The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [132]
“I didn’t mean to kill him. . . .”
Chapter 28
Denise held Taylor until he finally fell silent, spent and exhausted. Then she released him and went to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a can of beer, something she’d splurged on when she’d bought her car.
She didn’t know what else to do, nor did she have any idea what to say. She’d heard terrible things in her life, but nothing like this. Taylor looked up from the couch as she handed him the beer; with an almost deadened expression, he opened the beer and took a drink, then lowered it to his lap, both hands wrapped around the can.
She reached over, resting her hand on his leg, and he took hold of it.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“No,” he answered earnestly, “but then maybe I never was.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Probably not,” she agreed. He smiled wanly. They sat in silence for a few moments before she spoke again.
“Why tonight, Taylor?” Though she could have tried to talk him out of the guilt he still felt, she knew intuitively that now wasn’t the time. Neither of them was ready to face those demons.
He absently rotated the can in his hands. “I’ve been thinking about Mitch ever since he died, and with Melissa moving away . . . I don’t know . . . I felt like it was starting to eat me alive.”
It always was, Taylor.
“Why me, then? Why not someone else?”
He didn’t answer right away, but when he glanced up at her, his blue eyes registered nothing but regret.
“Because,” he said with unmistakable sincerity, “I care about you more than I ever cared about anyone.”
At his words, her breath caught in her throat. When she didn’t speak, Taylor reluctantly withdrew his hand the same way he once had at the carnival.
“You have every right not to believe me,” he admitted. “I probably wouldn’t, given the way I acted. I’m sorry for that—for everything. I was wrong.” He paused. With his thumbnail, he flicked the tab on the can in his hands. “I wish I could explain why I did the things I did, but I honestly don’t know. I’ve been lying to myself for so long that I’m not even sure I’d know the truth if I saw it. All I know for sure is that I screwed up the best thing I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Yeah, you did,” she agreed, prompting a nervous laugh from Taylor.
“I guess a second chance is out of the question, huh?”
Denise was silent, suddenly aware that at some point this evening, her anger toward Taylor had dissipated. The pain was still there, though, and so was the fear of what might come. In some ways she felt the same anxiety she’d felt when she was getting to know him for the first time. And in a way, she knew she was.
“You used that one a month ago,” she said calmly. “You’re probably somewhere in the twenties by now.”
He heard an unexpected glimmer of encouragement in her tone and looked up at her, his hope barely disguised.
“That bad?”
“Worse,” she said, smiling. “If I were the queen, I probably would have had you beheaded.”
“No hope, huh?”
Was there? That was what it all came down to, wasn’t it?
Denise hesitated. She could feel her stubborn resolve crumbling as his eyes held her gaze, speaking more eloquently than any words he might say. All at once she was flooded with memories of all the kind things he’d done for her and Kyle, reviving the feelings she had worked so hard to repress these past few weeks.
“I didn’t exactly say that,” she finally answered. “But we can’t just pick up where we left off. There’s a lot we have to figure out first, and it isn’t going to be easy.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when he realized that the possibility was still there—faint though it was—Taylor felt a wave of sudden relief wash over him. He smiled briefly before setting the can on the table.
“I’m sorry, Denise,” he repeated earnestly. “I’m sorry for what I did to Kyle, too.