Authors: Heidi Medina
Nathan
I pulled myself up out of the pool and fell
into a deck chair, more exhausted and drained than I had ever been in my life.
It had been two weeks since Reagan had left.
Two weeks of missing her, dreaming about her,
agonizing over the things I’d done wrong in our short time together, and all
the things I should have told her before she left. Two weeks of mushy texts,
full of feelings and apologies, that were never sent.
Two weeks of zero contact with her, not
knowing how she was, or if she was okay.
I had walked in on a random meeting of my
father’s the day after she’d left, and demanded to know what the hell he’d been
trying to accomplish by telling her everything. He’d dismissed the meeting
attendees with a smirk, and then admitted he had received notice of my intent
to resign from Elite. That news came after he’d already heard about my buying
out Winston Suites. And if I thought I was going to get out that easily, I was
mistaken. He’d neither denied or made apologies for using Reagan to get back
at me.
The thing about Roger Preston is that he
liked control; he prided himself on it. And I was quickly becoming someone he
could no longer exert control over, and he didn’t like it. And if he thought
his telling Reagan, and thereby destroying any chance of happiness I may have
had with her, was going to make me fall back into line,
he
was sorely
mistaken. That ship had sailed.
I still had a few loose ends at the office to
see complete, but discovered that being there reminded me of her. The elevator
where we’d first met, the stolen kisses in my office, the closed door of hers a
blatant reminder she was no longer sitting behind it. It was too much.
I’d had all my work brought home and had
attempted to finish things up from my apartment. It was even worse. All I
could focus on was the guest room where she’d slept that night after our
meeting with Robert & Royce Johnson, the dining room table I’d fucked her
senseless on, the pillow on the other side of my bed that still smelled faintly
like her shampoo, the smiley-face sticky note she’d slapped on my bathroom
mirror one morning on her way out, or the pink toothbrush still standing in the
holder next to mine. There wasn’t a room in my place that didn’t have a memory
of her tied to it.
I’d arranged for her things, including my
shirt, to be packed—there was no way I could be there and participate in it
myself—and shipped, and promptly took up residence in the Hamptons. But even
there wasn’t exempt. Our first kiss had taken place in this house. But I was
running out of places to go, and so I had spent the last three days between my
room here and the pool, wallowing in my own self-pity. Jake had called, but
the only thing I was interested in was information on Reagan and he didn’t have
any either. He hadn’t called again. Even my mother had grown weary of her
adult son sulking about like a depressed, lovesick teen and had taken off
earlier this afternoon to ‘get out for a bit’.
If these last two weeks were any indication
on what a lifetime without Reagan would be, I had no idea how I was going to
survive it.
I was pulled from my brooding thoughts by the
ringing of my cell. “Yes,” I mumbled, upon answering.
“Nathan, I have wonderful news. Whitney
Bradshaw is arriving in town this evening and I think it’s the perfect
opportunity for you to get over this funk you’ve found yourself in and back
into the swing of things.”
I stared unseeing at the pool before me,
astounded that my mother deemed my current state as nothing more than a
‘funk’. As if I could just snap my fingers and all would be well with the
world again. Nothing was right about my world at the moment, and the likes of
Whitney Bradshaw certainly weren’t going to change that.
“Mother, I have zero interest in Whitney
Bradshaw.”
She was silent for a moment. “Is this still
about that girl? I didn’t even know you were interested in her. But she’s
obviously gone now, Nathan. You can’t stay like this forever. Whitney is a
wonderful gi—“
“Whitney is a bitch, Mother. Stop trying to
push us together. Please. It’s embarrassing.” I sighed at her sharp intake
of breath. “Look, I’m in no state to be entertaining tonight, anyway. I have
work to do.”
I hung up with another word, fully aware I
was being an ass. But seriously. Enough with the Whitney Bradshaw
matchmaking.
I’d have to soothe her hurt feelings later,
but now I really should try to work. My last two accounts had successfully
been transitioned to new project leads, so I was, in essence, no longer working
for Elite, but I had numerous documents to review to become better acquainted
with Winston Suites.
Several hours later, I was back to my
brooding spot by the pool, when again I was interrupted by my phone. Not
recognizing the number, I slid the bar to answer.
“Hello?”
Reagan
“I wonder why this place hasn’t been sold, or
torn down by now.”
Jacob peered at me from beneath heavy, wet
lashes. We were both sitting on the ground behind the house, with our backs
pressed up against the weathered, peeling wooden slats that covered it. “I
think Naomi’s parents still own it, but I’m not sure.” His lips curled up at
my expression, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “How do you think our
electric was kept on? Her parents kicked her out, and they sure as hell didn’t
want anything to do with her kids, but at least they made sure she had a roof
over her head. Nice people, huh?” There was no disguising the contempt in his
voice when talking about our mother, and the people who birthed her; our
grandparents. Grandparents I had never once met.
