Preston's Honor(85)

“Hi, Mrs. Sawyer. I’m here to see Preston.” My breathing was still slightly erratic and I fought to control it, to appear as normal as possible.

Her face registered confusion as she studied me, but then she glanced over my shoulder to the driveway where his truck was parked as if she hadn’t even known he was home. Perhaps he hadn’t gone inside the house. He couldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes ahead of me.

“Did you have a fight?”

I blinked. I wasn’t sure why she was asking, and I wasn’t sure I should be honest with her, if she might find enjoyment in the knowledge that we’d quarreled. “Yes,” I said warily.

She nodded as if she’d expected as much, crossing her arms under her breasts. She bit at her lip for a moment. “If he’s as much his father’s son as I think, he’s probably in the barn pacing. Why don’t you go to him? I never went to his father and look where that got me.”

Surprised, I opened my mouth and then closed it again, finally managing a soft, “Thank you.” She gave me a small nod and closed the door gently.

Her kindness rushed over me like an unexpected summer breeze, and I headed toward the barn, hoping to see the man I loved. The door was cracked and a light shone from inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, I pulled it open and saw him there, not pacing, but sitting on a storage box with his head bent.

Two memories flashed before me: the time we’d sat in this same barn together the day of his father’s funeral and the night of the barn party. The first time there had been so many things unsaid between us, and the second time we hadn’t said any of the right things. This time was going to be different.

He looked up when he heard my footsteps and looked mildly surprised, but mostly just weary. I stopped in front of him.

“I thought you were going to the camp to help out tonight,” he said softly.

“I called Rosa and told her I couldn’t make it.”

“Not because of me—”

“Yes, because of you, but not because you told me not to. Because we have business to attend to that can’t wait.” I took a deep breath. “So . . . we’re going to talk about this. You’re going to talk, and then I’m going to respond. Or if you want me to talk first, I can do that, and then you’ll respond to me.”

His lip quirked slightly, but his eyes still looked sad. “That sounds really rational and mature. Think we can handle it?”

I bit at my lip, considering for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe we should find out.”

He chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. I took a seat next to him on one of the storage boxes.

“You thought I might leave after we fought.”

He paused for so long I thought I’d have to ask him again, but finally he said quietly, “Yeah. I . . . was scared you might.”

I put my hand on his knee, just wanting the physical contact. “I’m sorry, Preston. I’m so sorry I left instead of trying to talk to you. After that night in the rain . . . I didn’t think there was any hope that you’d feel more for me than a guilt-ridden lust, and it hurt so badly, I ran from it. From you. And that was wrong. I won’t run again. I’m learning how to confront things that hurt me rather than running away. At the time, though . . . it was the only answer I could think of. I didn’t know what else to do. I just knew I couldn’t live that way anymore. I thought . . . I thought everyone would be happier without me—maybe even Hudson—and I felt like I was dying inside.”

He put his hand on top of mine. It was warm and rough, and it made me feel safe.

“Tell me about that night, Lia. What happened?” His eyes were pools of despair and guilt hit me in the gut again when I realized what I’d done to him.

I took a deep breath, allowing my mind to travel there again. “I think . . . I think I was depressed. I think that year, trying to be there for you, but not feeling like I was helping anything, being in the house all day with your mom who made it clear I wasn’t wanted, but only when you weren’t around, and then the stresses of being a new mother myself . . .” I frowned. “I don’t know exactly, but I do know there was something not right with me. I know that because I don’t feel that way anymore.”

A cool breeze wafted into the barn, causing the door to creak, and bringing with it the smells of the farm—grass and earth.

“We had gone so long not touching each other, and I was so desperate for that and then . . . we had sex, and I felt insecure about my body, and then what you said . . .”

He frowned, tilting his head. “What I said?”

“About thinking I had the devil in me.”

His eyes washed over my features for a second, a look of confusion in his expression, as if he barely remembered saying it. “I . . . I must have been trying to lighten the moment. I knew taking you up against the wall wasn’t very romantic, and I was probably trying to tease you a little. I wanted to take you up to bed. I asked and you said no.”

“I know. I thought that would only make the pain worse. But also . . .” I blew out another breath, gathering my strength, “what you should know is that all my life, my mother has claimed I have the devil in me. I’m . . . I’m the product of a brutal rape, and she’s never let me forget it.”

“Christ, Lia. I’m . . . God, I’m sorry.”