A Man of Honor (16 page)

She was almost asleep when she heard a little
thud
at the bottom of the bed. She opened her eyes to find the cat pawing its way up the comforter toward them. She reached out a hand to scratch behind its ears and encourage it to curl up in a ball next to her.

“Harriet, you look like you’re right at home in this bed. I’ll bet you sleep here every night. Preston’s a big old softy, isn’t he?”

“She’s not talking, and neither am I,” Preston murmured.

“I promise I won’t tell a soul.” Cat leaned back against Preston’s firmly muscled chest, enjoying the warm feel of him and the light pressure of his hand as it rested on her hip.

“Except I don’t think you should call me that,” he said.

“What—a softy?”

In response, she felt the very
un
softness of his arousal at her back, and his arm dip down past her waist. “Maybe you should tell Harriet to go sleep somewhere else,” Cat said.

“Why’s that?” Preston asked.

She turned toward him. “Because I don’t think any of us are going to get much sleep tonight.”

…

The room was still dark when Preston startled awake. He bolted upright in bed, his typical overactive response to any noise, especially one in the middle of the night. Rummaging through his bedside drawer, he felt around until he grasped the cool, hard handle of a knife. When the room suddenly flooded with light, he was leaning against the mattress brandishing it, his heart racing as he looked frantically around. As he stood upright, he stumbled, forgetting he’d taken off his brace after the last time they’d made love. A shooting stab of pain shot through his leg and made him buckle, but he caught himself on the side of the bed.

There was no time to focus on the pain. Cat, her hair disheveled from sleep, had a sheet wrapped around herself and was standing at the side of the bed. It took a minute for him to clear his head enough to hear what she was saying. Through the soothing tones he made out the word “phone.”

Shit, his phone was ringing. He was leaning naked beside the bed holding a fucking knife because his damned phone was ringing. Emblazoned on his mind as he took the phone from Cat was the look on her face. It bespoke confusion, worry, and worst of all, fear. He’d made her afraid. All because he couldn’t distinguish between a simple phone call and gunfire.

His hands trembled as he took the phone from her and answered it.

He shook his head and focused, finally comprehending the words. “Yes, thank you,” he managed through a haze of discomfort. “I’ll be there in about an hour.”

He pressed the call end button and sat down on the bed, fumbling for his brace.

Cat stood next to him. “What is it?” she asked.

His fingers felt sluggish, like they were coated with oil. A curse flew past his lips, but it didn’t bring comfort. “It’s my brother,” he said. “He—he’s in the hospital. Alcohol poisoning.”

“Alcohol poisoning? What does that mean?” Cat walked over to his dresser, pulled out jeans and a shirt for him.

“He passed out, and his buddies couldn’t wake him up. So they took him to the hospital. He was celebrating his twenty-first birthday.”

“Is he—is he all right?”

“He’s getting a CT scan now because they’re not sure if he hit his head when he passed out.”

“I’ll drive you.”

He didn’t want her to drive him, see the fault lines of his family exposed. It was bad enough he’d just held a knife out to her. “I’ll call a driver. Go back to bed.”

She was already putting on her own clothes. “I’ll sit in the waiting area. You won’t even know I’m there.” She stepped over to him, her dress already on. “Please let me help in this small way.”

It seemed his life was one crisis after another, and she was privy to all of it. He’d turned her away once, but she kept coming back. He’d sworn this time would be different, that he’d try to let her in. Still, it seemed he was always the one in need of help.

“You’d do the same for me.” Her hand combed lightly through his hair, smoothing down the parts that were sticking up at odd angles from sleep and all their lovemaking. The simplest gesture. For a moment, he closed his eyes at the strange sensation of being cared for. Then he took her hand and flipped it over and kissed her palm. “I’m sorry about…the knife. The phone startled me. To be honest, it doesn’t take much.”

“You always sleep with knives?”

“Habit.”

She handed him his belt and smiled. “Any chance we can substitute that for something soft and harmless like maybe a second cat?”

