Not Your Fault

by Cheyanne Young

I shake my head, feeling the world swirl into nothingness as my vision focuses solely on a button on his shirt. “I never sent you a letter. Why the hell would I do that?” My hand presses against his chest, flattening my fingers into the smoothness of his sternum. I don’t know why I do it, but I don’t really care. Tears trail down my cheeks and I don’t care about that either. “I loved you, Kris. I came home from the hospital expecting you to be waiting for me on the front porch. You weren’t. You didn’t call and you didn’t come over and you didn’t say hi to me at school. You left. I needed you and you left.”

  I suck in a deep breath and swallow the lump in my throat as more tears burst from my eyes. “I loved you and I needed you and it wasn’t your fault that Tyler died—”

  Strong arms pull me into his chest, clenching me so tightly it shoves the air out of my lungs. I suck it back in a moment later when another burst of tears pour out of me. Kris’s hands wrap around my back, tangling in my hair as his fingers hold onto me for dear life. I press my face into his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and taking comfort in the beating of his heart. I hadn’t realized how much I needed this hug from him, this resolution that things were going to be okay. Closure from that horrible day ten years ago.

  “You should hate me,” he whispers. “It’s all my fault.”

  I squeeze him tightly and lift my head to place a kiss on the side of his hair. “No, it’s not,” I whisper back. “It’s not your fault.”

  Hours later, the sun has set but the ocean hasn’t fallen silent. I sit between Kris’s legs on a beach towel he swears was only coincidentally in his truck, leaning my back against his chest as I look out into the water that glows under a nearly full moon. We haven’t stopped talking.

  He tells me about the inheritance he received from his late grandfather that allowed him to buy the gym, and how he only bought a new truck after driving his old one until the wheels fell off. He worked as firefighter after college and quit recently to run the gym. Yes, he’s saved people’s lives and, sadly lost some. He doesn’t talk about that ex-girlfriend, but I guess I don’t want him to.

  Somehow it’s easier to talk like this—bodies touching in a familiar and long overdue way, but in a position that makes us not have to look at each other. Kris may be gorgeous, but the ocean is a more beautiful sight when you’re talking about your dead brother and digging up skeletons that have long since been buried.

  “Tell me again what the letter said.” I lay my head back against his shoulder and he presses his cheek to my forehead. He draws in a deep breath and slowly lets it out.

  “It called me a murderer…an asshole…It said you never want to see me again and if I ever talk to you, you will call the police for harassment.” Kris sucks in another deep breath. “I really don’t like reliving all of this.”

  I glance back at him. “I know, I’m sorry. I was hoping there would be some kind of hint that would tell me who sent you that letter. I just don’t know why anyone would do that to us. They had to know where you lived,” I say, pointing to my finger as I try to come up with ways to narrow down the vast list of people who could have done that all those years ago. “But, your brother was crazy popular so everyone knew where you lived.”

  Kris thinks for a moment. His warm breaths tickle my hair. “It was written with a quickly scribbled handwriting that looked a lot like yours. The second I saw the note I knew it was from you. I mean, no offense Del, but your handwriting sucks.”

  I don’t bother getting offended because he’s right—I have the penmanship of a thirteen-year-old boy. “You have no idea how badly it hurt me,” I say. “Whoever wrote that letter should die.”

  Kris runs a hand through my hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you. It took me years to get over Tyler’s death, and even longer to get over the hurt of knowing you hated me.”

  “Years?” I ask incredulously, before feeling a little guilty for thinking that way. Of course he was just as affected by Ty’s passing as I was. Tyler may have been my brother, but Kris accidently killed him. That’s a level of guilt I will never understand.

  Kris nods. “When I went to college I had two roommates, so of course I had to be the big man in front of them every day. I waited until they were gone so I could get in the shower and cry. It was the only place I could deal with my guilt and pain—somewhere private where the water would drown out my tears.”

