Preston's Honor(44)

Hudson eyed me with sleepy interest before putting his head on his father’s shoulder and smiling sweetly. I let out a very small laugh. “Hi, there.” My first words to the boy I’d yearned for every day for six months. “You have four teeth,” I said with wonder.

“The first one came in right after you left. He gave me a hell of a time over it.”

My eyes moved to Preston and lingered momentarily on his face, but I couldn’t read the thoughts behind his eyes or if his words had been meant with anger and blame or not, so I moved my gaze back to Hudson. “They’re perfect. He’s perfect.”

My eyes drank him in greedily from those four tiny teeth to his thick head of dark hair, his eyes—my eyes—thickly lashed and that strange green color I’d always seen staring back at me from the mirror. Eyes I’d almost felt guilty for giving him, as if I’d unwittingly passed on the most unlovable part of myself. But there was nothing unlovable about the baby boy who had been placed in my arms, and unlike my mother who had used my eyes to strengthen her antipathy, the sight of them staring from my baby boy’s face made me feel fiercely protective of him.

Other than his eyes and his dark hair, he was the spitting image of his father—and his uncle. I had had that thought as I’d sat rocking him in the chair in his nursery once but I hadn’t shared it with Preston. I didn’t know if it would be comforting or if it would poke at his grief, so I’d kept it to myself. Had he thought the same thing and never said it to me? We’d both been grieving . . . and yet we’d both been so alone. So painfully alone.

I wanted to ask if I could hold Hudson but I felt strange and insecure doing so. I was his mother, but I didn’t think I had that right. Not after leaving him, and definitely not from the scowl on Preston’s face. I thought I would be prepared for the way that would hurt when he was right in front of me, but I hadn’t. Not really. I took what I could. I ran my finger over his silken cheek and he giggled, batting at me, his grin increasing. Ah, he reminded me of Cole so much when he did that. He’d always been such a smiley baby, easy to laugh, a sweet, little flirt. I smiled back at him, joy filling my heart to know that hadn’t changed. To know me leaving hadn’t stolen the innocent, unabashed sweetness of his personality.

How long had he remembered me? The nights those little teeth were budding, was he crying for his mama? The ache that resided permanently in my chest throbbed.

“Where have you been, Lia?” Preston asked softly and my eyes flew to his. His jaw ticked once, but other than that, I saw no evidence of emotion.

I looked away from him, back to Hudson, pressing my lips together.

“We have to talk. You do realize that. I want to know why you’re back.”

What he meant of course was that he wanted to know what my intentions were as far as our son was concerned. “I . . . yes, of course.” I paused, gathering what strength I could muster. “I’ve . . . been at my aunt’s house in Texas.”

I glanced up at Preston’s face and he was staring at me with a stormy sort of confusion as if my answer had surprised him, and not in a good way. “Texas? That’s over a thousand miles away. You drove yourself all the way to Texas?”

I smoothed a hand over Hudson’s hair. He was looking back and forth between the two of us, his eyes wide, obviously having felt his father’s mood. At my touch, he reached up and caught my hand in his, and smiled again, showcasing those four tiny teeth. I took a deep breath. I saw Preston’s chest rise and fall as if he’d done the same thing. “Yes, I did.”

“You have a son, Lia. A woman alone in a car that’s practically falling apart on a road trip of that distance? Did it enter your mind that anything could have happened to you? Goddamn it,” he practically growled, “it wasn’t safe.”

“Neither was this house.” In a different way, but dangerous nonetheless. Dangerous to my heart. My soul. I’d tried. I’d tried to bring some light into a household filled with overwhelming grief, sadness, and anger. Just as my mother had looked at me with disdain and contempt, Preston’s mother had done the same. I’d gone from one cold tomb to another. This place had been just as toxic for me, and I’d been suffocating beneath the animosity. I remembered wondering if I’d ever be wanted? Ever be warmly accepted into a home.

Preston stilled again at my statement, his jaw tense, but the anger seemed to have faded from his eyes, leaving a weary hostility in his expression. “You couldn’t have told me where you were going? When you’d be back?”

I paused for a second. “No, because I didn’t know.” That was partly true. I hadn’t known when I’d be back, but the reason I hadn’t told him where I’d be was because I worried he’d come after me or ask me to return. And I hadn’t been strong enough to tell him to let me go, especially if he persisted. I would have come back and things would have continued as they had been, and I couldn’t have survived it. It was a selfish thing to do and I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t make a different choice now. I’d done what I thought I had to do to regain a small piece of myself, to heal, to be a better mother.

Preston stared at me for several long moments and his shoulders seemed to sag minutely as the fight went out of his eyes. He glanced down at Hudson and said softly, “We can talk about this later. When we’re alone.”