Chapter Fifteen

Preston hated hospitals. Especially ERs. This ER was a flood of bright lights, beeping monitors, and murmured voices, all bringing back memories that were best forgotten. He forced himself to walk up to a desk. His bad leg was throbbing now, but he ignored everything to get to his brother. Cat was only parking the car, but her absence was palpable. For once, he didn’t want to face this alone.

A nurse guided him back to a curtained room where his brother lay. Jared’s youthful face was angelic in sleep, reminding him of all the times Preston had come in late at night from some job or another and headed back to check on him in his bed. He’d tried desperately to preserve that innocence and do everything in his power to keep Jared far away from their father’s influence. He’d tried to teach his brother right from wrong.

These past few months he’d been so caught up with his own issues, he’d left his brother on autopilot. And this had happened.

“Everything’s okay?” Preston asked the nurse, an edge of worry in his voice. That was when he stopped cold. There, sitting at his brother’s bedside, was his father. He was thin as always, like a rangy, beat-up coyote. For once, he didn’t have a cigarette in his mouth, which Preston was certain was not his own choosing. His father turned his gaze on Preston, and in that instant, he was startlingly aware that they shared the same exact blue eyes.

“Hi, son,” his father said.

Preston managed not to cringe. He didn’t want to acknowledge the greeting but forced himself to respond with a nod. Fortunately, the nurse was talking, and he directed all his attention to her. “He’s a lucky boy, because his friends brought him in when they couldn’t wake him up. The doctor will be in to talk to you in a minute, so you can have a seat.” She pulled up an extra chair she’d borrowed from the next room over.

Preston exhaled a pent-up breath. Jared was alive. He was okay. Oh hell,
was
he okay? What if he’d hit his head, broken bones, any of that? He stopped the nurse from leaving with his words. “Has he—been awake yet?”

“He was able to tell us his name, and he knew where he was. But he’ll be resting for a while. We want to observe him until all the alcohol has left his system and he’s alert and talking.”

Relief nearly brought him to his one good knee. Preston thanked her and lowered himself into the chair to wait, wishing his father would do his usual disappearing act and wondering why the hell he hadn’t. He texted Cat not to come back yet. There was no way he wanted her to see his father.

“So are you just going to give me the silent treatment?” his father asked. “I care about him, too.”

Preston suppressed a snort. That same hostile tone. That same I’m-your-father-respect-me mentality. As far as Preston was concerned, their father had given up any entitlement to any moniker remotely meaning “parent.”

Suddenly, Cat’s face appeared in his mind as he’d seen her earlier that night, beautiful and relaxed and smiling. Cat, who took in straggly stray animals and men who were best passed over. Who opened her heart to children and thought the best of everyone. Maybe her influence could help him try to be forgiving. Or at least tolerate his father until he could get Jared the hell out of here. Maybe people could change if given enough love and a chance, but with his father, he wasn’t betting the ranch on it.

“I’m not ignoring you.” That was pretty polite, but he couldn’t bring himself to call him “Dad.” “I thought you were headed back to rehab.” At least, he’d hoped he was, but frankly, it was no surprise that he didn’t return.

“Listen, I wanted you to know I’m planning to move to Florida in a couple days. I’m staying with my girlfriend now, deciding my next step.”

“Great. I hope it works for you this time.”

Preston tuned him out. All he cared about was Jared. Making sure he was going to be okay. That he wasn’t brain damaged or hadn’t broken his neck or cracked his skull or anything else he didn’t even know to ask about.

“How’s the leg?” his father asked. Preston lifted his head, surprised his father had asked about his well-being, but not caring to make useless small talk. “Improving,” he said, although the pain was pulsing like a car’s subwoofers that are turned up way too loud at a red light.

His father snorted. “That’s what they told me about my neck. But I hope it works out better for you.”

Yeah, I do, too
. His father had had more than a couple neck surgeries. His chronic pain issues had led to him becoming addicted to painkillers and self-medicating with alcohol.

“You know,” his father said, “I was hopeful I could put my life together after the war. I had your mother, and you two boys were small.”

