Chapter 28 Thane
THANE
Icouldn’t remember the last time I’d slept in this late, but I wouldn’t chastise myself for it. And last night had been bloody worth it. Just when I thought sex with Regan couldn’t get any better, she’d devoured me, barely letting me up for air.
I grinned, feeling our workout in my muscles as I stretched. Regan had slipped from the bed to use the bathroom a few minutes ago, and I anticipated her return with hot blood in my veins.
Unbelievably, I wanted her again.
Rolling onto my elbow as she emerged from the bathroom in her nightdress, I let my eyes roam over her, my chest swelling with emotion.
She was so beautiful, inside and out. Stronger than she gave herself credit for.
After she’d revealed her attack, I never imagined we’d spend the night the way we had.
But she clearly refused to let that son of a bitch screw with her head any more than he already had, and I knew I had to follow her lead on this. I was proud of her.
I opened my mouth to tell her so, but as she neared the bed, I noted her eyes weren’t on me. They were on my nightstand.
I looked over to see what had her attention and then froze.
A quick glance back at Regan confirmed my fears.
She was staring morosely at the photo of me and Fran.
It had always been there. I had never had reason or want to move it.
But guilt suddenly gnawed at me as Regan dropped her gaze.
“I’m going to put the coffee on.” She didn’t look at me. Just threw a small smile in my general direction before leaving the room.
It wasn’t the first time I’d caught Regan looking at the picture. It was, however, the first time I felt like I’d done something wrong by leaving it there.
Sitting up, I scrubbed a hand over my face as I contemplated the situation.
If it were the other way around and I’d spent all night in Regan’s bed only to wake up to the photo of another man on her nightstand—my gut clenched at the thought.
Looking back at the picture, I exhaled slowly.
REGAN
The photo of Fran was gone.
When Thane didn’t come downstairs for his coffee, I sucked it up, deciding I was being a jealous, selfish moron. Last night he’d taken a night that could have gone down as one of the worst of my life and turned into one of the best.
With mugs in hand, I ventured upstairs, determined to shove my confused thoughts about Fran to the back of my head.
When I returned to the bedroom, Thane was dressed in his pjs and sitting on the end of the bed with his head in his hands.
And the photo on his nightstand was gone.
Contrition filled me. I placed the coffee on the now-empty spot and sat down beside him. “You moved the photo.”
Thane lifted his head and nodded. “It was time.”
“I didn’t mean to be obvious about it … or make you feel bad.”
“The photos bother you.” He sighed.
“Not all of them. Fran is Eilidh and Lewis’s mom.
Your first love. She should be here in the house with them, with you.
I … the one on the nightstand is … it’s different from the ones downstairs.
Those are about you all as a family. That one is about you and her.
I … I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t make me jealous.
” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “But it also makes me hurt for you. Fran was obviously the love of your life, and you clearly can’t move on from her, and I don’t want that for you.
I don’t want you to not be able to love again. ”
“You got all that from a picture on a nightstand?” His question was defensive, harsh, and it drew my gaze. He glared at me, and I glowered back.
“Not just that. You never talk about how she died. Ever. Why is it such a big secret?”
Thane shook his head, confused. “It’s not a big secret. I assumed you knew. That one of the family told you or that Robyn told you as soon as you got here.”
Now I was confused. “You haven’t been keeping it from me?”
“Why would I?” He turned to me. “I don’t talk about it because it was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced … but that’s different from keeping it from you.”
Fear coiled in my gut. God, Thane, what happened? I wanted to ask, but not after what he’d just said. I didn’t want to torment him because I was screwed up over loving a man who didn’t want to love me back.
Thane sat up straight and stared around the room.
Finally, he said, “Everything is different in here. The rest of the house is decorated pretty much as Fran and I decorated it together. But this room … I had to change it. Paint, floors, blinds, furniture …” He glanced over his shoulder, a haunted look on his face.
“New bed, new mattress … She died in our bed,” he announced abruptly, and I sucked in a harsh breath.
At the awful look in his eyes, my tears spilled over.
“One morning the alarm went off as it always did, and I woke up. I thought Fran was still asleep … but as I started to wake up properly, I realized there was an unnatural stillness about her.
“She was just … gone.” I saw his disbelief. “And I was in a nightmare. How do you go to sleep with your wife breathing beside you … and wake up and her body is there, but she’s not in it anymore?”
The pain I felt for him burst out in a sob before I could stop it, and he reached for me, catching my tears on his thumbs.
“It was a brain aneurysm,” he whispered. “Died in her sleep. Peaceful, they told me. A peaceful way to go. For her. And for that, I will forever be grateful.”
“But it was horrific for you.” I didn’t need to guess. If one day I woke up to find Thane no longer breathing beside me, I’d lose my goddamn mind. “You’re so strong.” I reached for him, peppering tear-soaked kisses over his face.
He returned those kisses with deeper, more intentional ones.
“Thane”—I tried to move away from him—“maybe we shouldn’t.” Not after what he’d just told me.
“Francine is not a ghost in this bed.” He lifted me under my arms and threw me gently on it. I gasped as he came down over me, his features harsh with need. “And I won’t let her become that for you.”
THANE
Making love to Regan wasn’t just about distracting me from memories I’d rather not linger on or making sure she didn’t let the truth of Fran’s death mess with her head regarding what was between us in this bed.
It was Regan’s tears. Her visceral, unconstrained reaction to my pain.
That she might care enough about me to want to stay. And maybe she did. Maybe now, at this moment, she did.
But I couldn’t trust her mind wouldn’t change in a few months or a year or even a few years’ time. If I let myself believe in what sparked between us, she’d eventually destroy me.
So I needed to lose myself in her body, in the distraction of our passion.
And mostly, I needed to let go of the self-reproach that plagued me. Remorse for Fran. For her memory. Because as much as I’d never forget what it was like to love her or grieve her … I had moved on.
I’d moved on in a way that shook me to my core.