Take this Regret

Book 2: The Regret Series

by A.L. Jackson

Genres: Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

"Absolutely amazing! LOVE LOVE LOVE...In my opinion, I feel that A.L. Jackson is the female version of Nicholas Sparks." Taryn, My Secret Romance

There are some mistakes we make that we will regret for the rest of our lives. For Christian, it was the day he betrayed Elizabeth.

Christian Davison has a plan for his life. He is determined to become an attorney and to one day take his place as partner in his father’s law firm. Nothing will stand in his way, not even Elizabeth Ayers and their unborn child.

After Christian cuts her from his life, Elizabeth spends the next five years struggling to provide for her daughter and willing to sacrifice anything to give her child a safe, comfortable life. For five years, Christian has regretted the day he walked away from his family and will do anything to win them back just as Elizabeth will do anything to protect her daughter from the certain heartache she believes Christian will bring upon them.

When Christian wrestles his way into their lives, Elizabeth is faced with asking herself if it is possible to forgive someone when they’ve committed the unforgivable and if it is possible to find a love after it has been buried in years of hate.

Or are there some wounds that go so deep they can never heal? They say everyone deserves a second chance.

"I cried, I laughed, this book touched my heart and I will never forget this story <3
It was an absolutely beautiful read that is definitely going on my favorites shelf!
6 stars!!" ~ Aestas Book Blog

Lost to You and Take This Regret can be read as Stand-Alone Novels. Recommended reading order: Lost to You, Take This Regret, If Forever Comes

Release date: June 2, 2014

Publisher: A.L. Jackson Books Inc

Print pages: 450

Sample

Prologue

 

CHRISTIAN

 

Elizabeth shook her head, appearing to struggle against her tears. She backed two steps away from me.

“I’m having this baby, Christian.”

“Think about it, Elizabeth.” My words came out harsher than I intended, and I suddenly realized just how angry I felt that she’d already made this decision without me.

As if the way I felt didn’t count.

“How do you expect to go through law school and have a baby? Have you even thought about it? Have you even thought about how we would handle this? Make it through law school?”

She had to see just how impossible the situation was.

Elizabeth looked confused. As if she couldn’t grasp what I was trying to say.

Her response was stuttered. “I . . . I don’t know. We . . . we’ll figure it out.”

“No, Elizbeth, we won’t.”

When she started to cry, I squeezed my eyes shut and turned away from her.

I was doing my best to rein in my temper. To think about how she was feeling right then. Even though what I really wanted to do was yell at her and tell her just how stupid and irrational she was being.

This would ruin our lives—my life.

Somewhat unconsciously, I found myself thinking thoughts I’d worked so hard to overcome.

Thoughts of myself. What I needed. What I wanted.

Suddenly, I didn’t see the hurting girl in front of me, the girl I loved, the girl I’d had every intention of spending the rest of my life with.

The only thing I could see was somebody standing in my way.

Quickly, I turned and leveled my eyes at her, face hard. Manipulative words fell from my mouth before I could really think through their meaning. “I’m not joking, Elizabeth. It’s me or the baby. You can’t have us both.”

She swallowed deeply and nodded her head.

Visibly, she accepted the ultimatum that I had laid out before her.

After all, I knew there was really never a decision to make.

“Goodbye, Christian.”

For the second time that day, I had to work to make sense of what Elizabeth had said.

With her head dropped, she pushed passed me as if she didn’t have another choice and reached out to turn the doorknob.

“Elizabeth.”

When I called her name, she paused.

From behind, I observed the rise and fall of her uneven breaths. “Come back when you’ve changed your mind.”

Part of me was shocked at the heartless words I spat at her back. But what other choice did I have?

She shook her head as she swung the door open and slammed it shut behind her.

I stared at the closed door, torn between running after her and waiting for her to return.

If I went after her now, that meant one of us was going to have to concede, and it wasn’t going to be me.

 

~

 

Two hours later, I was sitting at my desk, studying for my politics midterm.

All the while, I couldn’t help but listen intently for the sound of footsteps outside my door.

