Preston's Honor(86)

I shook my head. “You didn’t know. It’s just . . . those words, in that moment, gutted me. And especially from you. I felt so hollow.”

“God, I had no idea.”

I gave him a gentle smile. “You couldn’t have because I never told you. I never told another soul. I kept it hidden.” I’d kept myself hidden—inside parameters of my own making. I tilted my head. “I found out a little bit about my mother while I was with her sister. They had another younger sister named Luciana who became very, very ill and their family couldn’t afford medical care for her—there was no work and no way to get her the help she needed. My mother was a newlywed—only eighteen—and there was no work for her husband, either, and so they risked crossing the border so they could send money back to help both their families, and especially Luciana. My mother’s husband was murdered by the man who then raped her—my father.” Despair settled in my stomach at the word, the word that had no meaning to me other than to explain how I’d come to exist.

Preston hissed out a breath that sounded both angry and helpless. “I wish I could find him and kill him.”

I made a humming sound of agreement.

“What happened to Luciana?”

“She died.”

Preston shook his head. “That’s awful.”

“I know.”

I bit at my lip for a moment. “It’s part of the reason I moved in with you when you asked. The way my mother looked at me,” I shook my head at the memory of the pain in her eyes, as if she could hardly bear it, “to see me pregnant and miserable, it—”

“It reminded her of herself.”

I nodded. “It must have.”

Sadness filled his expression. “I’m so sorry you were left to choose between two places where you felt unwanted—and even more sorry I was part of that. And I understand why you never shared more of your life with me, with us,” Preston said. “But I wish you had.”

“I didn’t know how to. Growing up, I always had this sense that I was . . . less. The feeling of not belonging anywhere has followed me so relentlessly. It’s why I kept myself away from you and Cole, and everyone else who ever tried to befriend me. It’s like I wanted it desperately, but I resisted it stridently. It’s why I defended those people who live in the camp like some avenger.” I laughed softly and he smiled. “I meant what I said, but I didn’t mean to make you the villain. You’re not. You’re kind and fair and honorable, and I’m sorry I suggested anything differently. I went a little off the rails there.”

His smile widened and he chuckled softly. “I might have even liked it if it wasn’t directed at me. You’re pretty sexy when you’re fired up.”

I tilted my head and smiled at him, the mood lighter, the weight lifted from my shoulders. “In all honesty, Preston, I want to help out at the camp. I won’t put myself in danger, and it gives me a feeling of . . . purpose. Maybe you’d even like to come along sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” he said on a small smile.

I grasped his hand in mine. “I love you. And I promise you I won’t leave again—no matter what. Please, please believe that.”

“I love you, too.”

I squeezed his hand and then looked around the old barn, remembering what his mom had said. “Your mom said your dad used to come out here and pace.”

He looked surprised at my words, or maybe that I’d heard them from his mother. “Yeah. He did. After they fought, he’d come out here and smoke. It was the only time he did, and I learned to associate that smell with this helpless kind of resentment. Even now, if I pass by someone smoking and . . .” He shook his head, staring off into the distance. “I hated it—I hated being around them when they were together. They didn’t have a happy marriage.”

That surprised me. I’d always thought Preston’s family was so perfect. Of course once I’d come to know his mother, I realized that she, at least, was far from easy to live with. But I had taken it personally. Apparently the three men in her life found it at least a little bit difficult to live with her, too.

I remembered what Cole had told me about her buying the motorcycle for their father. It had sounded like she bought it in an effort to make him into something he might not have been. How tragic that her son had died on the motorcycle she’d purchased with misguided intentions. She and I weren’t close enough to discuss things like that, but I had to wonder if she thought about that and suffered inside because of it.

“What about Cole? Did he have a good relationship with her?”

Preston shrugged. “Cole had a good relationship with everyone. Or maybe he just didn’t let anything get under his skin enough for it to be any other way.” He paused for a moment and I let him choose his words, almost holding my breath to hear him voicing his feelings about his brother. “When we were young and got in trouble, Cole always talked our way out of things. If he couldn’t, I’d take the blame and serve the time. It was just . . . the roles we naturally fell into. In high school, and even a few times in college, Cole wasn’t prepared for some test or another, so I’d go to the class and pretend to be him and take it so he didn’t fail.” He laughed softly, but it didn’t hold a lot of humor. “I think he would have been better off if I’d let him fall on his face a couple of times. I just couldn’t seem to do it. And I think I would have been better off if I’d learned not to let him be my mouthpiece. But we were twins, and it felt natural to pick up where the other one left off—two pieces of a whole.” An expression of pain altered his features for a moment before he sighed. “Cole did some things that hurt me, and some things that were wrong and dishonest, but I miss him. He wasn’t only my brother. He was my twin—the other half of me—and I’ll miss him forever.”