Page 67 of Memories of Us

“No, Beks.” He wrapped his hands around mine and pulled them close. “I wouldn't have. I swear to you I didn't do that. I didn't make the decision to walk away. Yes, I was high, but my feelings were real. I remember that much. I wouldn't have said all that to you and then walked away. I won't believe it.”

“It's the question I've been asking for thirteen years. Why?” I choked out, then downed what was left of the bottle in my hand.

“The fact that I have zero memory, not even a damn hint of what you're talking about when everything else is coming back to me, makes me believe I had nothing to do with it. I'll find out the truth. I'll prove it to you, Beks.” Looking down to the table, he took a deep swallow. “I know I have no right to ask, but I have to know. What happened to our baby?”

The world spun. I slammed my eyes shut and leaned back to regain my equilibrium.

Our baby.

Hearing that phrase from his lips, his voice, was too much. My shoulders trembled with every short breath between sobs. A quiet commotion went on in front of me before the pressure from the seat belt disappeared and I was hauled onto his wide, solid lap. Unable to look at him, I buried my face in his hot neck and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him closer.

Even the soothing swipes of his hand down my hair did nothing to ease the pain. My still-raw heart had sliced back open at those two words.

Our baby.

Yeah, our baby.

The chin resting on the crown of my head trembled. Pulling back far enough to look up, I found his eyes sealed shut. A single tear dripped slowly down his tan, scruffy cheek. His pain at the memories, at the raw gash I knew was across his heart like it had once been on me, had me pressing a palm against his cheek, pushing the other against my own.

“You can't even say it, can you?” he choked out. “I killed... it's my fault.” His broad shoulders shook in what seemed to be restrained anger or sadness.

“It's not your fault, B.” I turned my face to press my lips to his trembling ones. “It was an accident. You didn't make the animal run out into the road. You didn't plan on being in Odessa, saving your underage pregnant girlfriend. Nothing that night was anyone’s fault. It was just a tragic event that tore us apart for thirteen years.”

Brenton's breaths turned rapid against my skin.

“Brenton, breathe.”

“It's my fault. Everything about that night and after was my fault. I ruined your life and took another.” He buried his head into my neck and squeezed his arms tighter around me. “Beks, I can't breathe. This hurts worse than when Caleb died. I left you alone with all that. I left you alone to deal with it all.”

“Stop,” I said soothingly. “It's done.”

Internally I was begging him to stop. I couldn't go down that path again. I'd been down it too many times, though less frequently in the last few years, but I couldn't look back now. I was almost whole, mostly due to the man breaking beneath me.

Yes, he might’ve ruined my life thirteen years ago, but right now he was saving it.

“Nothing we can do about it now. I hurt over this for years, and honestly, I don't want to relive that pain. It still hurts, but never once—not once, Brenton—did I blame you for me losing the baby.”

“Our baby.”

My bottom lip quivered. “Our baby.”

“How old... I mean, how far along were you?”

“Six weeks.”

Warm, salt-slick lips pressed against my own, and I moaned at the desperation that leached through the kiss. An unknown urgency had him devouring me, licking and teasing my tongue with his own. He needed this, needed me, needed control, and at that moment I'd allow him to have it if that was what he needed.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered against my lips before sealing them back over mine.

Breathless from pouring all of him into all of me, he pulled back and pressed his forehead against my own. “I don't deserve your forgiveness. I deserve your hate and resentment for what I did to you. Hate me, Beks. Please, please hate me.”

“What?” I asked, staring at his dark lashes.

“Hate me. Hit me. Tell me to fuck off and what a hateful, terrible bastard I am. Because that's what I am. Who I am. These past thirteen years, I've lived a damn lie thinking I was better than my father, and look at me. I forgot the woman I loved, nearly killed her, and killed our unborn child. I'm a worthless human being, and that's what I deserve to be seen as by you.”

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