Preston tried not to fidget his good leg. He didn’t want to hear this. Didn’t want to rehash the old, painful memories because he knew how the story ended, and it wasn’t happy. “You went through some hard times,” he said. “But you look better. I want you to know your therapy is covered. And anything else you need.”

“Well, I appreciate that. You know, we were dealing with my surgeries and you kids being young. I loved your mother. She needed me to be strong for her. I wanted to be, but I just couldn’t. I’m ashamed to say I lost it. I hid from the pain with alcohol. I wasn’t a good husband.”

Preston winced. That last stint in rehab, brief though it was, must have made him want to get all that stuff off his mind. Good for him, bad for Preston. “That’s in the past, Dad. Those were tough times but we all survived, and you’ve got a new life now.” That’s as charitable as he could be. He just wanted his father to leave so he could sit with Jared until he woke up. But his father kept talking.

“What I’m trying to tell you, son, is you’re lucky you’re a ladies’ man. Not tied down to one woman. You can get your shit together without having other responsibilities. Guthrie men don’t do relationships well. We destroy the people we love. And it looks like all of us are cut from the same cloth.” He tilted his head at Jared.

Preston stood so violently pain shot clear up his leg and all the way through his back. He bit back the word “no,” gritted his teeth to prevent it from escaping.

“He made one mistake. He’s just a kid.”

“That’s how it starts. None of us can stay away from danger—or alcohol. We have a craving for both. We’re not meant to settle down. You didn’t know your grandfather, but he was the same way. God help the women who love us.”

“People can change, Vernon.” Preston was hyperventilating. He tried to slow down his mind and his breathing, but nothing was helping.

“Son, I don’t care how many millions you have. Blood is blood. You are who you are.”

Preston had to squeeze his eyes shut to try to block out the words. He was sweating, and the room was starting to spin. Thank God the doctor walked in at that moment so he didn’t have to respond.

“How is he, Doc?” Preston blurted to the woman in scrubs and a white coat.

“I’m Dr. Greenwood,” she said with a smile, shaking Preston’s and his father’s hands. “He’s going to be fine, Mr. Guthrie—and Mr. Guthrie,” she said as she turned to Preston’s father. Preston’s father had the decency to look appropriately grateful.

“He was doing shots for his birthday,” she said. “Way too many shots. His friends found him at the bottom of some stairs, passed out and clammy, vomiting and unable to wake up. Thank God they knew to bring him in. We tanked him up with fluids and gave him glucose intravenously. One of his friends said he might have hit his head when he passed out, plus they weren’t sure if he fell down the stairs, so we got neck X-rays and a CT scan. Those were negative. We’re going to keep him overnight. He should be waking up sometime over the next couple hours.”

Preston nodded, but he’d only heard the translation:
Jared was going to be okay
. He’d done something stupid, but he’d live to get over it and tell the tale. Hopefully as a caution to others.

“Why don’t you go home, Vernon?” Preston said. “I’ll stay with him and take him home as soon as he’s able.”

Vernon got up and stretched. “Think I’ll take you up on that, boy.” He took out his wallet. “I’m a little short on cab fare. Can you…”

Preston had never been more eager to shove a couple twenties at him so he’d go away. He was about to hand them over, but at the last second he tightened his grip. “I need to tell you something,” he said. “I’ll pay for rehab anywhere in the country, and I honestly pray that you decide to return, but I will not continue to give you money to support your lifestyle. Is that clear?”

“Yeah.” His father’s hands closed around the bills, and he laughed. “Clear as mud.” Chuckling, a sick, hollow cackle, he left out the door.

Preston collapsed into a chair, relieved his father had left. His stomach felt like it was the barrel of a washing machine, spinning around and around. He couldn’t remember pain so bad it made him nauseated. There was nothing more he wanted than to sit with his brother until he woke up and thank every saint in heaven that his brother was going to be fine. But his father’s words kept churning in his head.

Hopeful I could put my life together after the war. I wanted to be strong, but I just couldn’t. We destroy the people we love.

