Zander sat, motionless.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Yes.” He rose and reached a hand down for her, then pulled her up. “Let’s head back to Merryweather.” They walked toward his car. “I want to try to get some pages written on my manuscript.”
Relieved, she grasped the olive branch of normal conversation he’d offered. “Are you going to be able to concentrate after the football defeat you suffered?”
“I’ll drown my sorrows in an iced coffee after I drop you off. Then I should be fine.”
They talked in their usual way during the remainder of the drive. But talking in their usual way seemed to require twice as much effort as it had before.
The outcome they’d both agreed they didn’t want had come to fruition. Things had gotten weird between them.
Her pulse tapped out a frightened Morse code to God.Please don’t let this destroy our relationship. Please, God.
When Britt finally entered her house, emotionally wrung out, she realized that she’d forgotten all about the sea glass she’d intended to bring home as a symbol of her victory.
Card from Frank to Carolyn on their tenth anniversary:
Carolyn,
Every day I wake up beside you and every day I can hardly believe how lucky I am. My life is golden because of you. You’ve brought me laughter and a home and two little girls who call me daddy. I love your heart, your gentleness, your strength. And I really love your legs.
Don’t punch me for that last comment. I’m joking.
Actually, I’m not. It’s true. I love your legs.
I love every inch of you and always will. Thank you for marrying me. For being my wife.
Love, Frank
Chapter
twelve
He’d known he shouldn’t kiss her.
He’d known. And he’d kissed her anyway. Now their entire relationship hung in the balance, and with it, his connection to the Bradford family.
After dropping Britt off at the Hackberry Lane Cottages, Zander made his way to Lake Shore Pine because there’d been no way he could do what he’d told Britt he intended to do—get an iced coffee and write. Writing required tremendous focus. He was only going to be able to focus on one thing today: their kiss and the conversation that followed.
For two hours straight he sat on a bench and stared at the surface of the lake. Sick to his stomach, he battled worry and blame.
Then he climbed into his car and drove country roads. He took turns at will, not caring where they might lead. Over and over again in his memory, he replayed the day’s events.
Another hour slipped past.
Earlier, when he and Britt had fallen onto the sand and the length of his body had been braced above hers, he’d been like a man who’d denied himself water for far too long, then been confronted with a waterfall. By that point, he’d been dying of thirst.
Then he’d seen the scar on her stomach, and a stunned stillness had come over him.
Nothing about Britt could ever be anything less than beautiful to him, the scar included. Fierce scars suited warrior princesses. But he hadn’t been able to fathom whatthatscar was doing onherstomach. Worse, the scar was evidence. Evidence that while he’d been gone, she’d been hurt. Badly.
For years he’d done everything in his power to protect her, to make sure that she was healthy and happy. Then, as soon as he’d let down his guard and left Washington, Britt had been involved in the kind of terrible accident he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
As she’d explained how she’d been injured, he’d been horrified by several things at once. The fact that he hadn’t been there to help her. The fact that he’d continued his trip, oblivious. The fact that she hadn’t told him something so incredibly important.
He’d tried to keep himself under control during the argument that followed, but his frustration had risen and risen until there’d been no place left to contain it.
