Weight of Regret Read online

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Want More Camp Bexley?

  Dear Reader,

  Over the Moon Excerpt

  More K.K. Allen Books

  Acknowledgments

  About K.K. Allen

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  * * *

  Copyright © 2022 by K.K. Allen

  Cover Design: Qamber Designs

  Cover Photography: Wander Aguiar

  Editing / Proofreading: Red Adept Editing

  Formatting: K.K. Allen

  * * *

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Contact [email protected] with questions.

  To my parents.

  Who knew all those camping trips and vacations to places like Orcas Island would one day inspire stories like this one? Thank you for a childhood filled with epic adventures.

  Prologue

  Hope

  He’s a whisper in the night when I’m all alone and buried under my covers, with nothing else around save for my thoughts.

  I always think of him. Anderson Bexley. The man who gripped me at first sight with an amber-eyed glance. But it was his heart that kept me.

  It was easy to fall for the man who carried his responsibilities like they were badges of honor—and fall I did. Deeper and deeper into the sweet abyss of dreams fueled by simple moments few and far between.

  If only he had fallen with me.

  With my hands raised, fingertips reaching out to his shadowy form, I call out to him, desperate for him to see me. It’s my own voice that responds in layered echoes as I fall. Because that’s what I do. I spiral helplessly and hopelessly into a bottomless pit of agony.

  He never catches me.

  Bang. Lightning cracks, ripping me straight from the depths of my slumber as a scream shreds my throat. I sit up, gripping my quilt tightly to my chin. My lungs gasp for air as if I’m sucking from a straw, but only at first. My panic always subsides, but the nightmares live on whether I’m asleep or awake. Though, the storms seem to trigger me most.

  After a near-fateful shooting left me with a bullet wound in my arm last year, memories of that horrid day have served me a cold dose of reality. This life could be over in the blink of an eye… and I’m still chasing a man who sees me as nothing more than a doting, loyal employee.

  Footsteps creek against the old wood outside my door, and then there’s an urgent knock that’s almost as familiar as my recurring nightmares.

  It’s him.

  I can visualize Anderson’s scrunched brows and his tightly closed fist as he alerts me of his arrival.

  “Hope,” he calls from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

  There was a time when I would find any reason to believe that Anderson Bexley loved me back, even just a little. Even now, I have to fight the glimmer of hope in my heart that wants to believe there’s more to this late-night visit than the mere coincidence of him hearing me scream during his routine rounds of the campground.

  My breathing couldn’t possibly come quicker as my feet pad against the worn wood. I wrap my hand around the chipped brass doorknob and squeeze like it’s a stress ball. While constant disappointment has conditioned me to expect nothing in return, my heart beats for him still.

  A twist of my wrist—a gentle tug—and I’m staring back into golden eyes shrouded in a dark cloud of worry. A furrowed brow and a downturned bearded mouth greet me.

  “Nightmares again?”

  My sigh releases with a quick, airy laugh. “It’s just the storm. I’ll be fine.” My faux nonchalance isn’t lost on him. While Anderson may not love me back, he certainly knows me well.

  He takes a step toward me, like he expects me to invite him in, but I close the gap in the door an inch instead. The slight move causes him to look down at my attire—a short, yellow silk camisole top and matching shorts. Not something I’d normally wear in front of my boss, but here I am.

  While I’m not shy when it comes to my body, something about the change in temperature between us gets my heart racing a little too hard. Anderson’s throat bobs, and his eyes stick a little too long on all the parts of me I’m desperate for him to touch.

  It means nothing. I silently scold myself for encouraging that desperate woman inside me who has dreamt of Anderson Bexley since the moment we met three years ago—a dream that felt so close to becoming a reality once upon a time.

  His gaze locks back on mine. “I can stay.” There’s a kick inside my chest at his insistence. “Let me stay. At least until you fall asleep.” He darts a look behind him. “The weather isn’t getting any better for another few hours. And…” His eyes search mine.

  My heart lobs into my throat. “And what?”

  “And I wanted to talk to you about something.” He lets out a breath. “Something important.”

  With a release of the knob, I take a step back to allow him entry. One step, and his large frame fills the space. He dominates my senses, triggering a cage of wild butterflies to awaken after weeks of hibernation.

  He closes the door behind him, shakes out of his soaked jacket, and hangs it over the wooden chair at my desk. Clearly, he’s no stranger to my cabin, considering he stayed here to nurse me back to health after I took a bullet in the arm—a nightmarish incident caused by a psychopath who had trespassed onto our campground. Luckily the bullet only left me with temporary nerve damage. Still, the wound, like my nightmares, will haunt me forever. But it was during those short few weeks afterward that I would have sworn his feelings for me were stronger than he’d ever let on.

