“Goddammit,” I shout, my chest recoiling. “I received the DNA results the day before he was born, and I…”
“You lied.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why—”
“I wanted to make sure he was okay, and once I saw how sick he was…I couldn’t leave him.” After feeling around my pockets for my cigarettes, I light one. “Even though I know he’s not mine, I kind of feel like I’m his. Like he needed me to protect him.”
And despite having every reason to…
I couldn’t walk away.
I’m not sure what Nevaeh sees when she looks at me now, but it has her eyes filling with tears. “I think—” The sound of her pager beeping cuts her off. “I have to go back in, but call me tomorrow, okay? My shift doesn’t start until the afternoon. We can meet for coffee and talk about this some more.”
“Can’t.” I close the car door and motion for the driver to pull off.
I’m leaving town tomorrow…
For good.
Three years later…
Chapter 1
Preston
“I fucked up.”
The muscles in my chest draw tight as I stare at the marble headstone with the name Nevaeh scrawled in a serif font above her birth date and the day she died.
A little over a year ago, she had a heart attack in the parking lot while walking out to her car after her shift ended. Given she worked at a hospital, you’d think she would have been in good hands.
But alas, the fuckers couldn’t save her in time.
I went on one hell of a bender after her daughter Charlotte called to tell me the news.
So much so, I ended up missing the funeral. The only thing I remember was waking up next to some annoying as fuck chick who was bugging out because she was in Vegas for her bachelorette party and ended up cheating on her husband-to-be with me, but that’s neither here nor there.
“I got married,” I tell her, even though she’s not listening on account she’s goddamn dead. “To Kit.”
Twenty-four hours after I left town, I ended up caving and calling Nevaeh to find out how Jameson was holding up.
She urged me to come back and talk to her face to face, but I was dead set on never stepping foot in Connecticut again.
Until Jameson’s condition became worse a few days later…and I received a hysterical phone call from Becca in the middle of the night.
I jumped on the next available flight back.
Fortunately, Jameson ended up being okay.
Nevaeh, however, chewed my ass out again shortly after I left for the second time.
She said even though he wasn’t biologically mine…I was his, and he needed me in his life.
She was right.
Ergo, I ended up working out an agreement with Becca. I’d help her out with whatever she needed as long as I was allowed to come by and see Jameson one weekend a month.
Even though Nevaeh had managed to find Becca an apartment in her building and I knew she would give me updates, I wanted to keep an eye on Jameson myself to make sure he was doing okay.
To my surprise, Becca ended up agreeing. On two conditions:
One—I stay true to my word about helping her out financially.
And two—I stay away from Kit Bishop.
Because in Becca’s psychotic eyes, she was the one responsible for hurting her son.
It took every ounce of willpower I possessed to remind her that Kit wouldn’t hurt a fly, and if she needed someone to lay the blame on…she was talking to him.
But there was no point.
I wasn’t going to waste my time defending someone who hated my guts to the person who was using the only other person I gave a fuck about as my very own weapon of mass destruction.
Becca had the better hand, and my only option was to fold.
For Jameson.
“I know,” I mutter, because dead or not I can practically hear her reading me the riot act. “But I didn’t have a choice.”
Yeah, that’s bullshit. I could have let Kit marry someone else.
“It’s only for a year, and she’s giving me two million at the end of it.”
Most of which will go to Jameson.
I stand when a taxi pulls up. “Hate to cut this short, but I’m meeting Becca and Jameson for lunch.” Idly, I run my finger over her name, wishing like hell I could tell her all this shit in person. “I know what I’m doing, Nevaeh.”
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
Nevertheless, shit will be a hell of a lot less stressful now that I gave Kit yet another fucking reason to be ticked off with me.
I’m about to walk to the taxi, but I remember that getting married isn’t the only thing I need to confess.
“Sorry for fucking your daughter.”
In my defense, it was only because Becca kept putting the moves on me during one of my monthly visits and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It was three in the morning, and I didn’t want to shell out the money for a hotel room, so I walked a few doors down and asked Charlotte—who ended up moving into her mother’s apartment shortly after she died—if I could crash on her couch.
They must have spiked the water in the apartment building with ecstasy that weekend because Charlotte wanted in my pants, too. Given she was easy on the eyes and I needed a place to stay…I accommodated her with my dick.
Twice.
Not that Nevaeh would give a shit about my justifications.
I’m in the back seat of the cab and halfway to the diner I’m supposed to meet Becca at when I pull out my phone.
Well, the new one courtesy of my wife who’s supposed to be pissed at me.
Preston: You got me a phone.
Dots appear at the bottom of my phone screen and then disappear before appearing again. Kit’s been in New York for two days, and this is the first time we’ve spoken.
To say I was surprised to receive a delivery this morning would be an understatement.
Kit: It wasn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.
Preston: Why?
Kit: I don’t know. That’s what the guy told me when I ordered it.
I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Preston: I meant why did you get me a phone?
I grit my teeth. Kit shouldn’t be buying me phones. She should be refusing to talk to me. She should hate me.
Things would be a hell of a lot easier if she did.
Kit: Because I didn’t have your number. Now I do.
Before I can respond, another text comes through.
Kit: Most people would say thank you.
And another.
Kit: If you don’t like it I can get you a different one.
Preston: FFS. You even babble when you text.
She sends me the middle finger emoji and I can’t help but laugh.
And then that hollow feeling is back with a vengeance. Reminding me of what I can never have.
The dots disappear, then start up again.
Kit: I miss you.
The organ that belongs to her strains. It takes way more willpower than I thought it would not to reply to that text.