Chapter 18

 

I wasn't ready.

It was with a very heavy heart that I walked into the auto shop to collect my Mazda. Would it be rude to leave and only come back tomorrow? The thought hadn't even fully formed before I turned.

"You're here."

Logan's voice stopped me mid-step, and I bit back a curse. Planting a smile on my face, I pivoted to face him. "I am." As subtle as I could, I scanned the area, hoping to catch Brett.

"He already left."

"I'm sorry?" I feigned ignorance. "Who left?"

One of those laughs that came straight from the belly filled the air. "Ah, come on now…"

I huffed out a breath and spread my arms wide, "Fine. I wanted to say goodbye in person."

Logan motioned for me to follow him up the stairs that led to an office. Once he moved behind the desk, he pulled an envelope from the top drawer. My heart stopped beating as he held it out to me. If it was another letter from Brett, I didn't want it.

With a frown, he shook the brown manila, "Your invoice and key fob."

"Right." I snatched the envelope from him and removed its contents. While my eyes scanned over the paper, my brain was somewhere else. I didn't care how long it took, but I wasn't leaving Willow Creek until I got some answers from Brett.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Along with my question, I handed Logan my credit card.

He didn't hide his smile as he reached for the tiny machine on his desk and swiped my card. "’Course."

"I'm absolutely horrible with directions," I admitted. "Will you please draw me a map to the cabin?" Being as secluded as it was, I doubted that the address for Brett's cabin would be listed on any application.

With a nod of his head, he grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and started scribbling. When he was done, he held it out to me but didn't let go. "I'm not a person who meddles," he insisted. "Brett is family, and I look out for family." I blinked and tipped my head. "Now, I don't know exactly how things went down with you two, but I remember how it affected him, how it still affects him. You be mindful of that when you go out there."

With my spine straightened, I held his stare until he relinquished his hold on the scrap of paper. "Thank you." With a lot of care, I folded the map in half and slid it into my back pocket.

As if the last few minutes never happened, Logan proceeded to explain all the work that had been done on my car, and after I signed the job card, I was on my way.

Back at the guesthouse, I stared at the clothes laid out on the bed. On one side was, what used to be, my favorite business suit. Dean had always complimented me on how well the navy brought out my eyes. Next to the suit was a pair of faded jeans with a plain white t-shirt.

To most people that would just be two outfits beside each other. To me, it was two very different people sprawled out on the bed, and I had to decide which one was the real me.

Instead of deciding that instant, I made my escape to the bathroom where I took a shower. A shower that lasted so long, the water had turned cold. With my hands planted on my hips, I returned to the bed, my gaze bouncing between the outfits.

I reached for the jeans and t-shirt, and a slow smile spread across my face. Every item I donned brought with it a new sense of freedom and finally being in control. When my bags were packed, I went in search of Mrs. Davis.

I found her sitting in the garden. "May I?"

Happiness twinkled in her eyes as she patted the empty space next to her, "Please." We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, admiring her beautiful garden. A pair of butterflies fluttered past, and my heart pinched.

"Are you heading home, dear?"

I wanted to tell her that I wasn't going home, I was returning to the place where my belongings were. Right then, I didn't know where home was. Instead, I whispered, "Yes."

Mrs. Davis's elderly hand covered mine, "And you're sure you're not leaving anything behind?"

My gaze snapped to hers, and I was certain she saw the question burning in my eyes. She smiled a smile that said I still needed to learn everything she'd already forgotten about life. "I'm afraid there are a lot of things I'm not sure of, Mrs. Davis."

"As long as you leave with no regrets." She gave my hands a quick squeeze and slowly pushed to her feet. "I'm not saying goodbye," she winked at me and then strolled in the direction of the house.

A few minutes later I was behind the wheel of my Mazda, heading down a dirt road wondering if I'd completely lost my mind. I felt relieved when I pulled up in front of the cabin and spotted Brett's parked truck.

Relief soon made way for nerves when I approached the door. I raised my hand to knock but stopped when I heard faint hammering. Curiosity got the better of me, and I set off to inspect where the sound came from.

I had no idea what I was expecting to find, but it definitely was not Brett standing in front of a massive blowtorch tinkering with something attached to a metal rod. The workshop looked like it could have been a barn at some point — if barns consisted of cement walls and steel doors.

I couldn't make out all the equipment in there, but some of the stuff looked familiar. Just before everything between Brett and I went south, he'd started looking into glass blowing. He'd spent hours and hours browsing through sites looking for the equipment he needed.