I knew she would come back.

She had to. 

I trained my attention on the heavy textbook in front of me, trying to ignore the growing anxiety I felt each time I picked up my cell phone to check if I’d missed any messages.

None came.

Anxiety had started to crawl through my veins.

An unease I couldn’t shake.

Everything wrong.

It was well after midnight when I finally gave up and crawled into bed.

She just needed some time to realize I was right.

I had to be right. I wouldn’t allow myself to think otherwise.

So, every time that wave of guilt came, I pushed it aside.

I envisioned her awake, just as I was, tossing uncomfortably in her small bed that rested in the far corner of her studio apartment and slowly coming to terms with what she needed to do.

Tomorrow she would have to her senses. I was sure of it.

But when I dragged my unrested body from my bed the next morning, my phone was still void of messages.

I had been cruel—I knew it. I could only hope I hadn’t pushed her too far.

I just needed her to somehow understand the only thing I was just trying to do was protect our future.

I ate a bowl of cold cereal and then forced myself into the steam of my shower, desperate to find anything to chase away the fatigue.

My head was in a damned cloud, both from lack of sleep and from the scenarios running through my mind.

Honestly, they were terrifying.

Ones including a life without Elizabeth.

What if she never came back?

Could I really give her up?

As I rubbed the soapy washcloth over my body, I tried to picture an existence without her.

A life void of the perfect pitch of her voice, the way it rang out when she laughed. A life in which I didn’t get to touch the softness of her skin or have the right to pull her body against mine.

A life without a child crying out from the next room as I tried unsuccessfully to study for the bar.

Groaning on the last, I shook my head to clear the fog and forced it all away.

It wouldn’t come to that.

I was certain when I saw her in class today, she would take her normal seat beside me in the lecture hall, lean in, and whisper in my ear that I was right.

But when her seat remained vacant, my unease grew, gnawing at my stomach.

It was torture sitting there, and the moment the professor dismissed class, I raced from the room and to the café where Elizabeth and I studied every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Frantically, I scanned the room, finding several mildly familiar faces but not the one I wanted to see.

By the time I reached her apartment complex, I was panting, both from exertion from the mile I had run and the constriction fear had placed on my heart.

I pounded on the door, giving her no time to answer before I yelled, “Elizabeth!”

There was no sound from the other side, no rustling of curtains or faint shuffling of feet.

Shit.

Fumbling with my keys, I found my spare and pushed it into the lock.

The door opened to the quietness, the small studio comfortably cluttered as always.

The only thing that seemed amiss was the blankets from her normally neat bed were strewn on the floor.

I crossed the space to the only separate room. The door to the bathroom rested ajar, that room as empty as the first.

Pressing my back against the wall, I took a deep breath.

I wasn’t prepared for this. Never thought it would go this far.

Reluctantly, I forced myself out of the apartment, shutting and locking the door behind me before I left.

As I clamored down the vacancy of the stairwell, hating the voice inside my head that kept screaming this was for the best.

 

~

 

ELIZABETH

 

Reeling from the betrayal, I ran down the three flights of stairs and away from the man I had thought would always stand by my side.

I felt as if I’d been mortally wounded by his words. Christian knew that wasn’t an option for me. How could he even have suggested it?

In the harshness of his words, I’d searched the depths of his blue eyes for the man I thought I knew but must have never really known.

The man I thought I knew would never have been so cruel.

When I’d told him goodbye, my voice had shaken with heartbreak, but my choice was unwavering.

There was nothing more important than the child growing inside me.

When he’d called out to me just before I’d left, I’d prayed he had changed his mind.

Above all, I loved him and didn’t want to live without him, but second to that, I was scared.

I didn’t want to raise a child by myself.

But I’d realized I would have to do just that when I heard no softness in his voice, but more words to inflict pain.

Tears fell endlessly as I walked the half mile from Christian’s apartment to my own. My stomach was in knots and protesting each step I took.

I refused to look behind me as I pressed forward, my feet heavy with heartbreak, the weight causing me to stumble.

