“And then, when you found us again, you behaved like you were the wronged one! Your deafness was somehow my fault and I had ‘abandoned’ you at the scene of an accident.” She could hear the stark bitterness in her own voice and knew that it had to be visible in her eyes and on her face. She was still so very furious at the unjustness of those particular indictments. “Do you not see how unforgivable those accusations were? How insurmountable these problems are? And now you want us to be a family, you don’t want a divorce, and you expect me to somehow be grateful for that? You expect me to forget all the pain you’ve inflicted? Well, I can’t do it, Bryce. I wish I could, but since I have no idea what set you off in the first place, how on earth am I supposed to trust you not to go off the deep end again? What if I inadvertently trigger your rejection button again? I can’t live with the uncertainty. I don’t want to and I refuse to allow my daughter to experience the same pain and confusion.
“I know I’ve said it before, but I’m also heartily sick of your secretiveness, Bryce. This situation has made me recognize how much you’ve kept from me. You’re completely closed off and that’s not something that’s only recently developed. I’ve come to discover that you’ve always kept things from me and I don’t even care what those secrets are anymore.”
It was a long speech and it had been difficult to maintain her focus and keep facing him so that he could catch all of it. She had tried to intersperse it with as much sign language as she could, but she still couldn’t be sure that he had caught all of it. The hangover headache had quite happily invited a tension headache to join the wild party in her brain, and the pain was becoming almost unbearable.
“I was trying to protect you,” he confessed after a long silence, and Bronwyn cast an eye over to her daughter, who was starting to watch her parents with a worried frown, not as oblivious to the tension as they had hoped. Bronwyn cast a reassuring smile at Kayla. Not quite sure what to make of that last statement.
“You and the baby,” he said. “I wanted to protect you.”
“Protect us from what, Bryce?” she asked, combining the spoken words with broken sign language to convey her frustration. Every little bit that he so begrudgingly revealed made her recognize how very much he was still keeping hidden from her. She’d seen only the very tip of this iceberg, and she was astounded by her own former ignorance. How had she never recognized the magnitude of this problem? She had been so blinded by her love and happiness that she’d never known what an unhappy and troubled man her husband was. She had been so naïve and stupid.
“From what?” she asked again, and he shook his head helplessly. “Why did you react that way to the news of my pregnancy?”
He sighed deeply and the sound seemed torn from the depths of his chest. His eyes were stark with unhappiness and fear. He shook his head again before pushing himself up and dropping a kiss on top Kayla’s head. The little girl managed to smear some scrambled eggs across his cheek but he didn’t seem to notice as he straightened up to look at Bronwyn again. The naked vulnerability on his face tore at her heart and she bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from blurting out something stupid. Something like she loved him or that she would stay. She felt like she would do anything to wipe that look of utter isolation and agony from his eyes.
“I’ll get my assistant to look into viable homes for you. Once we’ve compiled a list of possibilities, you can decide which one suits you best.” He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Bronwyn feeling wrung out and deflated by the hollow victory.
Bryce waited until he was safely back behind the closed door of his study before bending at the waist and inhaling deeply as the consequences of his promise hit him like a freight train. She was going to leave him and he was going to let her because she deserved her freedom, because it was cruel to saddle a vibrant and affectionate woman like her with an emotionally crippled husband, and most importantly because he still didn’t know how to explain his actions on that long-ago night.
A baby, Jesus God, he had thought. He wasn’t ready to be a father! He would be terrible at it. He would be like his own father—abusive, mean, and absent in both heart and soul. He couldn’t have a child yet, not until Bronwyn healed him some more. Over the last couple of years, she had been a balm to his restless and damaged spirit. In time, her gentle calm and kindness would have spread to him, would have seeped into his soul and made him the kind of man that he longed to be. He would have been ready to be a father then and responsible for a brand-new life. And yet she was pregnant now . . . she had his baby inside of her at this very moment. His breath hitched on a sob as he saw her in his mind’s eye, getting rounder, softer, her breasts growing full and heavy with milk. He saw her giving birth, saw their baby: angry, red, naked, and crying and loved it with all his heart. He wanted that life with his entire being.
Not just the two of them but the three of them: A family.
Yes, he wanted that life badly, and with Bronwyn by his side, he was almost certain that he could have it. He wasn’t his father. He had practically raised Rick without harming a hair on his head, so why would he be any different with his own children? God, Bron probably hated him so much right now, but he would try to explain it to her. Maybe he could finally tell her about his father and she would understand. She wouldn’t think he was a monster just because one had sired him. She would forgive him. She had to. Surely she loved him enough to forgive him?
He was already back on his feet and ready to go talk to her when he heard the engine of her BMW roar to life, followed by the unmistakable sound of tires squealing in the driveway. His stomach clenched and his heart just about stopped.
