“How can you not love someone like that?” I finished on a whisper and looked down. My eyes stung yet again, but there were no tears. God only knew I’d cried out everything I had earlier on today.
Raven was right. There was no ignoring this.
I just had to figure out what the hell I was going to do about it.
One cocktail turned into two, which turned into three, that turned into three takeout pizzas, garlic dough balls, cookie dough, and another few cocktails in front of Magic Mike.
Yeah. And now, we were all regretting it.
All except my very smug sister who only indulged in the food. Apparently one delight of pregnancy was watching your friends and sister get wasted and laughing at their hangovers the next morning.
I got rid of her by making her take both Cam and Raven home. Thank God. I was about to commit murder two times over if she laughed at me anymore.
I wasn’t that hung over, if I was honest. I was tired more than anything. Emotionally and physically freaking tired. Even having a couple too many Pussy Pounders didn’t help me sleep particularly well. I woke up around four a.m. and barely slept from then until everybody else woke up.
Now, I’d showered, gotten dressed, and brushed my hair. It was still pretty damp, but I had no intentions of going anywhere today. Maybe into the newspaper office, but no further. Of course, if I went into the office, my boss would only ask me whether or not I’d found out more information about the supposed Walker secret—the one I’d heard nothing about.
The one I wasn’t sure I wanted to know anything about. I’d had enough secrets where the Walkers were concerned this week.
I looked at my phone. A part of me wanted to pick it up and call Brett, but I didn’t know what I’d say. I hadn’t so much processed what we’d talked about as I had thought about what I was going to do next. Raven was right last night—I could hold onto the pain I’d already nurtured for far too long and never move on, or I could look at where we were right now and go forward.
From the perspective of today, I was pretty sure I’d forgiven him. No—I’d forgiven him. I wouldn’t be able to forget what he said, but I guess...strangely...I got it. We were young, and he made a mistake with what he said.
Maybe if I had been braver back then I would have interrupted that conversation and ask him what he was talking about the way I would if I heard him say that now.
He made a mistake, but so did I. So did I in not confronting him. We were both wrong, and I couldn’t blame all my hurt on him. I held responsibility for a part of it too—a much smaller part, sure, but still a part of it.
Perhaps that was what I had to say to him. That I was sorry I wasn’t brave enough to confront him. I was sorry I’d left. I was sorry it had taken me eight years to come back. That my apology didn’t depend upon him returning one for his part in it.
Two knocks at my front door pulled me out of my thoughts. As I stood to answer the door, I could feel the lightness inside. It was the right choice to make if either of us ever wanted to move on...No matter where moving on would take us.
I opened the door to the sight of a portly man with bright pink cheeks.
“Lani Montana?” he asked gruffly, an iPad in his hands.
“Yes?”
“Got a delivery for ya.”
“Oh, but I haven’t...” I trailed off as he turned and walked back to his van. “...Ordered anything,” I finished.
He threw his iPad onto the passenger seat of his van and opened the back door. It squeaked as it slid, and I frowned as he pulled out two large boxes with white roses in.
“Um...”
“Where’dja want these?” Delivery Man asked me.
“Um...”
He gave me a toothy grin. “Unexpected, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“Best find a place for ‘em, darlin’. I got another six of these.”
I blinked at him.
“I’ll put ‘em through ‘ere in the kitchen, should I?”
“Sure.” I stepped to the side to let him pass.
He shuffled past me with a chuckle, the flowers safe in his arms. He set them down on the charcoal, granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen and turned, passing me again.
Another six of them? What on earth?
I knew where they’d come from. Of course I did. Only one person had ever given me white roses, but this many was insane.
I watched in stunned silence as Delivery Man came in and out of the house another three times, each time carrying another two bouquets of roses. “There are no more, are there? I think they’re going to be living in sinks as it is.”
He chuckled, his iPad back in his hands. “No more. There’s a card, though. Just need you ta sign this.”
I scribbled my finger across the box on the iPad screen. “A card?”
“Yeah. ‘E wanted us to write ‘sorry’ ninety-six times, but I told him ‘e was havin’ a laugh if ‘e thought I was gonna do that. So I wrote a little ‘times ninety-six’ down there in the corner for ya.” He handed me the card, and sure as hell, he was right.
He had done that.
I smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“I dunno what ‘e did,” Delivery Man continued as he walked out of the house. “But that’s an all right apology, that.”
“Yeah. It’s something.”
“Have a good day, miss.”
“You too.” I slowly shut the door as he got into his van.
My feet stuck to the laminate flooring as I walked into the kitchen and took in the scene before me. Eight bouquets of white roses, twelve a piece. Ninety-six white roses.
Ninety. Six. White. Roses.
Brett Walker had lost his damn mind.
I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and when I was back in the kitchen, snapped a picture of them. I had to stand on the chair to get them all in frame, and I stayed standing there as I texted the picture to him.
Me: Um...I’m assuming these are from you.
I jumped down off the chair and leaned against the kitchen side. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with these flowers. I didn’t have enough vases for them. Hell, I didn’t have enough space for them, never mind anything else.
Ninety-six.
Why on Earth would he send me ninety-six roses?
Twelve? Twenty-four? Hey, even thirty-six—sure. But ninety-six?
More knocks sounded at my door, and I pushed off the counter with a sigh. Please, no more flowers.
“Yes?” I said, swinging the door open.
Brett stood there in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. “I figured you’d want an explanation.”
“For the greenhouse exploding in my kitchen, or...?” My lips twitched into a tiny smile. “That would be wonderful.”
“Can I come in?”
I stepped aside for him to come in and shut the door behind him. “I just have one question,” I said, leading him into the kitchen. “Why ninety-six?”
“Well...” He shuffled in after me and lifted his blue-gray gaze to mine. “I wanted to give you something to show you how sorry I was, and since it’s always been roses...there are ninety-six months in eight years. I was going to go for weeks or days, but I figured four hundred and seventeen or almost three thousand roses was a little bit of overkill.”