Halfway home, the pain in my stomach intensified, and I vomited into some shrubs planted under the window of a storefront.

Stomach muscles aching. Retching and heaving.

It only caused me to cry harder and the cramps to worsen, which resulted in three more episodes before I made it to the single flight of stairs leading to my apartment door.

I clung to the railing, holding myself up as I vomited once more over the side.

Fear and heartbreak tumbled through me.

Uncontainable.

So much.

By then I was weeping, unable to control the shaking that had taken over my body. I made it to the landing of my apartment and, with trembling hands, let myself into the only place I came close to being able to afford.

I felt cold, my body convulsing as I pulled my clothes from my body and stepped into a shower that should have been hot enough to scald.

Even then, I found no warmth, and I curled in upon myself on the tiled shower floor, hoping for comfort.

I only quivered and shook more.

I felt as if I was frozen from the inside out. Nothing could thaw the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Climbing from the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel and sank to my bathroom floor, heaving again into the toilet.

I was scared.

I’d never felt so terrible before.

I ached.

Ached in the worst way. From my skin to the depths of my soul.

The worst part was I couldn’t discern the source of the pain—whether it was from something truly wrong with myself or from the trauma of having my life shattered around me.

Most of all, I worried about my baby.

I didn’t know many things about pregnancy, but nothing about this felt normal. So, when my stomach recoiled again and nothing came up, I was sure I needed help.

I pulled myself up to stand, steadied myself with a hand against the wall when I swayed with dizziness, and prayed I could make it to my phone.

I wanted Christian so badly, and my first instinct was to dial his number, but I forced myself to dial seven different digits than the ones I so desperately wanted.

Christian was no longer mine. No longer one I could rely on. There was only one other person in this city that I trusted.

His voice was scratchy and hoarse with sleep when he answered, “Hello?”

More time had passed than I had realized. It was nearing midnight.

 

~

 

MATTHEW

 

“Matthew,” she rasped, my name barely audible. The desperation in her voice pulled me from my haze, and I shot straight up in bed.

“Elizabeth?” I became frantic. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

At least three seconds passed before she wheezed out a shaky, “No.”

I pulled on pants and stuffed my arms into the first button up I could find while keeping the phone pressed between my ear and shoulder.

I tried unsuccessfully to sound calm. “Elizabeth, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong.”

I was already out the door and starting my car before she could answer with a weak, “I’m sick. Really sick. I need your help.” 

I was at her apartment and up the short flight of stairs before five minutes had passed, where I found my friend curled up on her bed, shivering under a pile of blankets.

“Elizabeth?” I rushed to her side, pulling the covers back to expose just her head.

Her blonde hair was darkened to a near brown from the profuse sweat pouring down her forehead.

I reached out to push her hair away so I could see her face, shocked by the paleness of her skin and the swollen redness of her eyes.

I wanted to ask her a million questions, but she was passing in and out of consciousness.

No doubt, she needed more help than I could give.

I pushed her covers to the floor except for the one I wrapped her in before bringing her into my arms.

Her small body was heavier than I anticipated, completely limp, and I struggled to maneuver her down the stairway and to my car.

I contemplated dialing 911, but the hospital was so close, I was certain I would get her to the emergency room before an ambulance could arrive.

Within minutes, I was pulling around the circular drive under the bright red glow of the sign that read, “Emergency Room.”

Carrying her, I entered through the automatic doors.

“Help!” I yelled, fear crawling through my veins.

With a flurry of activity, several orderlies pulled Elizabeth from my arms and placed her on a gurney.

The nurse led me to a small curtained area where Elizabeth lay unconscious. I felt overwhelmed as the nurse hammered me with questions I could not answer.

“Date of birth?”

“Is she on any medications?”

“Does she have any allergies?”

“When did the symptoms start?”

I shook my head that had begun to pound from the immense amount of stress. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

I slumped into a hard, plastic chair that was pushed against the far corner of the wall and watched as they began to poke and prod at my friend. I felt helpless, having no idea what I was supposed to do.

