Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(51)

“I’m not unhappy,” he murmured. “I’m busy.”

“You’re a good lawyer, Pres.” She paused. “Everyone knows that. But, you’re lonesome.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are,” she said. “You…you changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s obvious, Pres.” Jessica took a deep breath and sighed. “Something happened to you. Before you came back to Philly.”

Preston’s whole body tensed at her words. Brooks was his only sibling who knew about—well, who knew what had happened. Had he told Jessica? Were all of his younger siblings talking about him and feeling sorry for him behind his back? Damn it. He’d be furious if Brooks had blabbed about Preston’s personal business. He had no interest in discussing it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Lean up. I’m getting a drink.”

Jessica increased the pressure of her head on his shoulder, trapping her bother, and Preston huffed in annoyance.

“I know it hurt when you couldn’t be in the Olympics. I know that being a lawyer was your second choice, not your first. But you seemed okay with it when you went to Columbia. Better than okay. Happy. And you were dating Beth for a while there. I remember because you two took me out for dinner when I visited you in New York. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, you quit your job in New York, sold your apartment and came back to Westerly. You were drinking too much—”

“Jess, what are you talking about? You weren’t even here. You were in London!”

“Cam told me.”

“Cam has a big f*cking mouth.”

“Yep,” she agreed, picking up where she left off. “You drank too much, and you were living here for a while doing nothing, and then—”

“And then I got my shit together and went to work for Clifton, Jackson, and Webb. End of story.”

“Well,” she said, and he could almost feel her holding back the air quotes. “If getting your shit together meant that Brooks pulled strings to get you a job and you—”

He pulled away from Jessica sharply, standing and watching as she fell over onto the couch.

“You know what, Jess? I don’t need this crap from my little—”

“Gah! You’re such a jerk now! Such an unhappy, argumentative, jerk! No wonder you win all your cases. Who would want to go more than two rounds with you?”

“And yet again, I have to wonder why the hell Alex English is shackling his life to yours!”

“Like you would know the first thing about shackling your life to anyone’s!” she bellowed, jumping to her feet in front of him.

He felt his whole face flinch as he stared down at her.

A sudden and humiliating lump rose up to the top of his throat and Preston blinked his eyes, trying to swallow over it, but it hurt. It ached. It made his lungs burn and his heart throb. Clenching his jaw, he stared down at Jessica in misery.

He knew the first thing.

He only knew the first thing.

The rest was taken away from him before he could learn any more.

“Oh. Oh, Pres…” she whispered, her eyes flooding with tears as she reached out to touch his arm, realizing that she’d inadvertently pushed him too far.

He wanted to tell her to get lost, to beat it, to leave him alone, but that goddamned lump in his throat wasn’t allowing him to form words, so he blinked again, then turned away from her. Striding across the room to the wet bar in the corner, he opened the fridge and took out a Heineken. Popping open the cap, he took a long swig before turning around.

“Don’t follow me,” he said.

Then he turned and headed out the door.

***

It was hot outside compared to the artificial coolness inside Westerly, and the bottle Preston was holding immediately started to sweat as it adjusted from a cold refrigerator to the eighty-eight degree evening.

Why had he come home a day early? Because tomorrow was a dark day for Preston and he didn’t want to spend tonight or tomorrow alone. But a smarter man would have known that an engagement party for his couple-crazy little sister was the worst possible place to be. He should have just showed up at the party tomorrow night. Breezed in. Kissed Jessica and his mother hello. Shaken Alex’s hand. And left. Instead, he’d come home early to escape the heat of the city and the bleakness of his memories only to be harassed and harangued by Jess.

For just a second, he felt bad. She clearly knew nothing about his ill-fated marriage to Elise, or she never would have said such a hurtful thing. He was relieved that Brooks hadn’t spilled the beans, after all, and glad he hadn’t acted on his suspicions.

Brooks had never gotten the chance to meet Elise in person, but several weeks ago, Brooks had picked up Preston at his apartment for a night out on the town. While Preston was in the shower, Brooks had rooted around his desk for an envelope and inadvertently come across the divorce papers that Preston still hadn’t sent to his wife. When Preston returned to the living room, showered and ready to head out to dinner, Brooks had looked up from the desk where the papers were laid out in front of him.

“A divorce? Divorce papers?” His face was shocked, his eyes sorry. “Pres, you married her?”

“Jesus, Brooks! Snoop much?”