“No . . . nononononono . . .” The litany sounded like a prayer as he lurched from the room. He heard a screech as she battled with the clutch and then the throaty purr as the car obeyed her commands and sprang to life. He was just out of the front door when the car went hurtling out of the driveway. “God, please . . .” he begged as he turned back and palmed his own set of keys from the table in the hall before diving for the Maserati that he had left parked in the front. She wasn’t a good driver, and she usually battled with the curves on the steep, winding road. He followed her at a distance, careful not to spook her; he could see her taillights a few bends down and knew he would be able to catch up to her in his faster car. He only prayed that she didn’t misjudge a curve and get hurt. God, he would die if she were injured or if the baby got hurt. She would never forgive him if anything happened to the baby, would never believe that he wanted it as much as she did but had just been too damned cowardly to admit it. He wanted them safe. He wanted them with him. He would give anything in the world to take back the last half an hour. He was petrified that when he managed to catch up with her, she wouldn’t want him anymore, wouldn’t love him anymore!
He couldn’t live without her love. All that stupid overwhelming tenderness he had told himself he felt for her, how the hell had he not recognized it for what it was? The road was leveling out when it happened—a young couple, hand in hand, stepped into his path. They were so absorbed in each other that they didn’t see him coming. He swerved to avoid them and went off the road. He had just enough time to feel gratitude that he had left the steep curves behind him before the car flipped and rolled several times. He was briefly aware of feeling excruciating pain everywhere, and his last thoughts before he passed out were regret that he might never see his baby and absolute terror that he might never hold Bronwyn again.
When next he opened his eyes, it was to profound silence. He gradually came to understand that he was hanging upside down and held suspended by his seat belt. He blinked at the gathering crowd outside the car and the first face he saw clearly was hers. He smiled, relieved that she had come back but puzzled by the complete lack of emotion on her face.
“Bronwyn.” He felt his lips form the word but couldn’t hear it. It was incredibly quiet; he hadn’t expected an accident scene to be th
is deathly silent. He tried again, called her name, and felt his throat tighten and hoarsen as he kept calling and calling without once uttering a sound. She didn’t move, she merely watched him, and he went cold with dread. She hated him.
God, he had known that she would eventually hate him . . . he had always known it. He had spent the past two years waiting for her to fall out of love with him. He wasn’t good enough for her love. Some part of him had always known that the son of a monster didn’t deserve such a glorious creature’s love.
Still, he begged and pleaded with her to come to him. God, she was so lovely, he adored her in that dress, he always had. But she had ignored him. She had turned around, walked away, and left him in pain and in silence.
Five days after Bronwyn’s devastating announcement, Kayla was sitting in a patch of late autumn sunshine in the conservatory with her daddy and happily playing house with her dolls and tea sets. She was dressed in a pink princess costume and those ubiquitous red sneakers that she so loved. Bryce had brought his laptop upstairs and was sitting on the heated tile floor next to her, enjoying the sunshine as he read and replied to his most urgent e-mails. He stopped occasionally to take a sip of imaginary tea from a dainty plastic cup, smacking his lips every time, which inevitably sent his daughter into paroxysms of giggles. He loved watching her laugh. She looked exactly like her mother when she laughed so unreservedly. Bronwyn used to laugh like that; she’d put her entire body into it as the laughter worked its way out from her belly. He couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed like that and felt a pang of regret at the loss. It had always been such a joy to see and hear her laughing, and he often wondered if Kayla’s laughter sounded anything like her mother’s.
He watched Kayla play and contemplated his previous fears that he would hurt her the way his father had hurt him. The thought of anybody, including himself, harming her in any way was repellent and raised every protective instinct he had. Something that had once seemed so inevitable had become a complete nonevent. He hadn’t expected to trust himself around her, had thought that he would need constant supervision, someone to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t hurt her. But from the moment he had first laid eyes on her all he had wanted was to spend time with her, get to know her, spoil her, and love her.
She amused him, baffled him at times, and even angered him on the odd occasion, but the only time he had physically hurt her had been by accident. It was an incident that still weighed heavily on his mind because of his reprehensible behavior toward Bronwyn afterward. He sighed heavily. Kayla toddled over to wrap her arms around his throat and plant a moist kiss on his cheek.
“Daddy sad.” She had learned to speak to him only when he was facing her, and he saw her sweet words clearly.
“No, baby, I’m happy to be with you,” he reassured her, and she smiled brightly.
Love Daddy, she signed clumsily, and his heart simply melted. He kept it together as he signed I love you back at her. That satisfied her, and she went back to her dolls. Bryce swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked the scorching moisture from his eyes. It had been two weeks since Bronwyn had told him that she wanted to move out, and tomorrow he would be taking her to look at the flats that he had personally selected. The divorce papers had been delivered earlier in the week, and he had shoved them into one of his desk drawers rather than put his signature on them. He knew that he was running from the inevitable, but he felt such an overwhelming sense of panic every time he thought about those papers that he often found himself on the verge of hyperventilating. He could feel the panic rising even now and set aside his laptop to focus on Kayla, hoping to tamp down the anxiety.