Should I call someone?

Christian?

Elizabeth’s mother?

No. She had called me, and that in itself gave me a clue.

She needed me, and so I chose to be there for her, even if it meant waiting around and having no idea what was going on.

As I sat silently in the corner and watched the nurses and a doctor work over Elizabeth, I thought about how she’d come into my life.

I’d met her the year before at the small diner where we worked on the weekends. The two of us were a lot alike.

We both lived in a city neither of us could afford, attending a college we’d dreamed of most of our young lives, living off scholarships, grants, and mounting student loans we’d undoubtedly be paying for well into our thirties.

The tips we made on a Saturday shift barely covered food and necessities for the week.

But neither of us looked at those things as negatives. Instead, we embraced the opportunity and ran with it.

Because of it? We’d become fast friends.

I obviously knew how beautiful Elizabeth was. I wasn’t blind, but I’d never viewed her that way and didn’t harbor unrequited feelings. I loved her as a friend.

Truly.

That didn’t mean I liked her boyfriend.

To me, Christian was nothing but a spoiled rich kid who was slumming it while he played at college.

Couldn’t shake the instinct that Christian would break Elizabeth’s heart.

When they inserted a long, thick needle into Elizabeth’s forearm, I cringed, unable to look away as they attached an IV bag to the line.

For what seemed an eternity, I watched over her sleeping form while the color slowly came back to her face as the bag dripped its contents into her veins.

Really, little more than an hour had passed when the very young doctor who had examined her returned, chart in hand.

He extended my free hand across the small space. “Dr. Lopez.”

I nodded and returned his handshake. “Matthew Stevens.”

The doctor began to speak quickly. “All of her test results are back . . . severely dehydrated . . . anemic . . . pregnancy . . . too much stress . . .”

I tried to focus on all the details the doctor was giving, but really, I heard nothing more than pregnancy.

God.

Elizabeth was pregnant.

This was bad.

I felt lightheaded with the implications this would have for her, and they only got worse when everything clicked into place.

The late-night phone call made to me when it should have been made to someone else. The swollen, red eyes. The doctor’s words about too much stress triggering shock.

I curled my fists, sickened that someone could treat my friend so poorly—anyone that poorly.

I had to beat down my first instinct, which was to go straight to Christian Davison’s apartment and tear him apart.

Instead, I moved to sit on the edge of Elizabeth’s bed and ran my hand through her matted hair.

Silently, I promised her I would always take care of her.

 

~

 

CHRISTIAN

SEVEN MONTHS LATER

 

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, studying myself in the long, black gown.

I saw nothing more than a pathetic, excuse for a man staring back at me.

I should have felt proud.

Receiving my bachelors at Columbia with top honors should be a proud day.

My mother and father had just left my apartment to await me in the car, but not before my father, for the first time in my life, had proclaimed how proud I made him.

But I didn’t feel proud.

The only thing I could process at that moment was shame.

I’d seen her about three weeks before in line at the store, though she hadn’t seen me.

I had run in to grab a few things I needed—deodorant, shampoo, and toothpaste.

I’d been making my way back up to the registers, scanning for the shortest line, when I’d seen the wavy locks of blonde hair I knew so well.

The same honeyed color that I would never forget.

Immediately, I’d felt a pull, the need to go to her, but I had frozen when she turned to the side, exposing the large protuberance in her abdomen.

Like a coward, I’d hidden myself, watching her with an almost morbid curiosity from behind a row of shelves.

Nausea had hit me when I’d stood there like a total asshole, watching the woman I still loved, but had betrayed, strain to reach the items in the cart—diapers, blankets, and small things I didn’t recognize.

She was preparing for her baby to be born.

Fear had pulled at my chest when I noticed that she now seemed thinner than I remembered, her skin sallow and chalky.

Gaunt.

As if the growing mass in her front had stolen all the life from the rest of her body.

Even then, she was still the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

But, like I’d already known myself to be, I remained the coward and did nothing but watch as she paid for her things and walked out the door.