  “Wow,” I breathe, remembering how many times the shower has been my crying sanctum.

  “I’ve thought about it a million times over the years…wondered if I should look you up and apologize. I wanted to call you and beg for forgiveness, but I’m a coward and I never did. That day at the gym orientation, I seriously thought I was going to drop dead when I saw you.”

  “Yeah that day sucked,” I interject, feeling a stab of anxiety as I recall that memory.

  “Luckily you dashed out of there and I had time to gather my composure before seeing you again. I really thought you were going to quit.”

  “I thought I was too,” I say with a smile as I glance back at him.

  “I’m glad you didn’t,” he says. His lips press lightly to my forehead, sending a chill down my spine before I turn back toward the ocean.

  “I wanted to run after you that day at the gym, but…” My body lifts and falls with his deep breathing. “Like I said…I’m a coward.”

  As we sit in the middle of a now-empty beach, I feel my body relax as the salty air brushes across my face. A piece of my heart aches as it breaks free from the painful shackles held together by years of brokenness. I’ll never be whole without my brother, but I can finally begin to heal.

  I have no sure way of knowing that Kris is telling the truth about receiving a letter that I know I didn’t send, but I can feel his honesty in my gut and I trust him. For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel pain from the black hole in my chest. I am at peace. I am happy with Kris.

  So when he asks me a moment later if I would like to go back to his house, I answer without hesitation.

  “I would love to.”

  Chapter 17

  Despite our catching up chat earlier tonight, Kris never mentioned where he lives. So when he passes the turn to leave the island and head back to the mainland via the only bridge that connects them, I lift an eyebrow. “Where are we going?” I ask.

  He smirks. “Home.”

  “You never told me you lived on the island?” I say, but it comes out more like an excited question. Island life is awesome.

  Kris shrugs, cocky smile placed firmly on his lips. “You never asked.”

  I wear a goofy grin as Kris drives down a dimly lit road along the sparsely populated east coast of the island. This area of the beach is private and I wait in anticipation for which house is his. He turns into the driveway at the very end of the street. His house is a baby blue Victorian that sits atop ten foot tall piers. We park in the driveway that runs under the house. I climb out of the truck and look around, taking in the sight of the moon reflecting off the water in the back yard, and the flickering light of ships scattered throughout the ocean.

  This is so much better than living in Mixon.

  Kris swings his arm toward the wooden staircase on the side of the house, motioning for me to go first. His other arm wraps around my lower back as he follows me up the stairs and onto the wraparound porch. Apprehension fills my thoughts but it’s not the same as from earlier tonight. I’m not nervous to be with him, I’m excited. And I hope I don’t screw this up.

  While he unlocks the front door, I turn to the balcony and lean over it, gazing at the water below. To my right is a boat hovering in the air, held in place by some kind of pulley system. Kris must have an amazing life here, if the porch that stretches out into a massive patio with a dozen chairs is a hint to how many friends he typically entertains.

  Warm lips press against my neck, and I tense up at the sudden sensory overload as his hands slide around my waist. His rock hard body presses against mine, making m
e super aware of every inch of my backside. He moves forward, pushing me into the banister. I lean on the railing with my elbows, allowing him to nuzzle against my neck as we look out over the water.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he says.

  I think I mumble something along the lines of, “Me too.”

  Kris could use an interior decorator. A few glasses of wine and a couple hours later, that’s the only thought that crosses my fuzzy mind. His house has been remodeled into a cross between antique Victorian with crown molding and crystal doorknobs, and modern with granite countertops and flat screen televisions. But his decorating, or lack of decorating rather, sucks. The walls are completely empty of any photos or artwork and his kitchen dishes don’t match.

  I follow Kris down a long hallway with dark wooden floors and into the bedroom at the end of it. He doesn’t turn on the overhead light, opting to light the room with the glow of a bedside lamp instead. I glance at the almost empty wine glass in my hand, knowing that a man only invites a woman into his bedroom for one reason, and it’s not to get her advice on his ugly black pinstriped curtains.

