to take the responsibility for his death on yourself like this, no matter what happened with you and Peyton before he died.”
“I can’t let it go.” She sank onto the side of the soft bed and whispered, “I just can’t Hazel.”
“You can.” Hazel’s tone softened. “Our parents were horrible to us, and you protected and loved me through that. I can protect and love you through this.”
Tears raced down her face as the memories of childhood attacked her.
“What did you always tell me?” Hazel asked quietly.
“We won’t let them win,” she muttered.
“Yes! We didn’t let our parents break our spirits. We didn’t let them win because you inspired and protected both of us. You didn’t kill Peyton. A criminal did, and he was shot and killed for it. You’re not going to let this stupid guilt break your spirit any longer. It’s won for too long. You did your penance. The guilt is done, and you’re stronger than that. You’re a winner. Tell the guilt where to go and don’t let it win. It’s past time you go claim your man.”
It sounded good. It sounded right. Claire clutched the phone as she processed and remembered. She’d let the guilt keep her from relationships for the past three years, feeling it was the only way to pay penance to Peyton and his family for what she’d done to him. She’d let the guilt win and make her miserable. Hazel was right. Claire wasn’t a victim. She’d never let herself be one before. She’d fought through a horrific childhood and not only succeeded in rising above it herself, she’d helped her sister rise up too.
“Are you listening to me, sister?” Hazel asked.
“I think I am.”
“Good. I’m going to pray now.”
Claire nodded. Even though Hazel couldn’t see her, she squeezed her eyes shut tight.
“Lord, we need thy help and thy forgiveness. Claire needs to let go of the burden of guilt. You would never want her to carry it. Peyton would never want her to carry it. Peyton’s mom would never want her to carry it. Help her to let it go.”
A lightness filled her chest, and peace seemed to surround her as Hazel continued to pray. Claire was crying too hard to utter amen when Hazel finished her prayer.
Hazel gave her time then finally asked, “Better?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“Peyton loved you. He would want you to be happy. Can you please go find Brig for me now?”
Claire had peace, but she still didn’t know that Brig was in her future. “What if Brig is too much like Peyton? He told me he loves me. I couldn’t ever love Peyton like he loved me. It was always lopsided. I don’t want to do that to Brig.”
Hazel sighed. “Oh, Claire, you’re still acting stupid.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Hazel laughed. “Yes, Peyton worshipped you and was a fabulous guy, but you never, ever looked at him like you look at Brig.”
Claire thought that was probably true.
“Have you kissed Brig?”
She laughed. “Yes.”
“And did it feel anything like when you kissed Peyton?”
That was like comparing candlelight to the noonday sun. “No.”
“You and Peyton had friendship and mutual respect, but no sparks, no deep connection. Brig is your match, sis. I felt it just being around you two last night. Go and get him now!”
“Okay!” she yelled into the phone.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet! I love you!” Hazel cried out happily.
Claire laughed. “Love you too, sis,” she said. Dropping the phone on the side table, she flung open her door and checked Brig’s room. It was empty. She hadn’t heard him come back inside. She ran down the stairs. The main area was empty also. Hurrying out the side door, she looked around the yard, and her eyes focused on the lake.
Brig was pushing through knee-deep water and coming up to the bank. He had no shirt on, and the moonlight glistened off his broad chest. Claire’s breath caught in her throat. This man loved her. She was one stinking lucky woman.
Running down the patio steps, she sprinted along the grass to the lakeside. “Brig!” she yelled.
He focused on her, and her quick run had little to do with her shortness of breath now. His look told her how much he loved her, and she realized that she fully, completely loved him back. Brig was solid, good, and kind, but he was also exhilarating, fun, and her perfect match. Most of her guilt with Peyton had been because she couldn’t love him like he loved her. That wouldn’t be possible with Brig.
She reached him and gasped out loud as she saw water dripping down his beautifully-formed face, shoulders, and chest. She really was a blessed woman. Flinging herself against that chest was the best move she could make at the moment.
“Claire?” Brig breathed out her name, wrapping his arms around her back.
She didn’t waste time talking. Going up on her tiptoes, she grabbed his head and pulled it down toward hers. She kissed him and kissed him. He returned it beautifully. He lifted her clean off her feet and spun her around, laughing. Setting her back down, he bent close and rested his forehead against hers. “Please say this means Hazel talked some sense into you.”
Claire framed his face with her hands. She loved his face. “She told me I was an idiot.”
Brig laughed. “I hope she said it nicely.”
“Not at all. This is Hazel we’re talking about.”
He smiled.
