A Matter of Trust(100)
No. Not compared to the world discovering the location and story of Selene Taggert.
She doesn’t just get to start over.
The words refused to leave her, just thrumming in her head.
She turned on the television and came upon a local news feed. What looked like the hospital, with a cute reporter with long brown hair delivering an update on a snowboarder who’d been lost on the mountain.
When Oliver’s picture flashed on the screen, Brette pumped up the volume.
“He was found early last night by local ski patrol Gage Watson, who, with the PEAK Rescue team, carried him out of Heaven’s Peak this morning, along with his sister, Ella Blair. Ella happens to be a senator with the State of Vermont. I got a chance to catch up with her parents earlier today.”
The interview flipped to a hurried shot of Marjorie and Mansfield Blair on their way to the hospital, giving a quick statement about gratitude and relief.
The reporter ended with, “We’re expecting an update on Ella’s and Oliver’s conditions coming up soon.”
But Brette sat, weakened. They were here, in the hospital. And no, Ty hadn’t bothered to stop by.
Not that she should expect him to, after she’d screamed at him to get out.
Still. “Brette, I do care about you.”
She couldn’t get that out of her head, either. And wouldn’t you know it, her chest hurt, hearing his pleading words. “I promise you—that kiss, for me, meant something and, please, just trust me—”
She closed her eyes, trying to get his voice out of her brain. She meant her parting words—she couldn’t trust him again.
But it wouldn’t matter, because she wouldn’t see him again, either.
She wiped her fingers across her cheek, brushing away the moisture there.
“Brette, are you okay?”
She opened her eyes. Froze.
Blinked.
Ty Remington stood at the foot of her bed.
Holding flowers.
“Hey,” he said quietly. He looked like a man fresh in from the cold, unshaven, wearing his ski jacket and a stocking cap. He pulled it off now, and his dark hair emerged flattened.
Apology emanated from him in his grim smile, the expression on his face, those beautiful green eyes.
She folded her hands over her chest. “I’m fine. Just waiting on a few extra tests the doctor ordered before they discharge me. I don’t want to spend any more of your money.”
His mouth opened, just slightly, and she hated herself a little. What was wrong with her that she’d turned so angry, especially toward the one man who’d been kind to her?
Who made her fall at least a little in love with him, only to break her heart.
That was probably what this was about. She was so tired of falling for the wrong men, the ones who didn’t care if they trampled over her.
She tightened her jaw, refused to take back her words.
Ty closed his mouth, gave her a tight nod. “I guess it was too much to hope that you wouldn’t find out.” Then he set the flowers on the bedside tray, next to Pete’s.
Gerbera daisies and miniature pink roses.
She liked it. In fact, she had never received so many flowers in her life. But she couldn’t look at him.
He pulled up a chair anyway. “I didn’t actually lie about that charity fund. My family has a number of them, and, well, I just pulled some strings, got a donation . . .”
She stared out the window at the late afternoon pallor of the day. “That was nice of you. But I’ll pay you back.”
“It’s a lot of money, Brette. Please don’t.” He was looking at her, and she couldn’t help it. She glanced at him, and his gaze held so much emotion, it caught her breath.
What other way could it ever be? I’ll never be able to trust you again.
But oh, she wanted to. In fact, she longed to rewind to the moment, twenty-four hours ago, when he’d leaned over and kissed her.
Such a sweet, gentle, perfect kiss. He’d made her, however briefly, believe again in heroes and happy endings.
She drew in a breath. “Why are you here?” And no, she didn’t mean it how it sounded, because she suddenly, desperately didn’t want him to leave.
“I wanted to tell you that we found Ella and Oliver.”
Oh. “Thank you.”
“And I was worried about you.”
He was? She clenched her jaw.
“And . . . I wanted to talk to you about Jess.”
Jess. Of course he did. Brette blinked away the heat in her eyes. “What about Selene?”
He folded his hands between his knees. “I have a story you could tell, instead of Jess’s.”
She frowned at him. “Pete already offered—”
“Not Pete’s story, Brette. Mine. About the chopper crash. It might not make national news, but . . . it’s a story about a guy who had it all and lost it because of his own stupidity. It’s a story of survival—I hiked fifteen miles through a blizzard on a broken knee while my team searched for five days for us. It even includes a miracle. Something Nat Geo might be interested in. And it’s all yours, if you’re willing to trade it for staying silent about Jess.”