  He never left my side. Morning, noon, and night, it was me who held his attention. More than work, more than the guests, more than his nonstop family issues, and more than any other employee at camp. For a moment in time, his broody armor fell away, and I got to see the broken man beneath the mask. And deeper I fell.

  But the moment I healed enough to go back to work, whatever was beginning to sizzle between us stopped cold. Because that’s what Anderson does. He cares for people. He cares for me too—just not in the way that I want.

  That’s the problem with unrequited love. It doesn’t give back, even when you think you’re on the verge of something spectacular. It’s like looking into a one-way mirror, knowing in the depths of your soul that you’re standing in front of the one, but he never sees you in return. Still, you try. It’s an addiction. A trap. And the deeper you fall, the harder it is to climb your way out.

  Anderson reaches my oversized cream chair in the corner of the room, turns around, and opens hi
s mouth, slamming it closed again, like he doesn’t know what to do or say next.

  I take a tentative step forward. “Is everything okay?”

  His jaw ticks. “When were you going to tell me about Seattle?”

  Heat blasts me from within, encasing me in an inferno that I don’t know how to escape. “How did you hear about that?” My voice is small, shaky. Of all the reasons Anderson could have come here, I hadn’t expected that.

  His expression darkens. “So, it’s true. You’re leaving?”

  The rapid staccato of my heart has me fighting for my next breath. “I-I haven’t decided anything yet. It was just a job offer, but—”

  “Is it what you want?” It’s not like Anderson to interrupt anyone. “You applied, so it must be what you want.”

  I can feel the hurt and anger rippling off his body.

  “Someone sent me the job description, and it sounded interesting. You know how much I love the project management side of things. So I applied. I didn’t think I would actually get an interview.”

  “But you did.”

  My nod comes with a hard swallow. “I did.”

  “So you snuck off to interview.”

  “I didn’t sneak off anywhere. I went on my day off. But yeah, I went.”

  Silence stretches like taffy between us, lengthening and winding in one sticky knot. “Did you accept?”

  “Not yet. I’m not sure if I will.”

  “Why not? Clearly, you’re unhappy here.”

  My shoulders fall with my sigh, and I tilt my head, imploring eyes desperately trying to get him to see me. Why doesn’t he ever see me? “This camp is my home, Anderson. It’s the first home I’ve ever truly had. I’m not unhappy, but there are things I want that I’m not getting here.” Like you, I want to scream.

  Living on a small island off the coast of the Pacific Northwest comes with endless perks. It also comes with its burdens, and those are the ones I’m fighting off right now. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s starting to feel like my life has stalled, in a sense.

  “You recently got a raise. All your medical is paid for, not to mention your room and board.” He waves his hand as though he’s provided me with the best digs in the world. “You’re one of my best senior staff members, Hope. If you’re going to leave, I would appreciate some notice.”

  My jaw drops. “Is that all you care about? Notice? Is two weeks sufficient, or do you need more?” My sass, like his anger, is out of character.

  Anderson takes a step in my direction, his eyes flashing with emotion that appears to carry more fear than anger. “You could have at least told me what you were considering. Instead, I had to find out from chatter in the dinner hall after you’d left.”

  It had been a mistake to tell my coworkers. The island is small, but the camp is smaller. Gossip travels fast.

  “I’m sorry.” I chew on my bottom lip, trying to choose my words carefully. “It didn’t feel right telling you when I hadn’t even made up my mind. There’s a lot to consider.”

  “Like?”

  I throw my arms up. “I don’t know. All the pros and cons, I guess. Give me a break, okay? If I do choose to leave, it’s not like I won’t help you find someone to replace me.”

  “No one can replace you.”

  His gruff voice is filled with so much emotion, my throat thickens with my next swallow. “That was a sweet thing to say.”

  “Well, it’s true.” He blows out a breath and pans his eyes to the ceiling. “Which is why you should take the job.”

  My breath halts in my lungs as my heart clenches with its unrelenting grip. “Why do you always do that?” I slam my palms to my side. “You say something sweet, and then you take it away like you meant something completely different. Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to take the job?”

  “I want you to be happy.” His gaze settles back on me. “I want you to feel fulfilled and valued. You shouldn’t have any regrets, and if you don’t take this opportunity, then you just might.” His face relaxes. “You’ll always have a job here if it doesn’t work out.”

