Unworthy Of You (The Spring Rose Bay Series Book 2)

by K. L. Jessop

  I leave the space beside Megan and sit at the end of the bed. My chest burns with the remembrance of those years together—of that day that my heart was shredded, never to be freed from pain and loss: a time where once again my mother’s words rang true.

  “She quickly became the reason I got up in the morning, and when I realised I loved her, it felt fucking incredible, because for the first time in my shitty life, my mother’s words were proved wrong. I could love and be loved in return, so I went all out and loved the damn girl. We were happy.”

  I sense Megan shift on the bed. From behind, her warm hands slide up my torso, dancing chills across my skin as her face rests on my back. I don’t want to see the pity I know will mostly fill her eyes. I don’t want to see her beautiful face because it will crush me for all the wrong reasons.

  “What happened, Andrew?” she whispers. “Please tell me.”

  I try to swallow down the thick ball in my throat. I’m finding it hard to breathe. “We were together for four years. We made plans, bought this house and had a future. Chloe had this ridiculous ruling that once we were at work, all contact was only made in emergencies and that way we had more to talk about when at home. It drove me fucking crazy but I went along with it. One morning before work, we had an argument over my mother and I stormed out. So, not hearing from her the rest of the day didn’t alarm me.”

  Memories flash my mind and my chest aches. My head falls low and I shut my eyes tight, clenching my fists as my body begins to shudder. “I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I loved her, but I never got the chance,” I whisper.

  That familiar deathly chill once again runs through me. As soon as my foot stepped into the house that day I knew something was wrong—I felt it. It was something I’d never experienced and one I’ll remember forever. The gentle squeeze of Megan’s hand on my chest is a reminder that she’s here and my throat is thick with unshed tears.

  “I found her. She was face down in the pool. I tried everything. I shook her, shouted at her… I even slapped her, anything just to make her wake and take me out of the nightmare I was suddenly trapped in. But she never did… I couldn’t save her, Megan.”

  My emotions erupt as I’m sliced with so much pain. The pain I felt back then and the pain I continue to feel now. I remember it like it was yesterday, the panic and hurt that ran through my body, the questions that will never be answered and the harrowing scream of her mother once I broke the news.

  Megan moves around to straddle me, sweeping my tears that fall. The deep ache I can no longer hold back rips me apart as I see her own tears. She’s feeling my anguish. She strokes my face as she rests her forehead on mine. When I look at her again, my voice tremors on a whisper as I release the last piece that still breaks me every day. “She was my wife, Megan.”

  “Oh, Andrew,” she cries, grasping me as I bury my head in her neck. I lace my fingers through her hair and hold on to her like my life depends on it as years of concealed heartache seep onto her skin, wanting and willing the memories of my past to disappear. Chloe was my world, and for years I’ve been lost in the shadows as she took a part of me with her.

  I never thought I’d have a chance of finding such light again, because I know where it will lead. I know what will happen if I finally let go and be close to the woman that’s holding me now, but I don’t think I can let go of her.

  I hold Megan until my tears subside. Wiping my eyes on the heel of my hands I look at her: she looks tired. I lay us back on the bed, pulling her to me as I want to have her close. Her blue eyes are not full of pity like I thought they would be: they’re filled with something else, something unclear.

  Time passes us by as we just lay looking at each other, she has unspoken questions, I knew there would be some, and I’ll be happy to answer them but right night I don’t wish to talk about my past. It’s out now. That heavy weight that’s forever pulled me down has gone, and I’m happy that I’ve finally told her when I’ve wanted to for weeks but couldn’t find the words. A part of me feels bad at the fact that angst has subsided but at the moment I wish to appreciate the relief my heart feels.

  I tuck a ribbon of her hair behind her ear, trailing my thumb down the line of her jaw. “I’m happy when you’re with me, Megan,” I whisper. “And that scares me.”

  Her brows narrow as she whispers, “Why?”

  “Because when you have it drummed into you every day from a young age that you’re a worthless piece of shit you can’t help but believe it. There’ve been very few times in my life when I haven’t not believed it. It makes you feel unworthy of everything you touch. I feel so unworthy of you and I believe you deserve better.”

  “Stop it. I don’t want to hear that from you, you hear me?” She takes my jaw in her hand, looking deep into my eyes. “You are worthy of so much more than you think, Andrew Harris. You just have to start believing that. Let me help you believe.”

  I shake my head in disagreement. “I can’t be around you and risk anything happening to you, Megan. It will crush me.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “So, what, you stop yourself from being happy because of what happened in the past? Because of what you’ve been told over time? That’s a hard punishment, Andrew.”

  “They said Chloe’s death was a freak accident, but I’m convinced it’s because I couldn’t make her happy. I’m responsible.”

  She sits up quickly, resting her upper body on the weight of her hand, her other still firmly on my chest. “What happened to Chloe was awful and a tragedy that will always hold a place of darkness in your life, Andrew, but you were not responsible.”

  “Wasn’t I?”

  “No! You are not to blame.”

