My One Regret (Martin Family Book 3)

by St. James, Brooke

  That was all the encouragement Ryan needed. He kissed me deeply, letting his tongue dip into my mouth several times. He put his hands on the side of my face and pulled back far enough to stare at me for a second before kissing me again. He kissed me two, three, four times like he meant to keep stopping but was unable to let himself. A crippling wave of desire hit me at his gentle touch.

  He let out a ragged breath and shook his head as he looked at me. "Wynn, I…" he hesitated as if looking for the right words. I had no idea what he was going to say. It could have been ten different things—I regret doing that just now, I love you, I hate you, we have to stop, we have to keep going. He could have said any of these things or countless others, but I didn't give him the chance. I was so overwhelmed with emotion and worried that he might regret what just happened that I cut him off before he could say anything.

  "I think we should go in," I said nodding.

  My hand was still wrapped around his neck, and I gave him a little pat as a reassuring gesture while I pulled away from him. I stepped back and dusted off my thighs even though there was nothing on them.

  "That was a little hasty considering we're both here on dates," I said.

  I was totally not there on a date, but there were guys at our table, so it could possibly look like that.

  "You're not on a date," he said, following me as I began to walk toward the restaurant.

  "You are." I said.

  "Don't start getting upset about that," he said, making me shoot him a defensive glare. He shrugged. "It's not like I expected to see you here tonight."

  "It's not like I expected to see you, either," I said. I picked up the pace a little, feeling anxious about reentering the restaurant. I just knew I was about to encounter an enraged girlfriend on the other side of those doors, and I was overwhelmed with embarrassment and fear. I was so nervous that I could barely breathe.

  "Slow down," Ryan said, since I was setting the pace, and it had been growing faster and faster as we walked.

  "We shouldn't have done that," I said.

  I could just imagine the whole restaurant out of their seats with their noses glued to the windows, watching us and waiting for the catfight that was about to ensue.

  I felt desperate to open the door and face my fate, my catfight fate.

  We approached the door, and I instantly lunged forward to open it.

  "Wynn stop," he said, catching the door before it could open completely.

  "It shouldn't have happened like that," I said shaking my head. "I shouldn't have put you in that position when she's in here. I can't quit messing up."

  "That wasn't a mistake," he said.

  "Yes it was," I insisted, my face turning red as I squeezed in through the cracked door.

  Ryan had no other choice but to let me in and follow behind me. Both of us straightened ourselves when we walked in, but it quickly became obvious that no one was paying attention to us. Turns out, no one had their noses glued to the windows—they basically didn't even notice we were gone or that we'd come back.

  "Table for two?" the hostess said before she got a good look at us. "Oh, I'm sorry, you guys are…" she trailed off as we nodded and waved, telling her we didn't need her assistance.

  I came to a stop when I saw Britney. Not because she was standing there with her dukes in the air like I thought she'd be, either. It was just the opposite, in fact. She was doing the sweetest thing a girl could be doing. She was dancing with a little, hunched-over old man. There was some room in front of the stage where couples sometimes danced. It wasn't a dance floor by any stretch, but there was room for four or five couples to dance comfortably.

  Britney and her partner were one of three couples out there, and all of them were wearing huge smiles. I could see at a glance that she was making this man's day by dancing with him, and it made me angrier and more desperate than ever. She really was running for mayor, for crying out loud!

  The song was ending right as we came in, and Britney caught sight of us. I watched as she hugged her partner before heading in our direction with a huge wave and smile.

  There was a voice in my head reminding me of how dirty and used-up I was compared to her. She was probably a virgin. Ryan deserved someone better than me. We walked through the restaurant toward his table, which was on the way to mine. It seemed like Britney's plan was to intercept us at his table, and I knew I had to do something before then.

  I turned to face him. "It was a mistake," I whispered.

  Lie.

  "I'm still hurting from what Marcus did to me, and I was trying to get back at him."

