That night, we had flown home late. While Dani and Brock had done their thing, Brant and I had played card games for the first part of the flight until the exhaustion had gotten to me. I had curled up on the plane’s couch with a blanket, thinking nothing of it until I’d woken up on Brant’s shoulder, just like I had done now. And just like back then, he looked at me as if he were seeing me differently. Or more like seeing me for the first time.
“You were so beautiful that night in your pink cocktail dress,” he admitted quietly. “You are beautiful,” he amended.
I blinked a few times, making sure I truly was awake for this. My soaring heart said I was, but how could this be real?
“Brant,” I said so breathily I hardly heard it myself. I stared at his lips, leaning in just a bit more to feel the delicious tension that was strung between us.
Brant closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled deeply. “Kinsley,” he spoke my name so tenderly, “we shouldn’t . . .”
“Shouldn’t what?” I inched close enough to smell the popcorn on his breath, and I wanted to taste it more than anything.
His eyes slowly opened, and the passion I saw in them made me lose all reason. I took control of the situation, and my lips not only inched toward his, they didn’t stop until they met. Once again time stood still, and my body shook from the jolt of electricity our connection created. For a moment neither of us moved, while our lips stayed sealed together. Then, without warning or pretense, Brant groaned and cupped my face with his strong yet gentle hands. “God forgive me,” he whispered against my lips as I gasped before his tongue came crashing into my welcoming mouth.
I had no idea why he was asking God for forgiveness. I didn’t care. He tasted better than anything I had ever imagined. If sunshine, happiness, and hope were flavors, that’s exactly how I would describe the way he tasted. I gripped his sweater, begging him to pull me closer.
He did that and more, pulling me onto his lap and devouring my lips as if he couldn’t get enough. Minute upon minute upon minute, our mouths became more than friendly acquaintances. Our tongues explored and prodded, tasted and tangled, until they danced perfectly in time with each other. Until I could hardly breathe. While I was in the safety of his arms, the future began to flash before my eyes—not just the future, but our future. Nights curled up on the couch watching movies, cooking in the kitchen together, runs in the mountains, and nights under the stars. It was then I realized how deeply my feelings ran for him. I was in love with him. That beautiful realization produced one single tear that leaked out of my eye and trailed down my cheek.
As the tear touched our lips, I could barely taste the salt from it, but Brant acted as if he’d been shocked and tore away from me. He first wore a look of bewilderment that quickly changed to regret.
“Kinsley,” his voice rumbled, “I’m sorry.”
I tilted my head. “Sorry? For what?”
He removed me from his lap and jumped up. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong.”
I stood and grabbed his hand. “Brant, you did nothing wrong. I kissed you first.” I considered that perhaps he thought he’d pressured me into something, but then . . . then . . .
“Kinsley,” he sounded as if he were in pain. “If I could, I would . . .” He paused.
“You would what?”
He closed his eyes. “I would leave no doubt in your mind how I feel about you.” His eyes drifted open. “But I can’t,” he said determinedly.
I let go of his hand, feeling the bitter sting of victory and defeat all at once. I was never enough for any man. “Can’t or won’t?” my voice cracked.
His chest rose and fell dramatically. “It doesn’t matter. It all comes to the same end, and I’m more sorry than you will ever know.”
No. I was the sorry one. And it did matter. There was a big difference between can’t and won’t, and his silence on the subject told me all I needed to know. I took several steps back, hoping some distance between us would help my wounded heart. It didn’t.
Why wasn’t I ever good enough? I tried to figure it out while I stood there shaking, watching Brant act as if he wasn’t sure what he should do. But I knew what I had to do. I had to forget about Brant Holland and never speak of this night to anyone. My love for him would remain silent.
Chapter One
The Present
I’m falling, falling, falling. No, I’m rolling out of control. A woman is screaming. I can’t make out what she’s saying. I’m trying so hard, but I don’t know which way is up or down, or where I am. For a split second, everything becomes clear. It’s my mother who is screaming, and she’s saying my name. “Kinsley! Kinsley, I love you!” I reach for her, but I can’t get to her. Then it’s silent. Piercing silence engulfs me, and I’m alone. Not just alone in that moment, but all alone in the world. My parents are gone. The crushing reality takes my breath away. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die too. Then a beautiful deep voice that I’ve been trying to forget whispers, “I’m here. Wake up.”