He answered my next unspoken question.
“Charlie relayed this information to me before he left. How he found out, I
have no idea.”
I sighed and leaned my head on his
shoulder. We’d spent the last few hours unloading our hurt, anger and
bitterness on this house. We’d circled it, peering in the broken windows,
letting memories fall over us in a thunderstorm of emotion. I’d seen my old
room, now housing only a ragged, dirty sheet in one corner and endless dust and
debris, and had broken down in tears. Jacob had picked up a broken piece of
wood and had struck the side of the house, letting his frustrations with the
woman who would never hear them, out on the house she’d raised us in.
I’d stared in shocked horror and silence,
before I picked up my own board and joined him. Tears flowed, and questions that
would forever go unanswered were screamed at the sky, as two broken people
faced head on the demons that had haunted them. Each crack of wood echoed
around us, and seemed to fuel our rage as our attack became more frenzied. I’d
cried and screamed, for all the normal childhood memories that we’d never
known, for Charlie, Alex, for the unfairness of it all, until my throat hurt
and my voice was hoarse. There wasn’t anyone around to witness or overhear,
the few neighbors we’d had growing up long gone. But we wouldn’t have cared
anyway. We’d fallen into an emotionally exhausted heap behind the house,
boards discarded and forgotten in the ground beside us.
“I’m glad you brought me here, Jacob.” I wiped
sweat and tears from my cheeks, and stared out at the sky, glowing blue and red
as the sun began its descent. “But I don’t ever want to come here again.
Promise me you won’t either. No more. It has to be over.”
Jacob rested his cheek against my head. “I
promise,” he whispered.
We sat there, supported against each other,
each lost in our own thoughts as we both did our best to lay these memories to
rest. I hadn’t known I needed to do this, and would have never ventured here
on my own, but I couldn’t deny the feeling of weightlessness I now felt. Was I
completely over it? Could I let someone hug me. ..I mean
really
hug
me? Was Jacob past the rage and bitterness he’d suppressed for so long? Could
we both truly move on? I didn’t know.
But I knew we both had to try.
“What are you going to do now?”
I didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t asking
about my plans for the evening, or the weekend. He was asking what I was going
to do about Nathan, and I didn’t know that just yet. I tucked a lock of hair
behind my ear and shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea.”
“Have you talked to him? Since you left, I
mean.”
“No. I. . .can’t. I was so mad when I left,
Jacob. What he did. . .the things he never told me. . .it really hurt. And I
had to go.”
“Then you don’t know that he quit working for
his father, then.”
My eyes widened. “He quit? Why, because of
me? Why would he do that?”
Jacob lifted his head and looked down at me.
“I don’t know. I don’t know everything because he won’t say; he just said it
was time. But I know him, Reagan. Things have always come easy to him, and
he’s never really had to work for anything in his life. Until you.” He laid
his cheek back down on my head. “And he can be relentless when it comes to
what he wants, manipulative even, but I do know him well enough to know that he
never wanted you to get hurt. Be mad all you want, but at least hear him out.”
I shifted away from him and crossed my legs Indian-style.
“I don’t want to be manipulated. I want to be. . .”
“Loved? I’m pretty sure he already does. But
Roger Preston is his father, and he’s the most manipulative bastard I know. Nathan’s
never been in love before--that I know of anyway, and he sure hasn’t been given
the best examples to go by.”
I sighed and stared back out at the dusky
sky. I knew Nathan loved me. But was that enough to push me beyond the hurt
and anger he had caused? My head ached and I closed my eyes, rubbing my
fingers against my temples.
I was startled from my thoughts by the
ringing of Jacob’s cell. He pulled away and fished it out of his pocket,
cursing as he recognized the name on the display. “Who is it?”
He shoved the phone back in his pocket,
letting the caller go to voicemail. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. “We should
probably head back, though. It’s almost dark.”
We headed back to the car, and were almost
there when his cell rang again. He stared at the display. “Reagan. . .I’m
sorry, I . .,” he trailed off as he held up a finger for me to wait and
answered. “Hey, what’s up?”
His tone was off, the cheerfulness coming off
forced and hollow. Whoever it was, he was uncomfortable speaking with them for
some reason.
“What? Shit, is she okay?” The false sunny
tone was gone, and in its place was alarm. He stared wide-eyed at me as he
listened to the caller on the other end.
“I’m not in town, but I will be there as soon
as I can. . . .it’s a long story. . .yeah, I’ll be there. . .I’m so sorry . . .
.fuck.. . Keep me posted. . .okay.” He ended the call and ran his hands
through his hair, cursing under his breath.
