Love Bug (The Prescotts Book 3) Page 7

  Lucian took a bite of his steak and shook his head. “No. I’m not part of any organized crime family. But I operate in shades of gray, and sometimes they include working with the mafia. They help me, I help them. It’s all about money and power. Sometimes I owe them a favor. Sometimes they owe me.”

  “Jesus.”

  Lucian scoffed. “Don’t look so shocked. I don’t exactly hide my lifestyle. And I’m not sorry that I was able to save my brother’s life.”

  “And Kayla and Willa.”

  Lucian nodded. “And Kayla and Willa.” He sighed and leaned back in his seat. “How is Willa? Sebastian mentioned that Kayla still has nightmares sometimes. About the invasion.”

  Max set his fork down slowly, absorbing Lucian’s words like a punch in the gut. His hand shook a little as he rubbed the back of his neck, guilt and disgust with himself making the contents of his stomach churn sickly. Did Willa have nightmares about the invasion? Did she wake up alone, scared and shaking in her bed with no one to comfort her? The thought was enough to make his insides twist into a hard, painful knot.

  He forced himself to shake his head. “I think…I think she’s fine,” he said, when really he had no idea how she was. Because he was a selfish asshole who should’ve never touched her.

  “You don’t sound so sure,” Lucian commented, sipping his drink. “I thought you’d be keeping an eye on her given your feelings for her.”

  Max set his glass down on the table hard enough that a bit of amber liquid sloshed over the rim, splashing onto the tablecloth. Anger burned through him, hot and dangerous, not at Lucian but at himself. Because Lucian was right—he should’ve been keeping an eye on Willa. And doing that would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if he hadn’t lost control with her. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” His tone was pure ice, but it didn’t seem to faze Lucian in the least.

  “Don’t you? I noticed the way you looked at her at your birthday dinner. I also noticed the way you were fighting back the urge to pummel that friend of yours who was flirting with her.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I? Because I’m willing to bet my bottle of 1937 Glenfidditch Rare that something happened between you two that night. You’ve been even more of a surly bastard ever since.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Lucian,” Max said, his voice a low warning. He didn’t want to fight with his brother. He didn’t want Lucian digging into all of this shit. “Leave it alone.”

  “Did you fuck her?”

  Max’s fist thumped against the table, making the silverware clang against the thick white plates. “You shut your fucking mouth, Lucian.”

  “Ah. So I’m right.” His brother smirked at him, apparently oblivious to how close he was to getting punched in the mouth. Or maybe he knew and just didn’t care.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “See, but that’s the problem, brother. You never want to talk about anything. So you shove it down deep where it festers and eats at you and makes you even more fucking miserable than you usually are. And guess what? You’re not exactly a ray of goddamn sunshine even on your good days, Max.”

  Max sighed, his shoulders slumping as all of the anger ebbed out of him. He scrubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to look at his brother. Forced himself to own up to what he’d done.

  “Yeah. I slept with Willa the night of the invasion.”

  Lucian’s face remained neutral as he nodded. “And then what happened?”

  “And then she left the next morning. End of story.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Maxwell. Come on.”

  “Why do you care?”

  Lucian took a long sip of his drink and leveled his dark gaze on Max. “Because I want you to be happy. I want all of you to be happy. And Aerin, Theo, and Sebastian are. But you…God, you’re still such a fucking mess.”

  “My happiness isn’t your responsibility.”

  “Someone has to care, Max. And it sure as fuck isn’t going to be our parents. So yeah, maybe your happiness isn’t my responsibility. But it is my business because what happens to you matters to me.”

  Max closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotion churning through him. “I pushed her away. I didn’t want to, but I had to.”

  “Why?”

  Max’s throat burned. “Because if she knew what kind of selfish asshole I really was, she’d run screaming in the opposite direction. It was for the best.”

  Understanding dawned on Lucian’s face and he signaled to their approaching waiter for another round of drinks. “So it’s really Sophia we should be talking about, not Willa.”

  Pain and guilt and self-loathing crashed through Max, making his jaw tight. “No. We’re not talking about her.”

  Lucian let out a low chuckle. “Fuck, you’re a stubborn one. Yes, we are. Because I care and want you to be happy and all that shit. And you never will be when you’re still dragging all of that behind you like a goddamn noose.”

  Max’s nostrils flared as he leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s dead because of me, Lucian. There’s no escaping that.”

  A pair of fresh drinks appeared in front of them and Lucian gave Max the space to take a fortifying sip before slowly shaking his head. “What happened to Sophia was a tragedy, Max. A fucking godawful tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.” Max closed his eyes, letting the emotions wash over him, pulling him under. The guilt, the shame, the loss.

  Eight years ago, he’d been dating Sophia Callahan. They’d been together for about a year, and while he’d cared about her, he hadn’t been in love with her, most likely because loving someone was something he just wasn’t capable of thanks to the cold, dysfunctional childhood he’d endured.

  They’d been on vacation with friends in the Hamptons, on an expensive yacht paid for by Sophia’s father. He could still smell the salt air, feel the rocking of the waves against the yacht, hear “Blurred Lines” playing through the sound system. It was all still so vivid and fresh.