It was the only time I’d seen her since we’d fought at my apartment. She’d never returned to class, had never called or sought me out, had never changed her mind.

I had made no real effort of my own since that first day when I’d gone to her place, only calling once and hanging up when a man had answered her phone.

I could have tried harder—should have tried harder—but I’d taken the easy way out.

I’d convinced myself that I didn’t ache for her. Pretended that my sleepless nights had nothing to do with my worry for her.

I’d tortured myself with the idea that she’d moved on, that she didn’t need me, that she’d found her own way.

But even if she had? It still didn’t absolve my responsibility for the child.

So as my guilt had grown, I’d done more and more to drown it out, spending long days in class and even longer nights with my head spinning from the amount of alcohol I’d consumed, then waking to unfamiliar women in unfamiliar beds.

No, today was not a proud day.

I grabbed my cap and trudged downstairs to join my parents in their waiting car.

 

~

 

The celebratory dinner was everything I had expected it to be.

The sound of forks and knives clattering against china filtering into the stuffy atmosphere of the Club, the waiters in tuxedos and far too willing to accommodate.

My father, Richard, lectured me that my schooling had only begun and that the next three years of law school were going to be the toughest of my life.

My mother had sat withdrawn as she listened to her husband giving me the instruction I obviously didn’t need.

It was nothing I hadn’t heard before.

Every conversation I’d ever had with my father had been the same. I’d hoped that for just one night, he would be satisfied.

That for once we could just relax and talk, but it was always about the next step, the next achievement.

Thankfully, my mother interrupted the berating. “So, your father and I will be going to Rome this summer. I can’t wait to visit. It’s one of my favorite cities in the world.”

My father stared her down. “Claire, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt me when I’m talking to my son.” 

For the first time ever, I noticed my mother roll her eyes at him.

She seemed irritated by him this evening, her smile tight and no real light coming from her blue eyes.

Normally, she remained mostly quiet during family conversations, sipping from a glass of wine and nodding agreement with whatever my father was cramming down my throat.

Tonight though, she seemed anxious, as if she would explode if my dad uttered one more word about my future.

Sitting there, I couldn’t help but watch my mom from across the table, couldn’t help but wonder about her happiness.

In all the years I had thought her perfectly content in her huge house and endless social gatherings, was she was ever really happy at all?

Because when I really looked hard, I saw no true joy in her face.

It was a shame that I couldn’t even remember the last real conversation I’d had with my mother. So, I smiled at the stories she told.

Getting lost in it.

In the little flickers of the memories of the way I’d once imagined her to be.

Caring and warm.

Her face took on a new vibrancy as she talked of me as a child, and I relaxed into my chair, no longer guarded.

That was until she asked a question I hadn’t been prepared to answer. “Whatever happened with that girl you were dating? What was her name? Elizabeth?”

Shame slammed me, and instantly, my tension returned. But I found myself answering her because I needed to tell somebody. Needed to tell her.

Looking at my plate, I muttered, “We broke up.”

“Oh?” she asked like a gentle prod, as if she expected further explanation.

One she would be shocked to hear.

Even more shocking was I wanted to tell her.

I lifted my eyes to hers and spoke, even though it was choppy and reeked of confession. “She’s having a baby.”

Almost simultaneously, my parents dropped their utensils to the table, staring as they waited for me to clarify.

Unease rippled through my being. But I refused to deny what I’d done.

“She told me in the fall. I told her I didn’t want it, so she left. I haven’t talked to her since.”

I struggled to maintain eye contact with my mother as I said these things but had to look away when I saw the disappointment race across her face.

Her voice shook but was still the strongest I’d ever heard. “Christian,” she demanded, “How could you treat someone—”

Richard’s cut her off with a vicious rant. One about irresponsibility and money and tarnished reputations.

I was the only one who noticed when my mother stood and ran from the table.

 

~

 

The ride home from the restaurant was tense and silent.

When my mother had left the table, for the twenty minutes she was away, I was scolded by my father.

