Preston's Honor(69)

“Sometimes,” he said against my ear, “I think you must have the devil in you. No one else makes me feel so out of control.” He smiled against my skin . . .

. . . as everything inside me went cold . . .

A faraway anguish washed through me, and I pushed at him gently, pulling my pants up quickly as he, too, pulled his up.

Devil eyes.

I grabbed my shirt from the floor as he stood staring at me. His skin was almost as dark as mine from all the time he spent in the sun, only with more of a golden cast, his muscles lean and strong. He was so beautiful, and I loved him so much. But it didn’t matter.

It wasn’t enough.

Devil girl.

I wasn’t enough.

And in that moment, I felt my heart crack in two. Because it clicked. I loved him, but he only lusted for me, and felt some kind of miserable guilt every time he even gave in to that. Why had I thought differently? He hadn’t ever touched me in love, with gentleness and adoration. He’d given in to his attraction again, and that was all. I’d even thought that would be enough, but it wasn’t. It hurt, it just hurt. I couldn’t stay. It would kill me. I already felt half dead. “Lia?” Whatever was on my face must have confused him. I heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes.

I backed up, my shirt pressed to my breasts with one hand while I held the bottom of it over my belly to hide my stretch marks. I felt exposed and heavy with grief and aching disappointment, and I just wanted to get away.

“Lia,” he said again, stepping toward me and holding out his hand. “Will you sleep in my room tonight?”

Oh no. I couldn’t. That would only make things worse. It would only make it harder to do what I needed to do. “No . . . I . . . I’m tired, Preston. I just want to go to bed.”

“Okay.” He put his hands in his pockets, opening his mouth once as if to say something and then closing it.

I turned and walked swiftly up the stairs to my room and shut the door. I thought I might cry, but the tears wouldn’t come. I felt a dull emptiness inside, with my back pressed against the hard wood of the door and Preston’s semen a puddle of damp stickiness between my legs. At least I was on birth control this time. At least I knew I wouldn’t find out I was pregnant later, alone in my bathroom as my shaking hands held up a positive pregnancy test, telling me what I already knew—what my body had been telling me for months. I wrapped my arms around myself at the memory of that lonely, terror-filled moment. Underneath that, though, there had been the warm rush of joy. I couldn’t feel it now, but I remembered it had been there. Now only the loneliness lingered.

I couldn’t stay here. I had to leave—back to my mama’s apartment. I needed to get away, to try to get out from under the foggy sadness of this house, of my constant, unrealistic dream that I could be a good mama to Hudson, that I could ever win Mrs. Sawyer’s affection, and my equally unattainable dream that Preston might come to love me.

I lay down on my bed—the guest bed in a house where I’d only ever be a guest in name only—and closed my eyes. I must have slept because when I heard the house creak as it settled, my eyes opened but I had to pull myself from the murky depths of dreams I couldn’t recall.

I sat up, still groggy, and listened to the quiet. Preston would be sleeping now. It would be the best time to leave—no confrontation, he wouldn’t even have to muster the will to ask me to stay when he had to know as well as I that this wasn’t working.

Slowly I packed my suitcase, a lump in my throat forming as I thought of the day I’d unpacked, the day I’d still cautiously had a secret flame of hope burning in my heart.

I made my way to Hudson’s room and was surprised to see the door cracked open slightly. Peeking through, I saw Preston in the upholstered rocking chair, Hudson on his chest. They were both asleep. Hudson must have woken while I was sleeping, and Preston had gotten up rather than wake me. I was surprised because he’d never woken to the baby before.

For a moment I just watched them, my chest tightening until it became difficult to breathe. Oh, I’d dreamed of this. Preston holding our precious baby while he rocked him on his chest. But in my dreams, I’d been looking on with love and joy, not grief and heartache. I put my hand over my mouth, so Preston wouldn’t hear the sound of my muffled cries.

Oh God, it would kill Preston if I took Hudson from him after all he’d lost. But how could I live without my baby—even if it was only across town?

But I had to escape this misery. I had to figure out what was wrong with me and try to heal. Living here was slowly killing me.

I loved Preston. Even though it wasn’t enough, I still loved him. Leaving might hurt him, but then again, maybe he’d feel relieved. But taking Hudson away would devastate him. And the truth was, I’d rather kill myself than bring Preston more anguish.

And maybe this was best for Hudson, too. Perhaps me being gone would be better for everyone.

I left the house quietly, rolling my car out of the driveway and down the very slight incline of the road, not turning on my lights until I got far enough away that they wouldn’t be seen from the farmhouse. Desolation threatened to knock me over, but I clutched the wheel and drove the short distance to my mama’s apartment in town.

When I unlocked the door, my mama was still up, sitting in her chair in front of the television. “It’s late, Mama. Why are you still up?”