“What? Jacob, you’re scaring me. What’s
wrong?”
He unlocked the car and we slid in. “Shit,
that was Nathan.” He gunned the engine and backed out of the drive. “His
mom’s been in a car accident.”
My mind reeled. Katherine Preston had been
in a car accident? How? What happened? And Nathan. . he had to be going
crazy. First Thomas, and now his mother? “Is she. . .what happened?”
Jacob sped through traffic as he raced back
to my house. “He didn’t know much, but she’s alive. He’s not sure how it
happened yet. He just asked me to meet him at the hospital.” His eyes darted
in my direction. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“What are you gonna do? We can see if there
is a flight out tonight. Oh my God. . .Jacob. After Thomas. . ,” I couldn’t
finish, my brain not even able to comprehend what Nathan must be thinking or
feeling at the moment.
“I know,” he answered softly.
We drove the rest of the way in silence, each
scared and worried about the accident, not knowing the full severity of it, and
how it was probably affecting the person we both loved.
I jumped out of the car as soon as we pulled
into our drive and sprinted across the lawn. “Come on! We can get flights,
and I can hurry and pack.”
I didn’t even let myself think about what I
was saying. Nathan was hurting, probably devastated and reliving the horror
from two years ago when his brother had been in the same situation. With a
sudden clarity, I knew what I needed to do.
Jacob paused mid-stride and stared at me.
“Are you sure? You don’t have to do this. You can—“
“He needs us.”
“Right.” He followed me inside as I called
out for Helen and explained everything.
“Please don’t try and talk me out of it,” I
finished. “I have to go!” I was going regardless, but it would just be much
easier if I didn’t have to listen to all the reasons why I shouldn’t.
She nodded. “Yes, I can see that you do.
Well,” she motioned to Jacob. “Jacob and I will work on getting the first
flight out of here, and you get yourself packed.”
It turned out that the first available flight
had only one remaining seat, and after much debate, Jacob finally agreed to
take it. Nathan had called him, needing him there, so he should go first. I
would follow on the first flight the next morning. He’d want me there, too,
Jacob had argued, but while I knew I needed to go, I also knew Nathan didn’t
need added distractions while dealing with the fallout of Katherine’s accident.
Tomorrow would be soon enough.
Nathan
“I’m Nathan Preston. I understand my mother, Katherine
Preston, was brought in. Where is she?”
Nails clicked on a keyboard as the nurse
searched her computer. “Katherine Preston is still here in the ER, in room
eight.”
I barely heard her verbal directions as I
turned and barreled down a side hallway. Doctors and nurses were everywhere,
and I could hear the sounds of sickness and pain from behind drawn curtains of
makeshift rooms. My heartbeat increased as I spotted the sign for room eight.
I had no idea the condition of my mother, or what had happened, and I was scared
of what I would find when I pulled the curtain back.
A doctor emerged as I approached. “Doctor,
Nathan Preston. My mother is Katherine Preston.” I indicated the room behind
him. “How is she? Can I see her?”
Doctor Janssen introduced himself, and spoke
in soft, soothing tones. “Mr. Preston, your mother was involved in a car
accident. While no one else was hurt, she did suffer several cuts and bruises
on her left arm and face, as well as two cracked ribs.”
I nodded. “Can I see her?”
He didn’t answer right away, instead flipped
through the chart he was holding, before meeting my gaze again with that
universal look of someone who is about to divulge news they have no desire to
be sharing. “Your mother was highly intoxicated when she arrived, became
belligerent with staff and. . .unfortunately, we had to sedate and restrain
her.” He pulled back the curtain and allowed me to enter before slipping in
behind me and letting the curtain fall back into place.
My throat constricted at the sight of my
mother lying lifeless in the hospital bed, looking small and defeated. An IV
drip was hooked to her right arm, and both wrists were restrained to the sides
of the bed. Bruises, dark purple and red, spotted her face and a bandage
wrapped around her head. Machines beeped around her, and I instantly wanted to
disconnect them all and carry her home. “What about her driver? How is he?”
Dr. Janssen turned to me. “Her driver? I’m
sorry, Mr. Preston. No one came in with her. I believe she was behind the
wheel at the time, according to the police on scene.”
I closed my eyes at the news. My mother
rarely drove, because even in her intoxicated, semi delusional state, she still
knew better than to get behind the wheel while not sober. And she was rarely
truly sober. What had caused her to be so reckless?
Our phone conversation earlier.
I
knew I’d been overly insensitive, and cursed myself for intentionally hurting
her feelings. Had I caused this? Was this my fault?
Tears burned my eyes as I opened them and
walked over to her bed. I clasped her hand and turned back to the doctor as he
spoke.