Bronwyn walked into the conservatory, where Celeste had told her she would find Kayla and Bryce and froze in surprise at the sight that met her eyes when she entered the room. Bryce was sitting quietly while Kayla bustled around him, draping him in material. Bronwyn recognized the burnt orange throw from the sofa, the shell pink pashmina that she had left on one of the chairs the night before, a couple of bright-red curtain cords, and a couple of frilly doilies that Bronwyn had stowed away ages ago. The pashmina was draped over his shoulders, the throw over his lap, the doilies adorned his shoulders, and the cords were decorating his wrists like bracelets. Kayla took a step back and tilted her head contemplatively before nodding. She reached for her shiny plastic tiara and with the matching clip-on earrings and placed them on his head and ears.
“How do I look?” she heard Bryce rumble from beneath the elaborate draping, and for a moment Bronwyn thought the question was aimed at her before she realized that he hadn’t seen her yet. It was Kayla’s opinion that he sought.
“Pwetty,” the little girl replied, her curls bouncing with her assertive nod.
“So, can I have some tea now?”
“Of course.” The little girl sounded so adult that Bronwyn bit back a giggle, unutterably charmed by the scene in front of her. She proceeded to pour her imaginary tea into a plastic cup and balanced it on a matching saucer before handing it to her father. She followed it up with a bigger plate of very real biscuits. Bryce made appreciative sounds as he munched and “sipped” and Kayla imitated him, chatting in her mostly unintelligible language all the while.
Bronwyn stepped farther into the room, startling both of them simultaneously. Kayla hurled herself at her mother for a hug, and Bryce tugged at one of the clip-on earrings in embarrassment, going bright red at being caught playing dress-up. He gave up with a sheepish shrug when he saw Bronwyn’s amused smile, and a reluctant grin tugged at his lips.
“You’re early,” he pointed out, and Bronwyn jiggled Kayla on her hip, bussing the little girl’s cheek before responding.
“We had some plumbing issues and had to close shop early. It may take a few days to sort out. So I may not be working on Monday either if they don’t fix the problem over the weekend.” She kicked off her shoes and let Kayla down when the little girl wriggled impatiently. Bronwyn sank down on the floor beside Bryce while Kayla fixed the earring he had tried to remove earlier.
“Daddy pwetty,” Kayla announced proudly as she tugged a doily back in place on one of her father’s broad shoulders before dropping down into his lap and resting her head on the same shoulder she had just redecorated. Her thumb immediately went into her mouth.
“Very pretty,” Bronwyn agreed with a smirk, and Bryce rolled his eyes.
“We’re princesses,” he explained, and she laughed.
“Very fetching,” she complimented. Kayla repeated the word “fetching” around her thumb before pointing to the plate of biscuits with her free hand. Bryce reached for the plate and held it up to Bronwyn, who picked up a chocolate chip biscuit with a smile.
“I’d love some tea,” Bronwyn prompted, and when Kayla lifted her head to give him a pointed look, he sighed and “poured” a cup of tea. The cup looked ridiculously tiny in his hand as he daintily held it up.
“Thank you.” Bronwyn nodded politely as she accepted the offering. “So this is what you do every day?”
He snorted and nodded toward the closed laptop on the floor beside him.
“I was trying to get some work done, but this was just so much more diverting,” he confessed with a charming grin.
“You were always so easily distracted from work,” she reminisced. “Like the time you flew me to Mauritius for a long weekend, completely forgetting about that important conference call you had on the Monday.”
“I have no regrets.” He shrugged. “That was a hell of a weekend.” They had spent most of it naked on a private beach.
“Pierre was furious with you,” she recalled.
“He got over it. Besides, we were newlyweds, he understood.”
“We’d been married for more than a year,” she corrected.
“Your point being?”
“Do you remember that street performer who followed us from the marketplace back t
o the hotel?” she asked, and his eyes lit up with laughter at the memory.
“He wouldn’t stop his horrendous serenading the entire walk back.”
“You begged him to stop, bribed him, and offered to put his unborn children through university,” she said, giggling.
“I don’t think he understood my high-school French,” Bryce laughed.
“He was awful!” they both said in unison before lapsing into an awkward silence.
“We had some good times, didn’t we?” he asked after a few minutes.
“The best times,” she agreed.
“Don’t you think . . .”
“Bryce.” She stopped what he’d been about to say with a slight shake of her head, and his voice faded. He cleared his throat, shifting the weight of his now-dozing daughter until she rested more comfortably against his chest.
“So, you’re free tomorrow?”
She nodded in answer to his question.
“Well, I’ve selected a few flats for you to view tomorrow. I’ll shift the appointments to the morning, so you can have the afternoon free.”
“Thank you.” There was really nothing more to be said after that.
Of course, each place he drove her to was more extravagant than the next. Accommodation in Camps Bay didn’t come cheaply, and judging by the sizes of the so-called townhouses he took her to, none of the places would range anywhere under eight figures. Since they were remaining in the area, he’d told Cal that he wouldn’t be needed, and for the first time the family found themselves completely alone. It was an almost novel sensation for Bronwyn, who had gotten so used to the silent, hovering presence of the security guys that she felt inordinately exposed without them at first. But she soon got caught up in the whole flat-hunting experience
“Bryce,” she finally spoke up when she found herself standing in the living room of the third mini mansion he had taken her to. “These places are all much too big.”
A Husband's Regret Page 21