  Lie.

  Ryan's face became serious as he searched my eyes for the truth.

  "You should stay with her."

  Truth.

  "She's better for you."

  Truth.

  "I'm not ready for anything right now."

  Lie.

  "And I'm not over Marcus, anyway. I thought I could fix my feelings for him by being with someone else, but it didn't work."

  Lie. Total lie.

  I stared at Ryan with resolve like what I was saying was the God's honest truth. I turned to continue walking, not even giving him the chance to say anything.

  "I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression or hurt you in any way." I said, from over my shoulder right before we encountered Britney. I started to just walk right by her, but Ryan put his hand around my arm to stop me. I shrugged out of it and glanced at him with a challenging look as I stood there for an awkward second.

  "That was so fun!" Britney said, coming up to stand right beside Ryan as we paused at their table. She reached up to put a kiss on his cheek before sitting down. "Did you get what you needed out of the truck?" I heard her ask as she took her seat—at least that's what I assumed she asked. I smiled and waved blankly at both of them, but I instantly turned to walk away because my eyes blurred with tears.

  "What's going on?" Claire asked when I got back to the table. I was doing a good job of holding back tears, but she could see right through the mask.

  "I'll tell you in a minute," I said.

  "What's the matter?" she said. "I went to check on you, and I saw what happened." Claire paused and I glanced at her. Her eyes grew wide. "You were kissin' him gooooood," she whispered. Her eyebrows lifted. "I thought for sure you were gonna come over here tellin' me y'all were runnin' off to get married or something after that kiss."

  I sat up and looked around, wondering how she saw us.

  "I caught a glimpse of y'all through there," she said, pointing behind her. "Nobody else was lookin'. I just glanced out there to check on you and happened to see…" she hesitated and cleared her throat.

  My stomach dropped at the memory of the kiss, and I let my head flop onto the table, using my arm for a pillow. "It's not gonna work out," I said shaking my head a little and sounding convinced. "It's too soon after my break-up and he really likes that girl, anyway."

  Claire rubbed my back, staring down at me sweetly. "It didn't look like he liked her too much when I saw y'all outside."

  I smiled, but it wasn't genuine. "I did that," I said, even though he'd been the one who kissed me.

  She shrugged. "It looked like it was both of y'all."

  I shook my head. "It's too soon," I said, knowing that was the most convincing argument—the one she could argue with the least.

  She rubbed my back again. "There's plenty of other Ryans," she said.

  "No there's not," I said. "My mom said that same thing, and I should have told her she was wrong. I know what you're saying… that there's a lot of good guys in New Orleans or whatever, and I'm sure that's true, but there's not a bunch of other Ryans. Don't say there's a bunch of Ryans because there aren't. There are no other Ryans."

  Claire let out a little laugh saying that she was taken aback by how prepared I was with that little speech. "I don't understand why you're torturing yourself about this, Wynn. You're being weird. If you want him, all you have to do is go over there and get h
im."

  "I'm being nice," I said. "Selfish me wants to have him, and nice me knows he…" I trailed off. "I'm just not ready right now," I said instead. I shook my head with conviction, like it was the truth and there was no use in denying it.

  She rubbed my back again as she reached out to grab her drink. "Here's to being single," she said.

  I grabbed a nearby water and used it to cheers her before taking a sip off of the edge. "I'm sure he'll come running whenever you decide to go calling," she added casually, since she knew I wasn't quite ready to drop it.

  I gave her a thankful smile, but other people at the table were asking us things and including us in the conversation, so we opted to go on with our evening like the Ryan thing had never happened.

  This seemed ridiculous to me.

  I could think of nothing else, and it seemed outrageous to just carry on conversations like he wasn't sitting in the same room.

  Thankfully, Ryan and his date only stayed about an hour. They ordered food, and before I knew it, they were paying their check, and she was gathering her things. I stole glance after glance, as they did all the things people do when they're leaving a restaurant.