“But she also explained a couple of things to me. When we were kids and our parents would beat us—”
Brig inhaled sharply, and his strong embrace told her if he ever found her parents they’d be in danger.
“I always told her we wouldn’t let them win. We rose above them, Brig. As children and teenagers, we rose above our awful upbringing. Hazel helped me not let the guilt I’ve carried around for the past three years win. I’m stronger than that.”
He nodded. “Yes, you are. You’re one of the strongest women I know, Claire.”
“Thanks.” She glanced down, a little embarrassed to tell him the rest. “She also explained to me that Peyton and I never had the sparks that you and I have. You and I won’t have a one-sided relationship. It will be intense love from both sides.” She looked back up, and Brig’s blue eyes were shining brightly at her.
“I don’t see how you can possibly love me as much as I love you,” Brig said.
Claire grinned. “Challenge accepted.”
He chuckled, swept her off of her feet, turned, and started walking into the water. Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and asked, “What are you doing?”
“I had no clue how much fun kissing in the water was until earlier tonight.”
Claire giggl
ed.
Brig pushed through the water until it was right below the muscles of his chest. He stopped, and Claire traced the contours of his chest with her fingertips. He groaned and pressed his mouth to hers. He claimed she couldn’t possibly love him as much as he loved her. Claire focused on kissing him to prove that she was going to win this challenge.
About the Author
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Don’t miss Cami’s other Texas Titan Romances: The Fearless Groom, The Trustworthy Groom, and The Beastly Groom.
Read on for an excerpt of Caribbean Rescue, the first book in the Billionaire Beach Romance series.
Excerpt: Caribbean Rescue
Zack Tyndale heard the wind howling and hurried around the sprawling one-story mansion, closing windows and doors. The house had been built to withstand hurricanes, so he knew he’d be safe in a normal storm, but he liked to be prepared. He rushed outside to make sure his small yacht was secure in the harbor and nothing was lying around that would be blown away. Thankfully, the previous owner had been prepared for these gales. Everything from the patio furniture to the grill was secured to the concrete, and all outside tools and toys were stored nicely in the convenient storage containers.
Zack loved his island and the local flair to his mansion. Such a nice break to be here in the usually calm Caribbean after the hell his life had become in America. He missed his mom and his niece, Chalise, but there was no other reason for him to stay and deal with his father and the constant attention for his failed Olympic hopes.
His satellite phone rang, and he smiled. “Hi, Mom.”
“Son. It’s about time you came back to work.”
Zack’s body stiffened. So his father was using his mom’s phone to try to make his demands now. No way was he going back. The damage had been done, the barriers erected, and he wasn’t ready to forgive and forget. “I’m not coming back to work for you. Ever.”
“I need you, son, and your mother and Chalise need you. Stop being selfish and come home.”
Selfish? His father dared call him selfish? “The world doesn’t revolve around you, Dad.” He knew his father would hate that casual term. “I’m happy here. I don’t need your money or your company.”
“But think of the time you could spend with Chalise.”
Of course his father would hit him with the one thing that tore him apart: not being with his niece. “I should have custody of her; you know that’s what Anne would want.”
A heavy sigh came across the line. “I’ll pay you anything to have you here with your family.”
It always came back to money. His father wanted him because Zack had proven himself brilliant with business and was able to charm even their toughest associates. He couldn’t be the pawn of a man like his father, not even for Chalise. “I’ll never work for you again.” He hung up the phone and stormed onto the patio.
Zack watched the wind whip through his trees. The solar lights the original owner had set up on the docks and near the beach swayed. The energy of the storm and fury at his father raced through him, making him want to go run for a while. Rain started to splatter onto the pool deck and landscaped flowerbeds and grass. Protected under the large overhang, he stretched for a minute. Maybe he’d go inside and cook or clean something, since he couldn’t run. When the weather was bad, it wasn’t as easy to keep busy, and being bored meant thinking about what had happened to his life. Thinking wasn’t something he liked to do.
A few steps from the French doors, he heard the high whine of a motor. Zack whipped around and searched the ocean beyond. There were no lights, but the motor sound was unmistakable. What kind of an idiot would be out on the water with no lights and in what sounded like a small boat?
Zack raced past his pool and gardens and took the steps to the beach two at a time. He could just make out a small boat hurtling through the water. He didn’t even have time to be angry that someone was invading his sanctuary as he saw the angle they traveled toward the island. “No, not that way!” he yelled, though they couldn’t possibly hear him.
Zack sprinted through the sand and onto his dock. He kept one eye on the boat as he ran the length of the dock, waving his arms and yelling, “Turn! Turn!” Large boulders and a former shipwreck resided just under the water, exactly where that boat was heading. Any other angle into the harbor was deep and safe to take even in his yacht, but this idiot was coming straight for the shallow waters of the dock instead. Why weren’t they slowing even though they were within a hundred feet of the dock?
