A Man of Honor

by Miranda Liasson

  Preston had made her come as easily as if it were brushing her teeth or riding her bike. He’d whispered things to her like how beautiful she was and how he loved touching her. The man was gentle, confident, and kind. Not to mention superhot. She couldn’t wait to do the same to him.

  “If I didn’t have this bum leg,” he said, “I’d pick you up and carry you to the bedroom.”

  “Walking is nice,” she said, wrapping herself around him and kissing him. “Healthy for you, too.”

  Preston took her hand and led her down a carpeted hallway. She followed him on wobbly legs. He stood in front of a big bed, covered with a neutral comforter and tons of down pillows, and began unfastening his belt. In the light of the single lamp on a bedside table, she saw the proud warrior in him, the dragon curling its tail down his left arm, his muscles flexing as he went through the motions of the everyday task. That’s when it hit her.

  He stopped and stood in front of her, cupping her face in his hands. “You’re crying.”

  “I was thinking how lucky I am to have you here. What if I’d lost you? What if you wouldn’t have come back?”

  He pulled her into his arms and lay back on the bed, pulling her on top of him. The combination of the hard muscle and smooth skin of his chest against her breasts nearly undid her. “Don’t,” he said, looking at her with his intense blue eyes that were full of tenderness and desire. He wiped her tears and stroked the hair back from her face. “I made it back, safe and sound.”

  He said it like it had never occurred to him that someone would be so pained by his loss. “You’ll never know the terror that went through me when I found out what happened to you,” she said. “I wanted to be the one by your side. I wanted to be there for you. You don’t have to shoulder all your burdens alone.”

  “I’m sorry, Cat. I’m sorry for shutting you out.”

  She worked on his belt buckle until finally he reached down and helped her undo it. He watched her—no, he allowed her to unzip his pants and pull them with his boxers down his legs, carefully navigating around his brace.

  Although she did slow a bit admiring his cock, long and proud, and thought again what a beautiful man he was and how right it felt to be here with him.

  She surprised him by starting at his calf, placing gentle kisses on the skin above his ankle, ignoring his protests. It was so like him not to want to be fussed over. “Now it’s your turn, okay?”

  And she’d better stop crying. It had to be enough that she had him now, that after all his pain and conflict, he was here. She wanted to give him everything, all of herself, but she knew how reluctant he was. She wouldn’t demand more, but she would give him all she had.

  He gave a wide grin. She reached up and pushed on his chest, forcing him to lie back and relax. She left a trail of kisses on his calf, fingered the Velcro-wrapped brace that caged in his scarred and battered knee. When she kissed his knee, he froze. “No, Cat, don’t,” he said.

  She skirted the brace, knowing he didn’t want her to see his knee. Honest, terrible words rose to her throat but she bit them back. Words he would never accept, like I love every part of you. I always have, and I always will. “I treasure every part of you,” she said instead. “I’m so happy to be here with you. I’ve longed for this forever.” She kissed his inner thigh, then moved over to his cock. Grasping his length, she ran her hand up and down his shaft until he groaned with pleasure.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Does this feel good?” She licked the tip, then put her mouth over him, taking in as much as she could until he gave a grunt of pleasure.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, using her hand to slide up and down his length and alternating with her mouth.

  He lay still, his eyes riveted on her every move. Then strong arms pulled her up, up, until she was lying on top of him, her hands on his perfect chest.

  “That felt so damn good, but it’s been way too long. I want to be inside you, Cat. Now.” He pulled himself up and struggled to reach over to a nightstand drawer. She leaned over and opened it, taking out a condom. “Thanks,” he said as he tore open the package and sheathed himself.

  “My pleasure.” She said it glibly, teasingly, but she felt anything but as she straddled him, poising her body over his.

  He never stopped looking at her with an intensity that nearly brought tears back to her eyes, but he didn’t speak. She wanted to tell him so many things. That she’d loved him for years, that she would do anything to stop his pain, that she’d dreamed of this very moment every night before she slept and every morning when she woke. But she didn’t want to spook him, didn’t want to pressure him to say more than he had. So she just decided to love him.

  She bent low to kiss him, her hair falling around her face. He brushed it back, gazing deep into her eyes. “You’re the reason I survived that hellhole,” he said, cupping her face with his hands. “You made me laugh when there was nothing to laugh about. Thinking of you and how full of love and life you are made me want to stay alive and make it home. It’s always been you, Cat.”

  She cried out his name as he filled her, her inner muscles taking his length, all of him as she trembled, as sensations and feelings overcame her and words and thoughts fled.

  His kisses lit her on fire, stroke after deep stroke, his tongue possessing her mercilessly. His hands skimmed over her back and grabbed her ass as he moved his hips to their rhythm, and she clung to him, buried her face in his neck and held on while the waves of pleasure engulfed them.

  They let loose together. As the world shattered around her, Cat clutched him hard, holding on to the hard smoothness of him, languishing in the soft warmth of his skin, his flesh-and-blood realness, and vowing that come hell or high water, she would never let him go.

  Preston rolled them on their sides, wincing just a little as he tried to keep the weight off his braced leg. He held her close, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet things to her. She curled into his chest, against the fierce dragon she once regarded as something that needed to be slain, but now seemed more protector and defender, part of him that would always keep her secure and safe.

  She lay there reveling in the feel of his arms wrapped around her, the scent of his soap mingling with the unique scent that was him and only him. Nothing had ever felt so right. After a while, she reached up to kiss him softly on the cheek, but his eyes were closed and his breathing had deepened and slowed. He wore a peaceful expression in sleep that was so different from his usual hypervigilance while awake. She stretched out against him and thanked her lucky stars that he was hers at last.

  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 unsoftness 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 w
ith 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 beca
use 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.