There was not a Guthrie curse. Or a predestination for badness. Just because he shared blood with a man who had ruined his own life and his relationships with alcohol did not mean Preston was headed down the same path. Logically, Preston understood. He tried to summon Cat’s practical tone, and that way she looked at him, without judgment, like he could do anything he put his mind to.

Then he looked at his achy, ugly leg. Would he ever run again? Do all the things he loved without hobbling along like a cripple? Be able to hold her in his arms and sail with her across a dance floor? Pick her up and carry her across a threshold? Not think that a ringing phone signaled a full-scale terrorist attack?

She had said it was all right not to carry all your burdens alone, but how long would she have to suffer with him? Was it ever fair to make someone do that? Maybe his father was right. It was better not to care for anyone, to get through your shit by yourself so you didn’t drag anyone who cared down with you.

“Mr. Guthrie, are you all right?” Preston looked up to see the doctor, her hand on his shoulder and a worried look on her face. He hadn’t heard her come in. “I just wanted to tell you we’re going to move you to another room down the hall where you can spend the next couple of hours. I can’t help but notice you don’t look very well.”

He straightened up. Scrubbed a hand over his face. “I—I’m fine.” His problems could wait. He wasn’t about to leave Jared’s side. And Cat. How was he going to call Cat back here when he was like this?

“Are you sure?” she asked. “You look pale and sweaty. We don’t want you passing out, too.”

She was smiling. A kind doctor, one he might trust. He didn’t want any of this to be about him, but she was right. He did feel about to pass out, and if that happened, it sure wouldn’t do Jared any good. He blew out a big breath and caved. “I’m a vet with a chronic knee injury. I’ve been at a wedding all weekend, and I think I did something really bad to it.”

“Let me have a look, all right?”

He nodded and undid his brace. As she examined his knee, Preston tipped his head back in the chair and glanced at the TV screen mounted high in the corner of the room, struggling not to focus on the pain. An action movie played, with guys running and jumping, bombs blowing up and vehicles catching on fire. He grabbed the bedside remote and turned the volume to mute. He had enough noise rolling around his brain. His dad might be long gone, but his voice had taken up living in Preston’s head.

…

Cat felt the eyeballs staring before she saw her family talking among themselves in the corner as she walked into the lodge for the next morning’s brunch and headed straight for the giant coffee dispenser. She envied Maddie and Nick, already on the way to the Greek islands for their honeymoon. The women of her family were waiting to pounce and get the scoop about her night. She wasn’t certain what all she would tell.

Not that it hadn’t been the greatest night of her life—up until that phone call. Preston and she had connected—finally, finally—and every moment with him had been intense and all-consuming and a zillion times better than she’d ever imagined it would be.

But.
A warning bell jangled through her sense of well-being. Maybe it had started with the wild look in his eyes when the phone rang and he’d grabbed that knife. Or maybe it was his exhausted, dispassionate voice when he told her he’d called one of his drivers to take her home from the hospital. He’d wanted to stay with his brother, felt it was unfair to make her wait, and didn’t want her driving back in the middle of the night after so little sleep. She felt fine, but he seemed awfully preoccupied about something, so she’d just gone with it. She knew how upset she’d be if something had happened to one of her sisters or her brother and didn’t want to give him extra worry. But he’d seemed almost…disconnected, and that had started a tiny pebble of worry that was starting to snowball into a boulder.

She checked her phone to see if Preston had sent her an update on Jared’s condition. Nothing. It had been difficult to wake up after so little sleep, but she had to make an appearance at breakfast or she would never live this down. She’d texted Preston as soon as she’d awakened, but no response.

He’s just busy
, she told herself. Still, that same feeling of unease had crept insidiously into her bones, a sense that after the spectacular night they’d had, something was off kilter.

It was probably just that she’d been burned before, by Robert and even by Preston himself. But things were different now, weren’t they? They’d started to work things out. Even as she gave herself a pep talk, her grandmother’s voice whispered in her ear,
you can’t change people
. Cat herself had never had a suspicious nature, but she almost expected something to go wrong after her bad history with men.

She was suddenly surrounded by her sister and sister-in-law, both wearing Cheshire grins. “We want to know details,” Jenna said.