Chapter Twenty-Seven
N ash looked at me funny . I can dress myself, Mommy.
I pulled the shirt over his head before replying. You’re too big now for a little help from your mama? I kissed his forehead. The image of Preston kissing his forehead not moments ago burned into my soul, I tried to smile without showing my breaking heart. Mommy can’t take care of her boy? I was a chickenshit liar. I was using my son as an excuse and hiding in the bathroom from Preston because I couldn’t handle seeing him hold Nash and look at him like the world revolved around him.
My sweet boy thumped his chest twice. I’m the man of the house. Uncle Ty said so. I take care of you. His angelic little face with such a serious expression was enough to both melt and break my heart.
I hugged him, then pulled back. You make a great man of the house.
He smiled. I’m hungry. Need food.
In spite of myself, I laughed. Okay, let’s go see what we can find to eat. But don’t be picky , I warned.
His little six-year-old self managed to look affronted. I’m not picky.
You’re the pickiest eater I know. Despite my best efforts.
I eat vegetables!
Corn and potatoes are not vegetables , I reminded him.
He eyed me suspiciously. Do they grow in the ground?
Oh my God. I was arguing with a six-year-old. Flour comes from wheat and it grows in the ground. Does that make it a vegetable? No. It’s a grain.
He didn’t budge. Corn is a vegetable, and I eat it. I’m not picky. I even eat it when it’s stuck to its cob.
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Come on, knucklehead. Let’s find you some food.
My head is not a knuckle.
“No, it’s not.” I kissed the top of his head and opened the bathroom door.
Preston was in the kitchen, standing at the stove. No T-shirt and shorts like yesterday, he was in black cargo pants and a polo, but he wasn’t wearing the black logo polo for Luna and Associates. He was wearing a white, form-fitting polo that outlined every one of his hard muscles, and all I could think about was last night in the shower.
“Not working today?” My heart in my throat, my pussy not getting the message that there wasn’t going to be a repeat performance, I asked the question as casually as I could manage.
Turning, he glanced first at Nash, then me. Making eye contact with both of us.
I stared at him, at the slight discoloring under his left eye, at his face that was more striking every time I saw it.
And if I wasn’t staring, I might have missed it.
Ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth tipped up a fraction before his quiet, deceptively calm voice filled the open kitchen space. “No.” He studied my eyes a moment. “I have other plans.”
Thick and unwanted jealousy choked my throat. “Great.”
Without saying anything more to me, he looked at Nash and spoke slow enough for him to read his lips. “Do you like eggs?”
Busy eggs with cheese? And toast? Nash asked.
Preston glanced at me. “Busy eggs?”
“Scrambled,” I explained. “Heavy on the cheese.”
Preston nodded once at me, then almost smiled at Nash. “Yes, I can make that. Do you like orange juice?”
Nash crawled onto a stool at the kitchen island before answering. I love juice. And toast too.
“I’m sorry,” he told Nash. “I don’t have toast.”
Staring at his wide shoulders and huge arms, I mentally sighed. Of course he didn’t. He probably never ate a carb.
Nash forgave him. That’s okay.
I watched him take a block of cheese out of the fridge before I remembered some manners. “Need help?”
Looking over his shoulder, he threw me completely off guard and gave me the almost smile again. “No, thank you.”
Flustered, I sat down next to Nash, and Preston turned back to the stove, giving me a perfect view of his ass. I didn’t know which was worse, watching his ass or watching his adept hands as he cooked, knowing his fingers had been inside me last night.
I wasn’t a nineteen-year-old inexperienced girl. I was too old to be an awkward, nervous mess around a man, but that was exactly what I was.
I was still sitting there, shamelessly staring, just like my son, when Preston plated breakfast and carried the three plates to the island at once. Setting the food down, he grabbed napkins and forks, then poured us each a generous glass of orange juice before sitting on the stool on the other side of Nash.
Nash smiled at his breakfast and rubbed his belly before signing yum and picking up his fork.
I took a bite of my giant pile of scrambled eggs and glanced at Nash’s plate that was equally full. “Did you scramble the whole carton of eggs?” I was only half joking.
“Yes. I saw how hungry he was early this morning.” Preston looked up from his plate and focused his intent stare on me. “Too much?”