Judging by the three benches, two of them containing torches, and the array of contraptions around him, he'd found everything he'd been looking for.

He was so lost in what he was doing; I took the time to shamelessly ogle him. I'd always rolled my eyes at the parts in romance novels where the heroine just looked at the guy, and she turned to mush.

Until I met Brett Carter.

One look from him and my pulse was on fire, one lop-sided grin and my entire body turned into a furnace.

Still unaware of my presence, he balanced the rod on the bench before him and gripped the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

And, holy moly, I just about melted into a puddle when I was given an eyeful of his perfectly sculpted abs and that delectable V that disappeared into his low-slung jeans. I gulped down some much-needed air and chewed on my lip.

The man was all kinds of fine wrapped up in a package good enough to eat.

He paused mid-wipe and our gazes collided. My feet began to move and didn't stop until I was just a few inches from him. He let go of the shirt and took me in, in an agonizingly slow perusal. I felt every cell in my body come alive under his gaze.

"I thought you left?"

Tilting my chin and squaring my shoulders, I said, "You and I have unfinished business."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" His eyes dropped to my mouth and then lower before returning to mine, unmasked heat simmering in them.

"Can we talk?" How I managed to ignore the tug low in my belly, and the warmth spreading through me, was anyone's guess.

Brett sobered in an instant and nodded. "We'll head inside in a minute." He then turned off the blowtorch and flicked a few switches.

"You're not going to close it?" I asked when he started for the cabin without shutting the doors to his workshop.

He glanced over his shoulder and shrugged, "No one here but us, Sweet—" the endearment died on his tongue, and he continued his trek inside. I took a fortifying breath and followed him.

"You wanted to talk, so talk," he spat as soon as I entered. His walls were back up, and I doubted whether I'd be able to break through them.

Still, I was going to try.

"I never had the chance to tell you this," I began. "Those pills, I only used them to help me study. You know how my dad was, and if I didn't get good grades, he would have disowned me. Although, in hindsight that wouldn't have been such a bad thing."

I shook my head and continued, "I wasn't some strung out druggie. College was harder than I thought it would be and I needed a little help."

"You should have told me."

A sardonic laugh bubbled up. "Yeah, you’re probably right. I just loved you so much; I couldn't bear for you to look at me differently."

"Kenzie—"

"Why did you never reply to any of my letters?" I finally voiced the one question I needed an answer to most of all.

Deep frown lines creased his forehead, and even from where I was standing I could see he was biting down on his teeth. "What do you mean?" I barely heard the words through his clenched jaw.

I swallowed to ease the dryness in my throat. "I wrote to you every day," I cried. "Explaining how my dad had kept me from going to see you. I couldn't even make it past the gate, Brett!" I took a step forward. "But not once did you write back."

Gone were all my good intentions, I was angry too and, yeah, I hadn't made the right decisions but neither did he.

"You accused me of not having the decency to tell you things to your face, but all you did was lash out at me." My voice was rising. "You—" I stabbed my index finger in his direction. "—were no better than me."

He looked as if I had just slapped him across the face. "You wrote to me?"

"Every day, for almost seven months." I didn't understand the confusion flashing in his eyes.

His gaze dropped to the floor, a quizzical expression pulling his brows together. "You didn't get any of my letters?"

"The only letter I got from you was the one where you told me that you wished you'd never met me," I mumbled.

Brett shook his head vehemently and rushed toward me. "You don't understand, Kenzie, I sent letters before that one. I tried calling your house, but your mom would never let me talk to you."

"You did?"

He cupped my shoulders and stooped, eyes full of concern scanning over me. "Sweetheart, before I went away you were my whole world. That wasn't about to change because I traded my apartment for a six by nine cell."

"But you said—"

"Those words were written in anger. You never showed up when you said you would. I was hurting—" he touched his chest, "—here."

Never in my life had I felt as confused as I did at that moment. "I don't understand," my gaze shifted to the side for a moment then snapped back to his. "You called the house?"

He swallowed, "I did."

My hands flew to my mouth, and I took a step back. "No," I breathed. "This can’t be right."

"Kenzie?" Brett's voice was filled with so much tenderness; I wanted to wrap it around me like a safety blanket.

"Don’t you see? My dad had found a way to intercept our letters. I should have paid more attention when he'd vowed he'd make sure we'd never see each other again." I took another step back. "I'm so stupid."

As the heart-shattering realization dawned, angry tears slipped from my eyes. How was it possible for parents to put their child through so much hurt?