  “My mother thinks I am,” I whisper.

  “You mother is a cold hearted twisted bitch,” she snaps. “And she is not going to run your life anymore. You hear me?”

  Even in the darkest of moments, Megan always brings a warmth inside me that feels foreign yet refreshing. Her sassy but innocent personality never fails to make me smile inside and out, and with that and the way I’m beginning to feel about her it’s a disaster waiting to happen.

  I cover her hand on my chest with my own. “I need you to walk away from me, Megan. If you stay I can’t guarantee that you’ll go unscarred.”

  The strength of her blue eyes is compelling, but it’s her words that rob me of my breath.

  “I would rather stay and risk getting hurt then walk away and never know what we could have been.”

  That hit my heart in a way I can’t even comprehend. I pull her to me and place my lips on hers, needing that connection. She has no idea what she does to me.

  Resting her chin on my chest her big eyes look up at me. I sweep her hair from her face, and she flinches a little when I lightly trace my finger over the tender skin on her head. “You frightened the shit out of me back there, Megan.”

  Her eyes fill with apology. “I’m sorry. I really did just slip.”

  “I know.” I whisper.

  For the first time since I can remember, I feel as though my body is free. There is no pain, no grief and no haunts lying in the shadows. Megan is the reason for that. If I hadn’t let her into my heart, I may still be carrying that weight for the rest of my life. I guess it’s true when they say everything happens for a reason. Maybe my reason is the one holding me, and at this moment, even though the thought of keeping her close scares me shitless, I can’t help but want to take the risk in keeping her with me forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Megan

  I’ve hardly slept. My body aches, and it's not just from the aftereffects of my fall. It's from the heart-breaking admission of the man laid next to me, stripping himself bare and revealing the gut-wrenching demons that have haunted him all these years. I’ve never known a man so confident and possessive at work yet so broken and damaged behind closed doors. Last night left him wide open and so vulnerable that all I could do was cry for him. Hearing how he’s been a victim of emotional and
psychological abuse as a child, and the tragic loss of his wife, is too huge for me to comprehend. My chest is tight with a mixture of emotions that consume me. Andrew was married. That’s how much he’s hidden himself away from the world. That’s how much grief he’s concealed all these years with the weight on his shoulders of feeling responsible for the death of his wife. Everything now makes sense with his irrational behaviours, his times of solitude and his dark and mysterious ways.

  Finding Chloe like he did is too unbearable for me to think of. I can't even begin to imagine what he went through, and he no doubt went through it alone, but I have a good idea how painful it must have been if he still suffers all these years that have passed. My eyes glass at the thought of him not having anyone to turn to. He must have felt so alone—so scared.

  As I watch him sleep, I take the opportunity to study him. His dark jaw coats the edge of his bold features, the crease between his brows has become absent with wherever his dreams have taken him. He looks relaxed. The curves of his shoulders and defined bronze ripples of his chest are heightened against the pure white bed sheets as they cover his manhood and long muscular legs. Laid like a troublesome King, he owns the bed even in his sleep.

  A man of his build and ability would fight to protect those he shows affection for—that’s what a man’s job should be: protect the girl and keep her safe, ease her demons and win the war if one should ever invade her heart. That’s what I’ve longed for in a man, but as I watch Andrew and know of the war he’s faced all these years, the scars that mark his heart and the wounds that still weep, I want to be the one that protects, the one that fights his wars and the one that loves those wounds that are left untouched.

  A chill cascades my spine when I lock eyes on the pool down in the garden area. I've been swimming in the same pool that his dead wife was found in. Sitting in his chair near the window, I try and erase the thought from my mind. I’m surprised by how much light there is in his bedroom—the master bedroom I’ve been waiting to see all this time. The wall behind the bed is dark like I’d expect, but other than the entrance to the room, that’s the only wall. The rest is glass that exposes the large stone balcony and the picturesque view of the bay. It’s breathtaking. The rays of the rising sun fill the room with colour, and in all honesty, I wouldn’t want to leave this room either if it were mine. But it’s lacking that feel of being a home. It’s too neat—too formal. I wonder if this show house that he lives in has been a result of his upbringing. Living in a home with strict rules and the unhealthy development of what a childhood should really be like has stripped him of the normality of how to truly live. A house should be one that not only has love but the evidence of it should show in the way it’s lived in. It shouldn’t be a house full of materialism and spotlights.

  I sense his eyes on me. When I turn, a little smile tugs his lips as though he’s relieved I’m still here.

  “Hey,” he says softly.

  “Hey.”

  “You stayed.” His voice thick with sleep.

  “Of course I did. I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I just got up because I didn’t want to wake you.”

  He reaches out and I go to him. Curling up against him as his arms envelop my body. The tension I have in my shoulders instantly washes away as I mould into him.

  “You looked beautiful sitting there with the sun on you, but I need you against me,” he murmurs. Andrew himself has said that the touch of my skin against his helps him breathe, but what he doesn’t realise is that he has the opposite effect on me. Everything about this man leaves me breathless. He has taken hold of my heart in a way I can’t even begin to rationalise.

