Preston's Honor(2)

I heard a whispered voice somewhere behind me, picked up a partial statement, “. . . just left her own baby. What kind of mother does that?”

My own bitterness and resentment, even the nerves, drained from my body, leaving me feeling tired and hopeless. I needed that bitterness, needed that resentment. Despite my own shame, I tried to reclaim it but couldn’t manage to. I felt my shoulders droop under the weight of the emotional defeat. “Please, Preston. I know we have a lot to talk about. But I just want to see him. Please. He’s my son, too,” I added quietly.

His eyes moved down to the salt shaker again, and his jaw tightened. I waited him out, not moving, not saying a word. When he glanced up, it was to look around the diner as I’d done a few moments before. Doing so seemed to drain him slightly, too. His eyes met mine. “You can come out on Sunday morning. Nine o’clock.”

My heart leapt with relief and happiness, and a bit of surprise. I hadn’t expected him to say yes. I’d expected to have to beg a lot more than I had. “Thank you.” Thinking it best that I leave before he changed his mind, I nodded once and then pivoted, walking quickly back toward the front door.

Preston didn’t try to stop me.

A breeze had stirred up and it hit me in the face when I stepped outside. I sucked in big gulps of it as I made my way the short distance to my car. As I was pulling out of the spot, I glanced in the window and saw Preston standing at the front register paying his bill. He glanced back once and our eyes met through the two panes of glass, and even across the distance, I could still feel that familiar jolt. And just like that, I was home again. I only wondered how much pain I’d endure this time.

**********

Preston



I sat in my truck, still parked on the side of the diner, my head leaning back on the seat, my shaking hands gripping the wheel. Ah, fuck. Fuck. My heart still beat harshly in my chest with the adrenaline surge that was only now beginning to lessen.

Lia. She was back and had waltzed right into Benny’s Diner as if she’d never left. Walked right up to me and demanded to see our son as if she’d stepped away for the weekend, not been gone without a trace for almost six months. Goddamn it. I hadn’t been prepared. A humorless chuckle made its way up my throat and ended in a miserable groan. When had I ever been prepared for Lia? She was still the girl who knocked me on my ass without even trying. And that knowledge left a bitter taste in my mouth, because she’d left and I’d spent six agonizing months trying to figure out where she was, if she was even alive.

I’d finally, finally begun to accept that she didn’t want to be found and as quickly as that, she was back. I swore under my breath. I couldn’t handle this now—I was a grown man with a business to run and a little boy to take care of. Our little boy.

I . . . I’m pregnant. I know you’re probably not very happy about that.

The words skated through my mind, the memory of the way her voice had shook when she’d said them hitting me hard, low down in my gut. I hadn’t known how to respond—how to answer her—because the truth was it had both thrilled me and broken my heart.

I smoothed my sweaty palms over my jean-clad thighs and let out a long exhale. Was she here to stay? Should I even consider trusting her again? Could I? How could I trust that she wasn’t going to be here one day and gone the next? My throat tightened. I couldn’t go through that again. I couldn’t. I’d let her see Hudson, and then I’d make some demands of my own—namely boundaries—so he wouldn’t get attached to her in case she ran off again.

Pain and resentment filled my chest at the memory of discovering she’d left. No note. No explanation. Just . . . gone. I wasn’t blameless. I’d hurt her, as well. But I hadn’t left. I’d stayed, and if she had, too, we could have . . . “Ah fuck,” I muttered, starting up my truck, refusing to go down that road yet again. Refusing to torture myself.

As I headed home, though, my mind kept returning to her, to how she’d looked, to the way I could smell her, even from where she’d stood across the table from me. I’d picked up that light sweetness that was Lia and despite my shock, despite my anger and disbelief that she was there, I’d begun to harden. Thank God the table hid that. My resentment had increased with the proof that I still wanted her so damn badly even after everything. God, I was a fool.

She had looked mostly the same—despite her slightly longer hair and being thinner than when she’d left. But her face was still as breathtakingly beautiful. As if that would change. Lia had the type of beauty that would last until she was ninety. It was as if God had decided to make her lovely and gotten a bit carried away. I’d always felt slightly stunned every time I looked at her, as if I’d never fully get used to her effect on me. Nothing had changed—unfortunately for me.

Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in a waterfall of silken curls, curls I knew the feel of in my grip as I pushed into her tight body.

Stop it, Preston; change direction.

Almond-shaped eyes, slightly slanted and framed by delicate, arched brows and lush lashes. Eyes in a color I’d never seen on anyone before—pale green from a few steps away, but up close, rings of dark blue, light blue, green, and gold. I knew every fleck, every striation in those eyes. I’d marveled at them in the sunlight and the dimness of a starlit night. And they were even more stunning highlighted by the warmth of her bronzed skin.