“Stop!” he screamed. “Turn!”
The sickening crunch was louder than the howling wind and rain. The rear of the boat flung into the air, and the lone passenger flew forward and disappeared into the water. Zack dove off the dock, surfacing quickly, and used strong strokes to cross the distance. Water from the uneven waves splashed into his face, making it hard to see. The person bobbed up out of the water and started swimming in his direction. That was a relief. From the hair streaming around her, he assumed it was a woman.
They came within a few feet of each other, and Zack slowed and treaded water. “Are you okay?”
“I-I think so.”
“Can you make it to the dock?” Lights reflecting from the beach showed a mop of dark hair and a beautiful face.
In answer, she started slowly swimming that direction, but she hadn’t gone four strokes before she swayed and rolled over onto her back. That’s when Zack noticed the cut on her head. The sea turned the blood a watery pink. She’d definitely hit her head on one of the rocks or maybe the old shipwreck.
“You’re not okay.”
“I can make it.” She started to kick. A wave rolled over her face and she jerked up, coughing and spluttering, but bravely kept trying to stay afloat, beating at the water with her arms and legs.
She was tough and not a complainer. Nice.
“I’ve got you.” Zack looped his arm under her armpit and over her chest and tugged her back to the dock. She had a small build, but her clothes must’ve been waterlogged because she seemed to weigh a ton. Zack was in shape, but he tired quickly.
Finally, they made it to the dock and the woman clung to the edge. Zack grabbed hold and heaved himself out of the water then helped lift her up. She collapsed onto her back and released a loud breath. “Oh, thank you. I thought it was time to reacquaint myself with Saint Peter.”
“Saint Peter?” She’d hit her head hard, or she was crazy. He looked over her fancy, waterlogged dress and the diamonds sparkling at her throat. She’d been out in the ocean like that, without a lifejacket? Crazy it might be or with quite a good story to tell.
“You know—the angel at the pearly gates.”
Zack let out a surprised laugh. “Glad you put that off for a little while.”
“Me, too.” She sat up and touched the small gash in her head. Blood trickled between her fingertips. “Ouch.”
“I bet.” Zack pushed his way to his feet and offered her a hand. The wind whipped his wet T-shirt around him. He was glad he shaved his head and didn’t have hair whipping in his face like she did. “Let’s get you up to the house and cleaned up.”
She placed her hand in his but wavered as he helped her up. Zack wrapped his other arm around her waist and lifted her onto her feet. She swayed.
“Can you walk?”
Her eyes filled with stubborn pride. “Of course I can walk.”
She pulled away from him, took one step, teetered off the dock, and splashed back into the water.
“Oh, boy.” Zack shook his head. He hadn’t smelled alcohol on her breath, but that had to be the explanation. Fancy dress, alone on a boat in the ocean at night. He’d have to help her tonight, then load her onto his yacht tomorrow and get her to Belize. If she had a
ny money, it was probably sunk with her little boat. He’d get her to where she needed to go and be done with this mess. Oddly enough, he didn’t mind the excitement. It was a good contrast to his normally sedate lifestyle.
She came up to the surface sputtering and flailing. Zack knelt down, put his hands under her armpits, and hefted her back onto the dock. He stood slowly, supporting both of them, then swung her off her feet and into his arms. Despite himself, he noticed how nicely she fit against him. It had been a long while since he’d been around an attractive, unrelated woman. “Shall we try this again?”
“Good plan.” Her voice rumbled against his chest, and he kind of liked it. “I must’ve thumped my head harder than I thought.”
“Or something,” he muttered.
Her head whipped up, her brown eyes full of fire. “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m …” She quickly looked down again, not meeting his gaze.
“You’re …” he encouraged. He’d like to hear her story, and he did believe her that she wasn’t drunk. Her speech was too lucid and her breath smelled too clean.
“I can’t. I don’t know who to trust.” She grabbed on to his arm. “Oh, holy monkey balls!”
Zack jerked in surprise and almost dropped her as she squirmed in his arms. “What are you doing now? You want to fall in the water again?” They’d reached the end of the dock, but she could still fall in the shallow water.
“I’ve got to find something. Please. Can you help me look in the water? Back where my boat is?” Her eyes were wide and frantic.
“Right now?” Zack gestured to the waves building as the storm increased in intensity. “No! You’re hurt. It’s dark. And there’s a storm.” His four-year-old niece had more common sense than this woman, and Chalise hadn’t spoken a word in two years.
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