  One sip later, my glass is empty.

  I set the stemware on a dresser against the wall and sit on the edge of his bed, smiling a little as the room spins around me. I’m not sure what’s so funny, yet I’m holding back laughter. Kris turns on the television and tosses me the remote. I turn it over in my hands, knowing what the buttons do but having no desire to press any of them. I’d much rather watch Kris as he opens his closet door and turns on the light, stepping inside but leaving the door open which allows for an excellent view.

  He pulls off his shirt and tosses it into a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. His fingers fumble through a rack of clothing on hangers, and god help me, I accidently let out a whistle.

  Kris whips his head in my direction. “Did you just whistle at me?”

  I nod with a stupid smile on my face.

  He drops his jeans to the floor, leaving himself dressed only in boxers. I mutter a curse word of appreciation under my breath as I watch his muscles flex in the dimly lit closet while he finds a shirt and pulls it off the hanger. He catches my staring and laughs. “I’m being treated like a piece of meat here.”

  I shrug, crossing one leg over the other as I perch as cutely as possible on the corner of his bed. “Someone with a body like that wants to be treated like a piece of meat.”

  “That’s it,” he says with a playful growl in his voice. “You’re in trouble now.”

  Kris drops the shirt to the ground and lunges toward me, crashing into my body as I let out a squeal and try to fend him off. It’s no use though…in one smooth sweep, he hooks an arm around me and pulls me up the bed, placing my head on a pillow. I let the wine take over, allowing it to push back all my anxiety and self-conscious prudishness. My hands wrap around his head, fingers lacing together between his hair as I pull his face toward mine, kissing him on the mouth with unguarded abandon.

  Rough fingers slide up my sides, taking my shirt with them. I lift my arms and pull my head off the pillow just high enough for Kris to pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. Our skin presses together as he kisses my neck and I shiver, making chills float across my skin.

  Every move Kris makes reminds me of the boy I used to know; only now his kisses are passionate, not timid. His hands are strong, gliding over every inch of my body with a determination that comes from experience. My eyes close as dig my nails into his back, pulling him closer to me as he hints at what he wants to do next.

  I bite his neck and grab his ass, silently telling him that I want him as badly as he wants me. My breath catches in my throat as he thrusts into me. My eyes burst open at the jolt of pleasure that ripples through my body. I keep them open just long enough to watch Kris wink at me before he covers my mouth in another kiss.

  Chapter 18

  The sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the shore wakes me up in the morning. My eyes flicker open, focusing on a pile of jeans tossed in the corner of a baby blue room. Panic hits me for a second, because those aren’t my jeans and this isn’t my room. Then I remember where I am. But just to be on the safe side, I roll my head to the left to make sure he’s there.

  “Good morning, Sunshine.” Kris breaks into a smile at the same time my lips curl in disgust. He sits up on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “Nothing…just, don’t call me Sunshine.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that name already taken by someone else?”

  I nod just to see his reaction. And it’s priceless.

  “Well, damn girl,” Kris says, leaning forward to place a kiss on my forehead. “How many lovers do you have?”

  “I don’t have any lovers,” I tease him, pulling the covers up to my shoulders when I notice that I’m still naked. “Just admirers.”

  He’s silent for a moment as the gears turn in his mind. The look on his face makes me so overcome with guilt that I can’t hold out anymore. I really thought making him jealous would be satisfying. But it’s exactly the opposite of that. I roll toward him, snuggling into his chest as I wrap my arms around his back. “No worries,” I say into the crook of his shoulder. “It’s Austin, from the gym. He calls me that and it’s super annoying.”

  Kris chuckles and I can picture what his face looks like, even though I can’t see it. “Did you ever date that guy?” he asks with mild hesitation.

  I shake my head and whisper a single word, “Gross.”

