A Husband's Regret (The Unwanted Series)(25)

"She also said that she wasn't there when I had my accident. That she  didn't leave me to . . ." He couldn't even bring himself to say it,  realizing now how ridiculous it was to believe that his soft-hearted  wife would ever leave him, or anyone else for that matter, injured and  alone at the scene of an accident. He sat down on the closest chair with  a thump, feeling bewildered and sick to his stomach.

"Oh my God," he groaned. "Oh my God! I was so determined to blame her  for this, but what if I was wrong, Rick? Do you know what that means?  The things she went through on her own . . . how she struggled to make a  decent life for Kayla and herself. She nearly died having our baby, and  I wasn't there for her. Even if she's lying about everything, there's  just no excuse for letting her go through all of that on her own!" His  brother put a firm hand on his shoulder, forcing Bryce to look up to  meet his gaze.

"Calm down, Bryce, you tried to find her, remember? Even believing what  you did about her, you still tried your damnedest to find her. Let's  just figure out what the truth is before you start with the  self-recriminations."

Bryce covered his face with his hands, not sure what to do next, feeling  helpless and completely lost. It was a feeling he was all-too familiar  with since losing his hearing, but it wasn't a feeling he would ever  learn to live with. He got up abruptly, his head swimming with chaotic  thoughts, his objective clear.

"I have to talk with her." His eyes blindly sought out his brother and  sister-in-law. "I . . . excuse me." He saw Rick start to sign something  but Lisa reached out and stayed his brother's hands before nodding  encouragingly at Bryce.



She was on the nursery floor, playing with an active Kayla, who looked  refreshed after her afternoon nap. Bronwyn had her back to the door and  didn't see him at first. In fact, it was Kayla who alerted her to his  presence. The little girl saw him hovering in the doorway, and her whole  face lit up as she squealed excitedly.

"Daddy!" She toddled toward him, her chubby arms outstretched. Bryce  smiled at the little girl as he swept her up into his arms, keeping his  eyes on Bronwyn's slender back, noting how it tensed, before she squared  her shoulders and stood up to face him. Bryce was trying to handle the  little girl's effusive chatter and watch Bronwyn's face at the same  time. Eventually he gave up on trying to follow Kayla's confusing baby  talk and focused entirely on Bronwyn, nodding now and then to keep Kayla  happy.

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly, noting the stubborn tilt of her  jaw and the unshed tears in her luminous eyes. He felt like an absolute  bastard driving her to the brink of tears . . . again!

"I'm fine." She nodded, folding her arms defensively over her chest.

"I . . ." he began, but Kayla was bouncing up and down, demanding that  he play horsey with her. He kissed the little girl, before going to the  door and hollering for Rick, immediately quieting Kayla, who looked up  at him uncertainly, wondering if her daddy was mad at her. Bryce grinned  down at her reassuringly, making airplane noises and flying her around  the room for a few moments, before Rick came panting up the stairs.

"What?" he asked urgently.

"Kayla . . ." Bryce planted an affectionate kiss on his daughter's silky cheek. "This is your Uncle Rick!"

"Unca?" The girl wondered doubtfully.

"Yes and he likes to play horsey!" Rick, who had been grinning foolishly  down at the little girl, abruptly stopped smiling and met his brother's  eyes in horror.

"Unca, horsey?" the little girl asked excitedly.

"You want to play horsey with Uncle Rick while Mummy and Daddy talk?"  Bryce asked gently, knowing that she wouldn't understand anything but  "play horsey" and "Uncle Rick."





  

"Uh, Bryce . . ." Rick began while back-pedaling frantically; he stopped  abruptly when Kayla bestowed her most radiantly trusting smile on him  and held out her arms.

"Horsey, Unca Wick?" she asked coyly, and Rick swallowed visibly before  stepping forward and lifting the little girl from her father's arms.

"What an accomplished little flirt you already are." He chuckled before meeting Bryce's eyes.