  “You’re wearing my shirt,” he whispers, circling the material on my waist with his finger.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. It looks good on you.”

  He seems different today. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s as though he’s content. Lying against him, his physique has lost that wall of protection—that wall of fight. He seems more undisturbed.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asks softly, sweeping his thumb across his jaw.

  That is question I should be asking him.

  “Ok. My shoulder is a little sore. I think it’s going to bruise.”

  “Let me see.”

  I sit up to lift my arms as he removes his shirt from my body. Brushing the hair from my back, he kisses my skin of my shoulder as his fingertips trail creating shivers. “You’re right. It’s showing up already. Just go careful.”

  I clearly went down harder than I thought. Everything about that part of last night is a blur. It’s everything that happened afterwards that keeps rolling about my head. “Thank you,” I whisper, turning to look at him.

  His eyebrows line. “For what?”

  “Telling me everything. I know it couldn’t have been easy, but I’m glad I know.”

  “I’m glad you do too. I’ve wanted to tell you for some time I just…”

  “I know.”

  He kisses my lips and pulls me back down to the mattress, shifting me closer against his body so my back is to his front. His arm covers my waist, our hands joined together as we lay listening to the waves crashing on the rocks.

  “God, I should’ve had you in here sooner. It feels so damn good,” he admits.

  “Have you ever been this close to anyone since Chloe?” I can’t help my curiosity.

  “No. I’ve had the odd woman over the years, but they’ve never made it to the house. It was more of a release than anything else. I think that’s why I fought so hard with you. I knew from the start you were different but I felt guilty for wanting you because of Chloe. I guess keeping you out of my bed kept that barrier up and my past still private. By not telling you about her meant that she was still mine, if that makes sense?”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.” Now that Andrew has told me about his late wife I don’t want him to feel that he can’t talk about her just because we are together. That’s not the sort of woman I am and it certainly isn’t healthy for him. If I’ve learnt anything over the years being so close to Amelia it’s that no one should be made to feel they can’t speak out.

  “What was she like?” I’m intrigued to know if she had similar ways to Andrew. Did she focus on work as much as he does? Did she shy away from social events and parties? Was she anything like me?

  “She was… different. I met her at a works convention. She was sitting in the back of the room looking at her notes. She was an assistant manager for some fancy spa company in the city that was looking to expand at the coast. Her chocolate hair was what initially drew me to her: every time she moved the light would catch it. We got chatting and I knew from that moment I wanted her to be a part of my life. She was beautiful.”

  I stroke my thumb over his knuckles to encourage him to carry on.

  “Two years later, we were married and living in this place. After our first year of marriage, I notice she’d changed. At first, I put it down to stress with her being over worked. Believe it or not, back then she worked more than I did, but something wasn’t right and every time I tried to talk to her about it she’d shut down on me. I didn’t like to believe that we were drifting apart because my love for her had only grown deeper.” He sighs heavily but continues. “Looking back now, I can see it wasn’t like that for her. She’d stay at work longer; she’d make excuses about wanting to meet up with friends. She drifted from me and I never even realised it. She knew how to push my buttons: just the mention of my mother and I’d flip my lid. I didn’t want her to be a part of our lives therefore I didn’t want to talk about her either, but Chloe didn’t agree. She couldn’t see that my mother was nasty and twisted, but I didn’t want my wife to be mixed up in her evil ways. It was my job to protect her.”

  “Did you ever find out why she changed?”

  “No. I guess she couldn’t love me like I wanted her to.”

  I can understand why Andrew believes Chloe’s death was because of
him. The way he was treated as a child is enough to mess with anyone’s mental and emotional state of mind, let alone his. Believing he was worthy of another woman’s love when he craved so much to have that would have been hard for him to comprehend. Grief is a powerful thing and it’s suffocated Andrew to the point where he can’t see anything other than being responsible, because he loved and lost with no true explanation other than him being connected to them.

  “None of it is your fault,” I whisper. He presses his arm against me in a tight hug, nuzzling his face into my hair as we fall silent. There is so much more I want to ask but I don’t want to push him.

  “When she died, everything changed. I lost myself, Megan. I become isolated and cold. I worked as much as I could to take my mind of it and, eventually, I became the man I am now.”

  I turn to face him. “I don’t believe that. The man you are now is not the man I first new. That man was dark and troubled and had every right to be, but since being with you I see you’ve changed. There is life and light in your eyes, and I want to see that all the time.” Which is true. He’s so different when we are together now; the old Andrew hardly exists. “You told me I make you happy.”

  “You do.”

  “Then let's have that. Let’s be happy. Let’s do crazy things. Forget about who you think you are and just be who you want to be.”

  I believe there is a whole new side to Andrew that I haven’t seen yet—a side that’s screaming to come out and enjoy life. I’ve seen the way he watches Amelia and I when we do crazy stuff that constantly has us giggling like teenagers. That part of him is in there.