As if I needed the reminder of disgusting I was.

Of course, none of those things were what my father was worried about.

When my mother had returned, it was obvious she’d been crying, her makeup smudged and her eyes red. After she had taken her seat, no one had spoken a word nor had they since.

The driver pulled up in front of my building, and my father made no move, though my mother exited the car and hugged me in a way she hadn’t for many, many years.

When she pulled away, her face was wet with tears again, and her hand trembled as she raised it to touch my cheek. “Make this right.”

I hadn’t expected this encouragement, and it left me confused as I watched her take her place in the backseat of the Town Car. I stared at their taillights as they drove away and disappeared into the night.

Hanging my head, I made my way to my apartment, knowing what my mom had said was true.

I could make this right, but I also knew I would probably never be brave enough to do it.

Once upstairs, I changed and then walked to the building next to my own to join the people I could barely consider friends, as they celebrated their graduation the best way they knew how.

The music was loud and the apartment cramped, the room almost alive with the movement of people who considered this one of the best days of their lives.

I had never felt worse.

With a platinum blonde on my lap, I sat on the couch, draining my sixth beer and wondering what the hell I was doing there.

The crowd had become rowdy and obnoxious, and I wanted nothing more than to escape from it all. I just had no idea where I wanted to go.

My eyes slammed shut, and I pretended I didn’t hear the loud, drunken voice of Nathan, a guy I could hardly stand when I was sober, let alone after he’d consumed half his weight in alcohol.

But I couldn’t ignore it when he slapped me on the back, his booming voice slurred with laughter as he shouted, “I hear congratulations are in order for the proud papa.”

The blood drained from my face, leaving me lightheaded, barely able to force out, “What?”

Nathan cackled as if nothing had ever been more entertaining to him. “What? Didn’t you hear, man? You became a daddy this morning.”

Shock hammered me.

No.

Stumbling to standing, I pushed the giggling girl from my lap.

Never had I hated myself more than right then.

How could I have done this? I loved Elizabeth, didn’t I? But people didn’t do things like this to people they loved.

I barely made it outside the door before I vomited in the hallway—not from the alcohol I’d consumed.

My sickness was nothing but disgust.

I stumbled home and into bed, praying I would fall asleep and awake with all of my regret gone.

But sleep never came, and I lay staring at the ceiling, unable to will my mind to stop long enough to find rest.

At four o’clock, I gave up and got out of bed, still wearing wrinkled jeans and a T-shirt that smelled like beer.

Pulling on a discarded Columbia sweatshirt from the floor, I just . . . walked.

Subconsciously, I knew where I was going, though I wouldn’t allow myself to admit it.

I entered through the emergency room entrance because all the other doors had been locked for the night.

When I arrived on the maternity floor, a nurse stopped me. Visiting hours didn’t start for another three hours, but when I explained I was a father and showed my ID, the woman allowed me through.

I gathered all my courage and pushed forward, preparing to admit to Elizabeth I was wrong. I would tell her that I was sorry, that I would take it all back if I could.

I was prepared to beg for the forgiveness I knew I didn’t deserve.

I’d do anything to make this right.

But what I wasn’t prepared for was finding Matthew with his back to me, sitting in a chair and gently caressing Elizabeth’s face while she slept.

I froze when I realized I was too late. I’d done too much harm.

Silently, I stood and watched the man who was only supposed to be her friend sit in the spot where I should have been.

Watched Matthew adoring the girl who deserved every touch and embrace, the girl who deserved a man better than me.

She deserved a man like Matthew who had stepped up and filled the place I should never have stepped away from.

Pain welled up in my chest, fierce and permanent, and I felt something inside me crack as I said a silent goodbye to the girl I would always love.

Stepping back, I let the door drift closed between us.

Then I fled. As I escaped down the hall, I trained my attention on the floor, not allowing myself to look through the large glass window where I knew my child slept

If I saw?

I would never be able to walk away.

Elizabeth was taken care of and happy, and for once, I would do something that I wasn’t doing for myself.

After all, it was for the best.