For a split second, I saw what he must have looked like as an innocent child. For reasons I couldn’t identify, it crushed my heart.
I quickly looked away. “No, it’s perfect.” Nash and I would never eat everything on our plates.
A not uncomfortable silence descended as we all ate for a few moments, before Preston spoke up.
“Your car is here. Your brother brought it after you fell asleep.”
“Great.” I wasn’t ready to leave. “It’s safe for Nash and me to go home now?” I took another bite of his perfectly scrambled eggs with melted white cheddar that tasted like heaven a moment ago but now stuck in my throat like congealed regret.
“Yes.”
I didn’t look up at him, so I couldn’t read his expression or his carefully controlled voice that didn’t give away a single clue about his mood. Not that Preston Vos was ever emotional. At least not in front of me. I’d asked Ty once if Preston ever got mad, and he’d laughed. He’d said plenty. Then he’d told me how Preston had squared off with André Luna a time or two, but I’d never seen that side of Preston. And right now, sitting in his converted warehouse that would’ve been the worst choice for a home for any other person I knew, but suited Preston to a tee, I couldn’t imagine him losing his temper.
Maybe that was the problem.
I couldn’t imagine Preston doing a lot of things… until I saw him holding and hugging my son this morning.
Then I imagined a whole damn host of shit, and I hated myself all over again for not trusting him seven years ago.
Last night, I should’ve insisted Ty let us go to his house or, shit, one of the apartments above the Luna and Associates offices where we’d been before. Even that would’ve been better than me begging Preston to fuck me then having him leave to answer a call right when he was about to….
Inhaling sharply, I shook my head.
His quiet voice broke my thoughts. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I lied, forcing down another bite.
Rationally, I told myself I understood it. Extenuating circumstances, bad guys, more shooting—fuck, I got it. He had to take that call. I got it.
But then I didn’t.
He could’ve had sex with me, then returned the call. He could’ve shown me I was more important than any interruption. He could’ve been so into me after seven years of bullshit restraint and mistakes that he couldn’t fathom walking away for any reason. He could’ve shown me that some part of him was still that young Marine who promised a na?ve girl a future with him.
But he didn’t.
Because he wasn’t that young Marine anymore.
And I wasn’t that na?ve girl.
Putting my fork down, I grabbed my orange juice with a shaking hand.
With a knowing look, he glanced from my hand to my eyes. “Mercy.”
I didn’t look at him.
I couldn’t.
I held the glass in front of my lips and forced myself to say what I should’ve said last night. “Just don’t. Not in front of Nash. We’ll leave after breakfast, and you can chalk up last night to a mistake. Just like you said, you can get on with your life and not come around anymore.” My stupid, stupid eyes welled, and I choked the rest out. “Thanks for keeping us safe.” I should’ve stopped after that. I should’ve gotten up and left without another word. But I didn’t.
My ego bruised, my heart hurting, not understanding how the hell my life had come to this, I did what I always did when life became too much to cope with.
I got obstinate.
“Even though you caused us to be unsafe in the first place.” The bitter words left my mouth, and I should’ve regretted them, but I was too busy trying not to cry.
Standing up, shoving my stool back with attitude, I grabbed my plate and walked to the sink. Then I unceremoniously dumped three-quarters of the portion he’d served me, turning on the garbage disposal and water to mask the stupid catch in my breath.
Before I could throw my dignity down that disposal and smash the plate like I wanted to, a warm, tall body covered my back and a tattooed arm with a tattooed hand reached around me and turned off the grinding gears of the disposal.
His breath hit my neck before he whispered in my ear. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.
He shut the water off, and his lips touched my ear. “I want to put my arms around you, but Nash is watching. He asked me why you threw your breakfast out.”
I choked on a fucking sob, and a tear slid down my cheek. “I don’t fucking cry, goddamn it.”
He slid an arm around my waist despite telling me Nash was watching, and he pulled me against his hard body. “I know.”
I couldn’t take this. I didn’t know this Preston. I didn’t know he was capable of comfort, and it only made me angrier and more devastated. “Let go of me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“That’s not what you said last night. You said you were letting me go.”
Pause. Then, “I never had you, Mercy.”
“You know what I fucking mean.”
“I do,” he quietly admitted.
“So what the hell are you doing?”
His chest rose with an inhale. “May I take you and Nash somewhere?”