  “We fought,” said Max quietly, anguished grief making his chest tight to the point of pain. “About getting engaged. I’d always been upfront with her that marriage wasn’t in the cards for me, but she wouldn’t let it go. I told her I was never going to marry her, and she stormed off. The last time I ever saw her, she was crying because of me. Because of what I couldn’t give her. Because of who I am.”

  “And then she went swimming,” said Lucian, his mouth a thin line.

  “And she drowned.” Max made himself say the words out loud. “And that is my fault. She never would’ve been upset, never would’ve gone swimming alone if I could’ve given her what she deserved. If I wasn’t so fucking broken.”

  A silence fell over the table, and Max drained the rest of his scotch, trying to calm the riot of pain and grief and blame inside himself.

  “Just because you didn’t love her doesn’t mean you’re incapable of love,” said Lucian, his brows drawn together.

  “If I didn’t love Sophia, who by all accounts I should’ve, then yeah. There’s something wrong with me.”

  “Which is why you think you have to stay away from Willa. Because you’ll only hurt her.”

  “I won’t hurt her. I should never have slept with her, but I can’t take that back. What I can do is try to make it right by staying the fuck away from her.” Suddenly restless, Max stood and tossed some cash down on the table. “I gotta go.” He started making his way toward the door, pausing briefly when Lucian called out after him.

  “You’re wrong, you know. About everything.”

  Max said nothing, just kept heading for the door. There was nothing to say because Lucian was wrong. Max was broken. Sophia was dead because of who he was, and his penance was spending the rest of his life alone, no matter what feelings he might have for anyone. His inability to love had cost Sophia her life. There w
as no moving past that.

  And yet all he could think about was Willa. She was so beautiful and warm and smart and amazing and made him want things he had no right to want. That one night with her had been both heaven and hell, showing him just how incredible they were together while he’d known the entire time that she wasn’t his to keep.

  Restless energy snapped through him and he felt like walking. He needed to do something with the emotions burning through him, making his legs feel itchy. But instead of turning south, towards the subway station, he found himself walking north, heading up 10th Ave. Before he even knew what he was doing, he realized he was walking towards his brother Theo’s old apartment. The apartment where Willa now lived.

  He couldn’t seem to untangle one thought from the next, leaving everything in his brain one big snarl of pain and hurt and need and anguish. Memories of growing up in a cold, loveless household, watching his parents pick at each other like buzzards. Wondering if something was wrong with him when he dated woman after woman and felt nothing. Caring about Sophia but knowing he’d never marry her. That he’d never love her because he couldn’t.

  And then there was Willa. God, he’d wanted her since he’d first laid eyes on her and every interaction with her had only pulled him in deeper with her warmth and intelligence and happiness.

  It didn’t matter that the moment he’d first met her, it was like a lightning bolt had charged through him, searing him with a kind of tingling, sudden awareness that she was special. It didn’t matter that one night with her had meant more to him than a year with Sophia. It didn’t matter because it couldn’t.

  He hesitated, his steps faltering before he turned right onto West 57th Street, where Theo’s old apartment was. The wind picked up around him, sending scattered litter swirling around his feet and skittering through the street. He pulled his coat tighter around himself, steeling himself against the surprising bite of the cold air. It was spring, but still early enough that the air cooled considerably after dark. The air smelled like New York and rain, and he walked a bit faster.

  He slowed as he got closer and closer to Theo’s building. What the hell was he doing here? He shouldn’t be here. He should’ve gotten into an Uber and headed home, back to his cold, empty penthouse in SoHo. Alone, like he belonged. Yet here he was, standing on the sidewalk below the apartment building, counting windows until he found Theo’s—Willa’s—living room. The lights were on, but the curtains were drawn, and the apartment was too high up to really see anything anyway.

  A light rain started to fall, but he still stood there, staring up at the softly lit window, wondering if she was okay. If she had nightmares like Kayla did. If she felt that pang in her chest every time she saw him, or if that was only him. If she had any idea how he felt about her. How badly he wished things could be different.

  Maybe this was okay, if he just stopped by to check on her. To make sure she was okay.

  He took a step toward the front doors when his phone buzzed from inside his pocket. Stepping under the building’s overhang, he pulled it out.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Okay, so I took some time to think about what my perfect day would entail, and I think I’ve finally got it all figured out.

  BetaTestAccount23: Let’s hear it.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I’d wake up early and have a delicious, super unhealthy breakfast and then go for a long walk in Central Park. The weather would be sunny and in the high seventies with just a light breeze. I’d get a cup of coffee and take my time, enjoying the sunshine and the fresh air, and I’d find the perfect spot to sit and read. Then I’d meet up with friends for lunch where we’d eat and drink and laugh. In the afternoon, I’d go home and play World of Warcraft for as long as I wanted without feeling guilty, like I should be working or cleaning my apartment or anything. I’d order in sushi for dinner and eat it all.

  BetaTestAccount23: That does sound like the perfect day.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: And then, I’d have a date. We’d go to the movies and then out for drinks and then have sex. Twice.

