Page 29 of Wrecked
It felt like home.
"I can't stand to be in a place without windows." At the sound of Brett's voice, I turned around only to find him a few inches from me, his focus was where mine had been a moment ago. "I need space, and the houses in town don't provide nearly enough of it."
Something clicked into place, and I finally understood. I could even accept that the insults he'd thrown at me in his letter were warranted. Ihadbeen selfish. Not once did I consider what he went through or what he had to give up because of me.
I reached forward and flattened my palm against his bare chest. He jerked, and when his gaze snapped to mine, his eyes looked wild. "Brett, I realize I should have said this a long time ago, and that it doesn't make anything better but, I truly am sorry for everything you've lost because I wasn't woman enough to fight my own battles."
He swallowed hard, and the hurt he felt showed in his eyes. "I never finished my studies, never became the artist I'd wanted to be." His jaw muscle started to jump. "Lost my friends, had to move away and start my life from scratch." I felt the tears roll down my cheeks as his pained words lodged in my chest. "But don't you see, Kenzie," he cupped my face, his eyes searching mine. "None of that compares to losing—"
He snatched his hands from me and took a step back; his breaths coming in quick successions. "I can't do this now." He shook his head and took another step backward before he spun around and stormed off.
I pressed my palm to my stomach as I was showered with guilt. Guilt over everything Brett had to endure, and guilt for wanting him to finish his sentence and tell me that losing me had crippled him, as much as losing him had broken me.
What was I thinking? I thought that by seeing him and talking to him, I'd get closure. The only thing I got was a whole heap of confusion. I blew out a long, slow breath and took in the uncooked ingredients on the counter.
Might as well make myself useful.
First, I hunted for plates; opening up almost all the cupboards before I found them. Then I scavenged his fridge for cheese. I had no idea what breakfast he'd had in mind, but I was making omelets.
When life hands you broken eggs and all…
Just as I slid the last one onto the plate, Brett's presence filled the kitchen. I didn't have to look to know his eyes were on me, I felt it. My skin felt as though someone had pressed a live wire to it. After sucking in some much-needed air, I turned my eyes to the entryway.
That emotionless mask that he wore so well was back and he'd finally covered up all the skin he'd had on display.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he was faster. "I appreciate the apology, but I think we should leave the past where it belongs. It's been twelve years and I really just want to forget it ever happened." Brett moved farther into the kitchen and lifted his arm. Only then did I spot my clothes hanging from it. "It's dry."
Nodding, I took that as his subtle way of telling me I wasn't wanted there. My feet felt heavy as I moved to take my jeans and tank from him. "Thanks," I mumbled.
He regarded me through slightly narrowed eyes, and when I finally couldn't handle his gaze on me anymore, I rushed off. Just before I entered the room, I noticed the hole in the door and I wondered if his bruised hand had anything to do with it.
As I stepped into my jeans, I recalled that his hand wasn't hurt when I'd seen him at the guesthouse on Sunday. I pulled my tank over my head and stuffed my bra in my back pocket. Over my shoulder, I glanced at the closed door before I pulled on the bedside table drawer.
I should have known it would be filled with the kind of things single, virile men keep close to the bed; I just wasn't prepared to be bombarded with all the stuff that would make for one kinky night.
That's what I get for snooping.
With a lot more force than was called for, I slammed the offending drawer shut and immediately jumped to face the door. I didn't want to get caught rummaging through things I had no business looking at in the first place.
The only problem now was every time I looked at Brett, I would know what was in his drawer, and then my stupid imagination would probably create some very vivid images.
Ugh! The sooner I left, the better.
"So, I'll just be on my way then," I announced when I re-entered the kitchen.
Brett looked up from where he was filling two glasses with more orange juice. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and sighed heavily. "First breakfast," he insisted when his attention was on me again. "Then I will drop you off at the guesthouse."
"Oh no, I don't want to put you out any more than I already have." Being stubborn was new to me. I threw my thumb over my shoulder, "I'll find my way."
Brett's chuckle filled the room; I hated it for warming my insides like it did. "Kenzie, sit and eat your breakfast. We'll leave after."
My brows pulled together, and I planted my hands on my hips. "I'm leaving now."
His sandy strands spilled over his forehead as he shook his head with annoyance. "Fine, you wanna walk fifteen miles, be my guest." With his plate and glass in hand, he pushed past me and plonked down at the dinette. "Your phone and the cash you had on you are on the bookcase." He pointed toward said bookcase with his knife before he continued to shovel food into his mouth.
Fifteen miles?I wasn't an athlete, but I did keep fit by running and taking spinning classes three times a week. To walk fifteen miles just seemed so daunting in my current state.
My gaze bounced from Brett, to the plate of food on the counter, to the door, before it settled on the food again. Gingerly, I grabbed the omelet and juice and joined Brett at the table.