  We cuddle together for another hour or so, all wrapped up in his soft sheets on his soft bed, the sounds of the ocean lulling me into a happy state of mind. Neither of us says a word, but we don’t have to. I can almost feel our thoughts as palpable entities lying between us on the bed. They’re happy and sad, angsty and relieved. There is so much left unsaid between Kris and me, but all of that can wait.

  All that matters is that we’re here, that we’re together. The way we were always supposed to be.

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  I feel myself blush at the question, as silly and cliché as it is. I climb up on a barstool and look at Kris, who stands with a frying pan in his hand as he waits for the answer to his question. He takes a carton of eggs from the refrigerator and wiggles it at me. “I’m a scrambled guy myself, but I’ll make yours any way you’d like.”

  “Scrambled is fine,” I say, tapping my fingers over the smooth granite countertops. Nathan and I dated for six years and he never made me breakfast. Of course, he usually slept over at my house. Breakfast at my house is typically coffee and a protein bar. Remembering my manners, or at least—pretending to have manners, I ask, “Would you like some help cooking?”

  He shakes his head and twists the knob on the stove until blue flames shoot up from the middle of the metal burner. I help out in the only way I can, by making a pot of coffee and then staying the hell out of his way. A gorgeous man cooking for me is a rare occurrence and I do not want to miss a single moment of its glory.

  I sip coffee and study the lines of his shoulder blades as he cooks with his back to me. My phone rings from somewhere inside his bedroom where I drunkenly tossed my purse last night, but I don’t bother to rush after it because it’s Susan’s ringtone. That woman knows me just as well as Cat and there’s no way I could hide something this juicy from her. So, she’ll just have to wait to talk to me. I’ll see her at work in—I check the time on the microwave—nine hours.

  “I should probably go back to sleep after this,” I say.

  “Why is that?” he asks while flipping bacon in the frying pan next to the scrambled eggs. “Do you already miss making love to me?”

  I grab a plastic chip clip off the counter and throw it at him. “You wish. You are so freaking arrogant.” I ignore his childish laughter as he rubs the back of his head where my perfect aim hit him with the clip. “I work nights, in case you forgot. I need to get some more sleep so I can stay up all night at the gym.”

  “O
h I don’t think your boss will mind if you pass out at work,” he says as he twists more knobs on the stove and sets some bacon strips on a paper towel.

  I tap my finger to my chin as if deep in thought. “I wonder how much money I could get if I sue for sexual harassment…”

  Kris turns around, spatula in hand as he makes an overdramatic surprised expression. “Who’s harassing you? Is it Susan? That whore!”

  I can’t help but laugh. In the exact moment I realize how amazing it feels to laugh like this and just have fun with someone, I realize another important fact: I am laughing with my brother’s killer. How would Tyler feel about this?

  Kris makes me a plate and then sits next to me at the bar his own plate that’s piled high with eggs and bacon and four slices of toast. “What’s wrong? You seem out of it all of a sudden.”

  I shake my head as I move my fork through my food. “I’m going to be honest with you, Kris,” I begin as a lump forms in my throat. I take a bite of eggs to swallow it down.

  Kris sets down his fork and looks at me, eyebrows drawn together in sincerity. “Talk to me.”

  “I still love you.” The words hang in the air for a moment before I speak again. “But I hated you for so long. I’m not sure if I’m confusing the two.”

  He wraps his arm around my shoulder and then steps off his barstool and pulls me into a warm hug. “I understand.”

  I tilt my head up to look at him as my fingers clamp around his waist. “What are we supposed to do?”

  He inhales a deep breath and slowly lets it out. “Take it one day at a time.” I can’t help but sigh—an expression of the sadness I feel. I wish things were different. I wish I could be happy without feeling guilty about it.

  Kris steps back and cups my face in his hands. “I can never make up for what I did. I can’t go back and change the past, and you have no idea how badly I wish I could. But I promise you this, Delaney, you are my only priority. I will be here for you, for anything you need. Even if you decide that you still hate me.”