"You're going to have your hands full with this one, in twelve or so  years' time, big brother." Bryce grinned halfheartedly and shrugged.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Please keep her busy, Rick. Bron and I need to-"

"Say no more," Rick interrupted cheerfully while Kayla tugged at his  hair and shirt, impatient to be off. "Come along, Kayla, let's go and  meet your cousin and your auntie Lisa. She loves to play horsey too!" He  carried the friendly little girl, who seemed to have forgotten all  about her parents at the prospect of playing with exciting new people,  out of the room and left Bronwyn and Bryce to contemplate each other  quietly for a few moments.

"What's the problem this time, Bryce?" Bronwyn asked with what appeared  to be sarcasm, if her face was any indication. "I'm so sorry I stormed  out and ruined your perfect little party."

"The night you left," he began quietly, trying to keep his voice level  and calm, not wanting to come across as accusatory or angry. "After my  accident, Bron, I swear I saw you in the crowd and, even though I knew  that I was the one who had driven you out of the house in the first  place, in my mind, abandoning me there was completely unforgivable. I  know that my reaction to your pregnancy was cruel and unwarranted, but  despite that, you were my wife, the person I depended on the most, the  woman who claimed to love me, and you left me there! It made no sense to  me and it hurt so damned much. It also gave me an excuse to hate you  because feeling anything other than that was just too . . ." He broke  off awkwardly, aware of her frown and her confusion.

"Bryce, I wasn't . . ." she began but he held up a hand.

"Please . . . I . . . let me speak." He shut his eyes painfully. "I  remember it so vividly; I looked up and saw you standing there on the  fringe of the gathering crowd. You looked cold, remote, and so  beautiful. You were wearing the dress that I loved. Remember? The little  black one with the floaty skirt. I tried to call you, but my voice  wouldn't work. I now know that I was shouting at the top of my lungs."  He grinned feebly. "I just couldn't hear myself. Do you understand why  it's been so difficult to let go of that image? How I can't ever get the  memory of you turning your back and walking away from me out of my  mind?"

Bronwyn stared up into his dark and tormented face. She knew how much it  must have cost him to come up here and reveal how much he been hurt by  her perceived actions that night. She sighed; so much for letting him  muddle through it on his own. She couldn't, not when he had just  presented her with the means to refute his repulsive accusation.

"Bryce." Her throat caught, and she inhaled deeply as she fought back  the ever-present urge to cry. "I have something to show you." She led  him into the master bedroom and toward the huge walk-in closet that  housed her old wardrobe. She opened the door and rifled through the  contents briefly before lifting a padded hanger with a flimsy scrap of  black chiffon hanging from it.

"This dress?" she asked gently, and he winced as if the dress brought  back cripplingly painful memories. He nodded. She shut her eyes tightly  as she fought for composure, so did not see the slight movement he made  toward her before stopping himself.

"Bryce," she murmured unsteadily, opening her eyes again. "I was wearing  a pair of jeans and a T-shirt when I left that night. I left with  nothing but the clothes on my back. This dress . . . it's been hanging  here for the last two years." Bryce shifted his gaze to the dress and  shook his head, unable to believe that he had gotten something so very  crucial to the well-being of their relationship so totally wrong. He  took the dress from her and ran the flimsy material gently through his  large hands.

"Rick could have packed . . ." he began, but she touched his hand to get  his attention and shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes level.

"Why don't you ask Rick? I'm sure he'd remember a dress like this among  the endless amounts of toddler-proof wear he packed for me." She nibbled  at her lower lip. "I left on a Tuesday night, remember?"





  

He nodded.

"This is a cocktail dress, Bryce," she pointed out. "Were we at a party that night?"

He hesitated before responding.

"No. You called me at the office and told me you were cooking a special  meal because you had something exciting to tell me . . ." His voice  broke and he was trembling from head to foot. Bronwyn was the one who  remained rock-steady for a change, while Bryce looked like he was on the  verge of tears. "I came home and found you wearing your tattered blue  jeans and one of those T-shirts you'd bought in the Seychelles. You said  that you didn't feel like dressing up for dinner."