  Ryan gestured in my direction and said something to her, causing her to smile and nod. Claire pinched my leg under the table as he made his way over to us. He approached the booth from the side where I was sitting, so I turned to face him with a curious smile. His eyebrows furrowed for a second as he shook his head, trying to figure me out.

  "I just wanted to come over here and make sure you're okay with me walking out of here right now."

  He said it discretely, but he wasn't by any means whispering, and Claire (who had overheard) was pushing her knuckles into my thigh with great force.

  "I'm fine with it," I said.

  Lie.

  He looked at me for a few seconds. "Because I'm about to leave," he said, giving me one last chance.

  Claire's fist dug into my leg but I didn't acknowledge her.

  "I'm fine with that," I repeated.

  Liggity, liggity, lick, VonDoodle Lie.

  Lie.

  I was not fine with it.

  "Really, Wynn?" he asked, tilting his head at me and begging me with his expression to reconsider.

  "Really," I said, smiling. "I'm good. You're good. We're both good," I said casually. I reached out and squeezed his hand in a farewell gesture.

  "I'm glad we got to catch up a little bit."

  I heard Claire sigh from behind me, but I didn't really care what she was thinking. I knew what I had to do, and that was protect Ryan from myself.

  "All right," he said without cracking a smile. "Bye Claire," he added.

  "Bye Ryan, good seeing you," she said like a happy little bird from over my shoulder.

  I watched Ryan smile a little and wave at the others at my table before he turned to leave. I was equally disgusted with myself and proud of myself for letting him walk away.

  Chapter 14

  Beautiful classical guitar was playing, but I wasn't really thinking about who was playing it or where it was coming from. It was mostly just in the background, but I did take note that it was being beautifully played. I did appreciate that.

  I had a general sense of serenity, partly because of the soothing guitar sounds and partly because of the weather and my surroundings. I was lying on a thick, brightly colored quilt in the bed of a truck. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I thought I might have been the one who made that quilt.

  The truck's tailgate was down, and my feet were dangling off of the edge. The temperature was perfect. There was a breeze coming off of the bayou, and I could see Spanish moss swaying in the trees above me. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, giving everything a golden hue.

  And then I remembered why I was feeling the way I did—utterly serene and worry-free. It was because Ryan was there next to me. I shifted and sat up onto my elbow so that I could stare down at him. He had been lying there with his eyes closed, but feeling my shift, he opened them, squinting up at me. He smiled and I smiled back at him. My heart somehow knew this was right. Relief flooded my body when I realized I had made the right choice.

  His hair had been growing out, and I reached out to run my hand through it, watching the way it fell and shifted between my fingers. I never dreamed love could feel like this. I never dreamed of a moment so perfect.

  "Rakeboarding isn't the same as skateboarding," Ryan said in a voice that wasn't his own.

  I pulled back so I could ask him to repeat the odd statement, but it wasn't Ryan at all. In fact, I was not in the bed of a truck, nor was I on a quilt. I was sitting down cross-legged on a skateboard, going way too fast on a steep hill. My surroundings reminded me of pictures I'd seen of San Francisco.

  What was I doing in San Francisco, and how in the world was I supposed to get control of this skateboard? I had on a helmet and elbow and kneepads, but I was still going way too fast. There was an intersection coming up, and I knew I had to stop before I got there so I didn't want to get hit by a car. I held onto the skateboard for dear life, trying to decide how and when to hurl myself from it. I had no other choice but to do so if I wanted to survive. I had never been so scared, but I did it. I fell off of the skateboard, rolling to a crash landing.

  And that's when I woke up.

  It may not seem intense to think about having a skateboard dream, but I can I assure you, it was. I woke up feeling terrified and breathless like I had really been in a life-or-death situation. I stayed there in bed, staring up at my ceiling as I tried to regulate my breathing and return to reality.

