Page 60 of Don't Regret Me
“Are you going to be okay?” she whispered, concern shining in her eyes.
“I have to be.” Liz closed her eyes. “I don’t get the luxury of falling apart.” Even when the world crumbled to pieces around her, when her reputation was threatened by paparazzi who didn’t know her. Even when one of the few people who should be on her side threw away everything they felt for each other. The Nick she’d known wouldn’t have done that.
Jasmine rested on her back, and Liz put her head on the other woman’s shoulder, needing the closeness of knowing she wasn’t alone in this. From the very beginning, three people believed her story. Two of them were kids who’d believe almost anything she told them. The other was Jas.
“Thank you.”
Jasmine reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I should be the one thanking you. When I met you, I was on my way to losing the last job that would have me. Now, I’m broke and the only thing I have is a blog earning no more than pennies, but I can’t remember ever feeling this… useful. Like what I’m doing is worthwhile. Blogs are sort of dead, so I don’t know if that’s my future, but trying to solve this mystery, to set the record straight, has made me realize I deserve more than just any job. I’m done working for people who don’t care about the truth.”
“At least I know when this is all over, I’ll have one friend.”
Booker was still a question mark. He’d seemed to get past her rejection, but that didn’t mean the feelings just went away.
Their words faded into silence, and Jasmine told the lights to turn off. Benefits of smart lights. After a while, Liz found herself drifting into sleep, images of the Nick she liked to remember floating through her brain.
A shirtless Nick sitting on the edge of the deck, legs dangling off and a smile stretched across his face. The sort-of bearded Nick staring into the water like it would eat him alive. The way he looked at her when he found her in his office with his brother's story, both like he’d found something important and hated that discovery.
That same script sat heavily on her bedside table, unopened since the moment she found it. Just like Nick’s lost memories. Unopened, unused, relegated to a past that didn’t exist.
Something tainted the air, an acrid smell coating every breath.Nick must be cooking again, she thought, remembering how badly he burned the quiche.
In her sleep-addled mind, she knew he’d take care of it. He’d take care of her.
By the time her eyes popped open and she realized what the scent was, that it was real, it was too late.
The smoke had already filled her room.
29
NICK
It was creepy to stare. Creepy to sit in a car and watch the house where the woman he betrayed rested with her family. But he couldn’t leave, couldn’t tear his eyes from the dark deck, the silver shine of moonlight on the water.
He should be there with her. Right now, he should have her folded in his arms. Instead, he’d called her a liar, accused her of unforgivable things, and pushed her away.
His phone rang. Sherrie. Ripping open the glove compartment, he shoved the phone in and slammed it shut. He’d seen what the tabloids said of Liz and knew who planted the stories. It didn’t surprise him that Sherrie would act so vindictively, but had she tried to kill him?
They needed to have a long chat, starting with what to do about Stephanie, but he wasn’t ready for that.
It was so hard to believe everything she’d done, and yet, he knew she hated him. Had hated him since long before his accident. He just didn’t know why.
The phone buzzed from the compartment, and he ignored it. There was only one woman he wanted to talk to, only one he owed any sort of explanation.
Only one who’d never forgive him.
He was about to turn back, about to drive away, save the stalking for another day and return to the house where Bentley watched Stephanie, when he saw tendrils of smoke curling through the night below. Jumping out of the car, he climbed onto the hood to get higher. Flames lit the dark, curling underneath the door and through a broken window.
With a curse, Nick hopped down and into the car, taking off on the familiar road. His body jerked when the car hit a speed bump, but he didn’t slow until he reached the front yard. Parking on the grass, he scrambled out.
Coughing came from the direction of the door moments before Booker appeared, one of Mr. Ross’s arms draped over his shoulders. The older man collapsed to his knees, and Booker fell beside him. He tried to get back up, to reach the house again, but his lungs wouldn’t let him. Every time he hacked, his body shook, losing its strength.
“Liz,” he coughed. “The kids.”
“They’re still inside?”
“I don’t know. The smoke reached us first. I tried to get to their rooms.” His face held anguish. “I tried.”
“I know.” Nick took off without another glance, bursting through the front door. He faintly heard the sounds of sirens, but they’d be too late. Pulling his shirt up over his mouth and nose, he breathed shallowly. Smoke stung his eyes, and he couldn’t see anything except the flames at the front of the house to his right. They snaked up the charred curtains and over the wooden walls like they had a life of their own.