  Why do I feel like Anderson is pushing me away before I’ve even made up my mind? “That’s kind of you, but there’s still a lot to consider. Seattle is a big city.” I wrinkle my face. “There’s traffic, skyscrapers, and fast food.” Another troubling thought comes to me. “And where would I even live?”

  “I’m sure the pay they’re offering you is more than triple what I’m able to pay you here.” The bitterness isn’t lost in his tone.

  Instinct draws me closer. I’m well accustomed to the tall, brick walls that surround Anderson. After chipping away at them over the past three years, I’m dying to take a wrecking ball to them to finally break through.

  “I don’t work at Camp Dakota for the money.”

  “Camp Bexley,” he corrects.

  Frustration rolls over me in waves. “Sorry. I’m still getting used to that.”

  Despite the intense moment we’re sharing, I can admit the camp’s name change is a huge accomplishment of his—one of many since Anderson took full control of the family business. He’s proud, as he should be.

  “Well, if you aren’t going to fire me, then I think we should end this conversation now. I’m not making any decisions tonight.”

  Anderson’s rock-hard stance remains unchanged, but his throat bobs, making me desperate to know what’s going on under that thick skull of his.

  He must finally accept my request because he nods, jaw tight, and sits down in the oversized chair. “I’ll stay until the storm passes.”

  With a sigh, I walk over to the floor lamp to switch it off. As I do, I catch sight of my reflection in the wall mirror. Anderson is there, too, his eyes roaming my backside and locking on my ass. When I pause a second too long, it must alert him, because his eyes shoot up just in time to see he’s been caught, before I switch off the light.

  When I slide beneath my covers, I know sleep will be impossible. I’m too worked up, and with Anderson only a few feet away, guarding me like he’s the protector of my nightmares, I find myself reading more into the situation than is probably true.

  “Anderson.” His name is a shallow whisper.

  “Hope.”

  My heart beats faster, and I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to work up the nerve to speak again. “There’s plenty of room next to me.” I scoot over and lift the comforter lightly, not sure if he can see me with the dim light of the sky streaming through the cracks in the blinds.

  I’m used to his rejection, and I’m ready for it. But for some reason, no words come, just the rustle of his clothes against the chair as he stands, then the slow and deliberate footsteps that bring him to the edge of my bed.

  My breath catches in my throat when I hear the clank of his belt as he unbuckles it. The sound of leather sliding slowly against his belt loops comes next. But it’s the thud of his jeans hitting the wood floor that sends my blood pumping straight to my heart.

  When he climbs in beside me, I turn onto my side to face him. He didn’t even hesitate at my invitation, and now here he is mere inches away. This is why my feelings for Anderson Bexley are and will always be so fucked up. He gives me an inch, and I become desperate, rabid, to take a mile.

  “You should take the job, Hope.” His voice cracks on my name.

  My chest squeezes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Everyone leaves.”

  His words are like a vise on my heart, clamping and squeezing the life out of me every time he speaks. “I won’t.”

  “Well, you should. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you.”

  I scoot toward him, placing my hand on his chest, my eyes pleading with his. “All you have to do is ask me to stay.” My heart is pounding so furiously I almost miss the hand that slides around my waist and pulls me toward him.

  With his eyes squeezed shut and a long release of a sigh, his forehead leans against mine. Our lips are only inches apart, and the buzz
I’ve always felt between us only grows stronger.

  “Please, Anderson. Say something.”

  All he has to do is say the words and give me one small clue that this thing between us isn’t entirely in my imagination.

  “I can’t ask that of you.”

  His words feel like a slap in the face. Frustration blows through me. With as much time as I’ve given him to meet me halfway, I finally feel as though I’m at my breaking point. How can he be this close to me, and this close to losing me, and not give me anything in return? At this point, I have nothing else to fear.

  “Well, then don’t.” I bring my lips closer, inviting him in. “Show me.”

  Everything goes hot—my body, the air, our tangled breaths. It’s like the calm before the storm, when everything stills before the warning comes in a violent rumble.

  It’s Anderson who closes the distance, merging our lips in an achingly slow caress. When the shock subsides, I match his movements—slow, shaky, and timid, yet there’s an eagerness brimming beneath the surface that’s palpable.

  A groan slips from his mouth to mine, awakening a bundle of unspoken feelings within me, and I can’t hold back anymore. My tongue dips between his lips. My hand snakes beneath his cotton shirt and drags up his chest. My front presses closer to his. And he reciprocates with every move—kissing me harder, pulling me flush against his body, and slipping his rough hands beneath my silk shorts.

  We find a natural rhythm, our exploring hands daring to reach unexposed territory, our kiss deepening with each passing breath, and my heart rate tripling.