Proposing to Preston (The Winslow Brothers, #2)(52)

Preston had whipped the packet off the desk, neatened it quickly, and held it against his chest. Brooks remained seated at Preston’s desk, tenting his fingers under his chin.

“You married her,” Brooks repeated softly.

Preston had closed his eyes against the onslaught of pain that almost always accompanied his thoughts of Elise, then taken a seat on the leather loveseat across from Brooks.

“It was a mistake.”

“You were in love with her.”

Preston shrugged.

“That wasn’t a question. I remember.”

Brooks paused so long that Preston eventually raised his eyes to his big brother. “It didn’t work out.”

“Clearly,” said Brooks, flicking his eyes the papers Preston still held against his heart. “What happened?”

Preston didn’t want to talk about it. Truly, he didn’t. But suddenly he heard his voice recalling the night Donny Durran knocked on her dressing room door. He told Brooks about walking her home, their picnic the next day, and seeing her face on the steps of the library when he was sure he wouldn’t see her again.

He smiled sadly as he recalled her moving in, told Brooks about the keys, and about her unusual background. His eyes watered when he recalled his impromptu proposal and he wiped them away when he told Brooks about her leaving for L.A.

“And then what?” asked Brooks.

“That was it,” said Preston, finally standing up. It was dark now and they’d missed their dinner reservation. “I don’t feel like going out. I’ll order some Chinese. What do you want?”

“Pres,” said Brooks in the voice he reserved for telling Chris and Jess what to do—his “dad” voice, “What happened?”

Images of his disastrous trip to L.A. circled in his head, making his breath hitch and his eyes burn. How to sum up the worst three days of his life?

She didn’t want me there …

She didn’t want to be married …

She wasn’t in love with me anymore …

Or how about the ensuing two years when he hadn’t been able to forget his wife… or cheat on her, for that matter. So many times, he’d gone home with a gorgeous woman after getting plastered at a party or fundraiser, but when it came time to kiss her, to touch her, to make love to her, Elise’s face would flash through his mind, and he wouldn’t be able to follow through. Along with his general misery and close call with alcoholism, his f*cking celibacy could be laid at her doorstep too.

He took a deep breath, blinking away the memories. He came very close to making himself a scotch on the rocks, but he’d sworn off hard alcohol since getting his life back in order.

“Okay. You don’t have to tell me,” said Brooks. “But I guess that’s why you went off the deep end for a while? Quit your job? Moved back to Philly? Tried to pickle your liver?”

Preston nodded. But the truth was that he hadn’t quit his job. He’d resigned after f*cking up a major case. The partners had covered his mistake and managed to appease the client with a large, quiet settlement that Preston had paid out from his personal account. But everywhere he went reminded him of what he’d lost. He couldn’t work. He couldn’t bear to stay in New York without her. He’d put his apartment up for sale, thrown her stuff in a dumpster and moved back to Philly without a second glance.

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it? Why didn’t you come to me?”

“And say what? I got married and it didn’t work out? My wife left and didn’t come back?”

I’m dying inside because I’m hoping every day for a call…a text…an email…anything. My heart is breaking because it wants her and needs her and she’s gone.

“So…when are you sending her the divorce papers?”

“I don’t know.”

The memory faded as Preston walked farther and farther away from the house and Jessica’s irritating interrogation.

As the sun set over Westerly, the air cooled, but the mosquitoes were coming out and Preston wished he had some bug spray. But, f*ck it. He wasn’t going back to the house just to get some.

As for Brooks’ question? Weeks later, Preston still hadn’t answered it. The papers were still sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk where Brooks had found them. He looked at them once or twice a week, and had even addressed a yellow envelope care of Donny in New York, but he couldn’t bring himself to send them yet. Why? He didn’t know and he truly didn’t care to think about it.

He took another sip of beer and kept walking, back to a secret garden, beyond the bridle path, in the rear corner of Westerly that had a hidden hammock. It was a great place to be alone…

…unless your little sister totally ignored your warning and decided to follow you outside.

“You don’t have to call Beth,” said Jess, climbing next to him on the hammock and handing him a can of bug spray.

He sprayed himself quickly, then pillowed his elbow under her head as they swung back and forth. “I’m sorry I said that stupid comment about Alex shackling himself to you. He’s the luckiest bastard in the world, Jess.”

“I know,” she said in an over-confident, singsong voice that made Preston chuckle softly.

They rocked back and forth in silence as the woods chirped and hooted around them and the sun slowly set until they were alone together in the twilight. How many times had Preston and Jess rocked together in this very spot? A thousand, he’d wager. It was their favorite spot to catch up.