My eyes flashed to him. Good thing I hadn’t gone with my first mind and offered him a shot, but…what do I say to that?
His brows drew together, and a lone tear streaked down his face. “She’s an addict who made my life a living hell.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “I always tried to be there for her, to love her. I gave up pieces of myself to support her.” Preston squeezed his eyes shut and more tears spilled on his cheeks. “Only for her to choose her vice, her liquor, over me time and again.”
Oh shit, I’m crying too. I dashed a tear away.
His eyes bore into me, and I was struck by the intensity of his stare and the despair in his watery gaze. “I don’t even remember her before she turned into what she is now.” He stood and paced the floor like a caged animal. “I mean, I havesomegood memories, but they’re wrapped in bad ones, because Sober Mom was never around long. And I’d have to pick up the pieces.”
I peered up at him. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
I stood. “That you’re hurting. I hate to see you like this.” I inched closer and grabbed his hand. “I know I can’t fix your mother, but I can be here to listen.”
He rested his forehead on mine. Unsure what to do, I brushed the tears from his face, wrapped my arms around his waist, and hugged him. And he let me. We stayed like that for a moment.
When he pulled back, he offered me a small smile. “About tonight…”
I placed my finger over his lips. “Tonight is for you. The fundraisers and the galas can wait for another day.”
He swallowed visibly, nodding. “Thanks.”
Hours later, we were seated outside on my deck, drinking a glass of Merlot. Over the course of the day, he hadn’t said much. I’d ordered pizza, which we ate while streaming the latest Marvel movie.
Watching the brilliant sunset against the beautiful Michigan sky was one of my favorite things to do. I loved the outdoors, the breeze against my skin, the sound of the wind rustling the trees, and even the rain. I felt most at peace when I was gardening or running through my favorite park.
“What is it like to have parents who were there for you, who accept you, who love you unconditionally?” he asked.
I tore my gaze from the evening sky and turned to him. I sensed he’d been struggling with what to talk about, and I was glad he’d said anything other thanThanos was a punkorI’ll take a slice of the bacon pizza.“It’s my greatest blessing,” I answered. “I wouldn’t be me without their influence and their love.”
He stared at a point behind me. “I know this sounds crazy, but I used to wish my mom would go away. I thought if she left, I could go live with my aunt full-time—or my dad.”
“Is that the aunt you were having brunch with?”
“Yeah. Aunt Dot.”
“Wherewasyour father?”
He let out a humorless chuckle. “Dead. Both of them.”
Confused, I frowned. “Wait…”
“A couple of weeks ago, my mother told me the man I’d called Dad was not really my father.”
Wow,that’s fucked up. “Oh.”
“Go ahead and say it,” he commanded softly.
“Say what?”
“The first thing that came to mind when I told you that. That’s fucked up?”
I blinked. It was uncanny how well he knew me but didn’t reallyknowme. I scratched the back of my neck. “Yeah, it is.”
“She said it after I poured out one of her bottles of liquor.”
“Is that why you were at the bar that day?”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