“The police will have some questions for her
when she comes around. Are you able to fill out some forms for her for
insurance purposes, or your father, perhaps. . .?”
My father. I’m sure he’d been called. It
wasn’t as if the Preston name wasn’t known here in the city, but she also
carried his contact information, as well as mine, with her at all times. Was
he even going to bother to show up? “The police are not to disturb her until
she is ready to answer their questions, and only when our attorney is present.
They can speak with me if they have any problems with that. And now that she
is sedated, these are a little redundant, don’t you think?” I indicated the
restraints. “I will fill out your forms.” I kissed my mother’s hand and
brushed back her hair before following Dr. Janssen back to the main nurse’s
station.
I folded myself into a chair with the
necessary forms, and pulled out my phone. There was a text from Jake, letting
me know he’d be in about three a.m. and would come straight here. He was out
of town was all he’d said earlier, and I didn’t really care where he’d been; I
was just glad he was able to get here. I scrolled through my contacts and
hovered over Reagan’s name. I hadn’t thought about her since I’d received the
call from the hospital. It was selfish of me, because I’d hurt her, and she
was dealing with that, but I suddenly felt desperately alone. And I needed
her.
I touched her name, and before I could talk
myself out of it, furiously typed out a one sentence text and hit send. Maybe
she wouldn’t even respond. But I had to try.
I busied myself with filling out forms, and
then spoke briefly with the police. Apparently my mother had ran a red light
before driving her car off the road, grazing past a small deli, taking out two
small outside tables and shattering a window, before smashing into a cement
post on the corner. No one had been hurt, but the deli owner was upset and
looking to press charges. I was able to get the officers to agree to come back
in the morning when legal counsel could be present. Besides, Mom was still
sedated, and even if she awoke in the night, she’d be flustered and coming down
from a killer buzz. There was no way I was letting them speak to her in that
frazzled state.
I headed back to her room and sat in a chair
beside the bed. The restraints had been removed, and I lighted rubbed at the
marks they’d left behind. “Mother, what have you done?” I whispered.
“Nathanial. What is going on?”
I turned and faced my father, framed in the
curtained doorway. “It’s been three hours. Nice of you to show up.”
He rolled his eyes and moved further into the
room. “I’ve been in meetings. I still have a business to run, remember?” His
sarcasm was evident. “What is this?” He motioned to my mother lying in the
bed.
“This,” I mimicked the sweep of his hand, “is
your wife. She’s been in a car accident. She was driving and alcohol was
involved.”
Roger Preston sighed in disgust. “Damn her!
This isn’t the time to be drawing attention to herself!” He had yet to
approach the bed, to check on the woman he’d married, make sure she was okay.
There was no grave concern for her wellbeing in his eyes, only anger that she’d
interrupted his evening. “Whatever the damages are, handle it and get her
home.”
I laughed. “This isn’t going to be something
you can just write a check for. The police are involved and she could face
charges.”
He appeared unfazed. “Nonsense. If you
can’t see to it, I’ll call the mayor myself.”
I stood and moved in front of him. “This is
not going to be swept away. This is serious! She hit and destroyed property
belonging to a business owner. He is angry, and justifiably so. You are going
to face this. We all should have faced this two years ago!” He opened his
mouth to speak but I continued. “I will call our lawyers, see if we can settle
up with the deli owner on damages, and at least avoid any serious charges. But
she needs help, and we’re going to get her some. We need to look into a
treatment center of some sort.”
My father waved away my words with his hand.
“She doesn’t need any treatment. She’s been under added stress lately,
throwing herself into all her committees like she does. She needs to get away
and rest. Take her to the Hamptons for a few weeks, and she’ll be fine.”
His complete denial of, and refusal to deal
with, the situation at hand enraged me. “You selfish son of a bitch!” I yelled.
“Take her to the Hamptons? This is your WIFE!” I shook my head. “I’m not
going to hide this! For Christ sake, do you not remember how Thomas died?”
My father glanced behind him before leaning
in. “Keep your voice down! This is about that girl isn’t it? If you weren’t
moping around after a cheap piece of ass, you could have kept a better eye on
your mother.”
His words had barely left his mouth when my
fist connected with his jaw. “You bastard!”
He stumbled backward through the curtain that
separated us from the scurry of emergency room activity. I followed. “This is
not up for negotiation. You will support this recovery, either publicly or
behind the scenes--that’s up to you—but you will support it! You are going to
be there for her, for once in your miserable, selfish life. Are we clear?”
Roger Preston glared at me in silence, as he
took a white handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at the blood coming from
his mouth. Without response, he simply walked away, straightening his jacket
as he left.
It was then I saw we had an audience of
nurses and orderlies.