  That's how it always happened—a wonderful Ryan dream, followed by some terrifying part that had me waking up in a panic.

  It had been two months since I saw Ryan, and I had been dreaming about him a few times a week since then. Thoughts of him weren't just reserved for my dreams, either. I imagined him all the time. I did everything I could to make him leave my consciousness, but nothing worked. People who say they're the masters of their thoughts are lying. Or maybe it was just me who was incapable of controlling mine, and other people actually knew how to do it. All I know was that I couldn’t make myself stop thinking about Ryan Collins. I didn't try to contact him or search for him on the internet, but I still couldn’t get him to leave my mind completely (which was obviously the goal if I ever wanted to move on with my life).

  I did read his book, which was perhaps my biggest mistake. It was heartfelt and beautifully written—compelling like the reviews said. I was proud of him, and that made the task of forgetting him even more impossible.

  It helped when I stayed busy, so I tried to do so. I'd been writing a lot of new music. I had ten new songs. They definitely reflected my brokenness, but also spoke of hope. They just flowed from me. I did a lot of praying, asking for purpose in my craft, and I felt like that prayer was answered. Lyrics and chords came easier than ever, and I fell into a natural groove with a meeker, more laid-back edge to my delivery. I just sought God and did what I felt came natural—what I was created to do.

  I didn't really have a plan past writing lyrics and melodies, but my family had other ideas once they heard my new stuff. My mom called Claire who got me a gig at a coffee shop in New Orleans. I worked up seven songs with a possible eighth and ninth depending on the crowd.

  Gigging was my way of life—something I had done all the time. This one was different, though. I wasn't billing myself as a "Christian" artist or anything, but God was definitely attached to these songs, and I felt a little pressure in performing them since I didn't want to misrepresent Him in any way.

  I didn't enjoy the feelings I encountered when I left Austin. I hadn't enjoyed my feelings in the last few months, actually, but something beautiful happens when you come to the end of yourself. You see God clearer there. Anyway, I still had some work to do with my feelings in my personal life… but I was proud of the work God had done in and through me with these songs, and I was looking forward to performing them.


  I couldn't believe the time had already come.

  My gig was the very next night.

  It was a beautiful afternoon in mid-October, and I had just arrived at my aunt Debbie's house. She and Uncle Steve had invited us over for some shrimp and okra gumbo. My dad was the only one in the family who didn't like okra, and he always gave Aunt Debbie a hard time, telling her she should just make chicken and sausage gumbo like a normal person for once. She liked to torture him, so she always made hers extra okra-ey, which meant it was slightly slimy in a delicious way. Dad would just have to complain and eat a big bowl of potato salad with crackers while he watched us eat the main course.

  I smiled at that thought as we got out of our boat and stepped onto my Aunt and Uncle's dock. Our family owned a huge piece of property that extended down a waterway. My parents and Aunt and Uncle had adjoining property. It would have been faster to just walk through the trails in the woods, but it was a beautiful evening, and my mom suggested taking the boat instead. My dad helped me onto the dock before offering his hand to my mom. My cousin, Cole, and his family must have done the same thing because I saw their boat tied up near ours.

  Aunt Debbie's house already had some action when we got there. Cole and Cam were standing outside along with Alex's husband, Jacob, and Uncle Steve. My dad stayed out there with the guys, and my mom and I went inside. Alex was in the kitchen with Aunt Debbie and Cole's wife, Liv.

  Olivia (or Liv) had been in our family for at least a couple of years, but my aunt was still filling her in on all things Cajun. She was in the process of telling Liv that you don't use file (fee-lay: the dried and ground leaves of a sassafras tree used to season and thicken gumbo) on okra gumbo because it was already thick enough. I was relatively sure she had already told Olivia that, but my aunt Debbie could always be found giving a lesson in Cajun culture, even to other Cajuns. She had just finished making that file statement when we walked in, and the three of them turned to look at us.