  Max blinked slowly, reading Fresh Princess’s answer more than once. God, what the everloving fuck was wrong with him? Here he was, standing outside of Willa’s building, fucking pining for her, chatting with another woman, a stranger he’d been matched with on a dating app. He’d been trying for days now to tell himself that the chatting on Blind Date was harmless. They were just messages. He didn’t even know who she was, for fuck’s sake. And yet his heart did this weird kick in his chest whenever he saw one of her messages.

  More proof of how fucked up he was. He’d hurt Willa even though he wanted her so badly, and now he was talking to this other woman and fuck if it didn’t feel good.

  BetaTestAccount23: I like it.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Are you okay? You’ve been kind of quiet today.

  BetaTestAccount23: Yeah, I’m good. Just a lot on my mind.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Want to talk about it?

  It started to rain harder and Max looked up, glancing around for a cab. Thankfully he spotted one headed his way, and he stepped out into the rain, waving it down. As soon as it slowed, he stepped inside, gave the driver his address, and then glanced out the window as Willa’s building slid out of view.

  BetaTestAccount23: I need to be honest with you about something.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Okay.

  BetaTestAccount23: I’m single, but it’s a little complicated.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: In what way?

  BetaTestAccount23: The thing is, I’m kind of hung up on someone. And I know it’s not going anywhere, mostly because I was—am—a grade A asshole. But I feel torn when it comes to talking to you—which I really like—because there’s sort of but not really someone else.

  BetaTestAccount23: So if I’ve been quiet, it’s not because I don’t like talking to you. I’ve just got a lot of shit to process.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Oh. That’s kind of unexpected, given our chats, but I get it.

  BetaTestAccount23: Yeah?

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Yeah. Because the truth is, I’m sort of hung up on someone too.

  BetaTestAccount23: What happened?

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I don’t really want to get into the details. It was just someone I’d been really into for a while, we hooked up and then he made it pretty clear he wasn’t looking for anything, so that was that.

  A pang of guilt sliced through Max, hot and sharp. He’d hurt Willa like that, and given the chance he’d probably hurt Fresh Princess, too. And she didn’t deserve that. Neither of them did.

  BetaTestAccount23: I’m sorry. On behalf of assholes everywhere, I apologize.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: It’s okay. If you’re up for it, I’d like to keep chatting with you, even if we know things are maybe a little more complicated than they originally seemed. I like talking to you.

  BetaTestAccount23: I like talking to you too. It feels easy in a way I can’t really explain.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I know what you mean. I was thinking about that this morning, and I think it’s partly the anonymity, and partly the knowledge that we’re *supposed* to be good together. And we have a lot in common, but I don’t think the compatibility is based just on similarities.

  BetaTestAccount23: It’s based on how we complement each other, too. I was thinking about the same thing.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Of course you were. That seems to happen a lot with us.

  BetaTestAccount23: It does. So this guy you’re hung up on. Tell me about him. What is it about him?

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: He’s smart, attractive, driven, hardworking, successful. Very serious, but every once in a while, he cracks a joke and when he smiles it’s like he changes and the room changes and I change. It’s not just the sun coming out from behind the clouds. It’s like a whole sunrise. I know how cheesy that sounds but, like I said. Hung up on this dude.

  BetaTestAccount23: It’s not cheesy, it’s sweet.

 
FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I’m sure he would disagree with you. He’s serious but sometimes I get the impression that all of that seriousness is really a mask. He doesn’t do vulnerable. Totally, 100% not emotionally available.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I think there’s pain in his past, and I think that’s why he doesn’t get involved with people, why he’s usually alone. And it just makes me want to take on the world for him, which I know is totally pathetic given that he’s not interested in me. At all.

  BetaTestAccount23: It’s his loss, Princess. Truly. And it’s not pathetic. You’re a very warm, caring person from what I’ve learned, and it makes sense that you’d be drawn to someone who could use some of that in his life.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: And what about you? Tell me about this woman you’re hung up on.

  BetaTestAccount23: She’s beautiful and smart. Funny. She’s warm and sweet and really lovely.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: And why isn’t it going to work out with her? Because you were an asshole?

  BetaTestAccount23: Yeah. Basically. I fucked it up, but I didn’t have any business getting involved with her in the first place.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Why?

  BetaTestAccount23: Because I have a lot of baggage, Princess. And she deserves better than what I can give.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: I like you, Mr. 23. I do. So I’m probably going to regret saying this.

  BetaTestAccount23: What?

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Maybe it’s not up to you to decide what she deserves. Maybe she should get to decide that for herself.

  Max rubbed a hand over his face, staring out the rain-spotted window at the blurred lights of the city. The cab slowed thanks to the seemingly never-ending construction on Houston Street. He tapped his phone restlessly against his leg, his chest tight. Aching. His skin felt prickly, like he’d been sunburned.

  BetaTestAccount23: If only it were that simple.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Why isn’t it?

  BetaTestAccount23: Like I said. Baggage.

  FreshPrincessOfChelsea: Baggage is meant to be unpacked eventually, you know. You’re not supposed to just lug it around forever and ever.