A Man of Honor by Miranda Liasson Page B

at the house, as if he half expected his father to run out and somehow stop him from leaving. “Um, for right now, can I ask you to just drive the hell away from here?”
    “Oh, for sure,” Cat said cheerily as she sat up and took the wheel, giving the cat one last glance. “She’s adorable.”
    “It’s a him. Harry.” He took a deep breath, more upset by the interaction with his father than he’d thought, but determined to not tell Cat any of the bad stuff that was rolling around in his head.
    “Oh, sorry. You did say that. I guess I was just getting a female vibe. Was he your pet growing up?”
    Preston snorted. “We didn’t have pets.”
    Cat pulled away from the curb. As soon as she put distance between him and his old man, Preston told himself everything was fine. He willed himself to relax, but his skin was crawling, and he felt a need to take a shower.
    “You okay?” she asked after a minute.
    He hadn’t realized he was tapping his good foot on the floor of the car. “Fine.” He was actually surprised when Ms. Enthusiastic didn’t barrage him with questions. After a few minutes of silence, he surprised himself by talking. “Actually, not so fine. My father left his rehab program. He’s alcoholic and mentally ill, and all the money in the world can’t turn him into a decent human being.”
    Preston was the son who resembled him the most physically, despite their difference in height and bulk. Funny, because Preston had spent his entire life convincing himself he was the polar opposite of everything his father stood for.
    Cat pulled into the Kingstons’ driveway and shut off the ignition. She rested her hand on Preston’s arm and simply sat there. He took a few more deep breaths, but nothing seemed to help him calm down. Dammit, he’d never meant to seem upset. Must be the damn leg pain, making all his emotions more raw than usual.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, and he knew by her soft tone of voice and her gentle touch that she meant it 100 percent.
    He couldn’t look at her. He was too vulnerable, and it would make him stupid, like it did the other night when he’d finally held her in his arms.
    “I’ll be right back,” she said. He managed a nod as he readjusted the cat on his lap.
    She returned minutes later with a plastic bag she placed in the backseat. Then she addressed the cat. “You just hit the kitty jackpot, Harry.”
    “That looks like more than flea medicine,” Preston said.
    “Just some bowls, a brush, a feather toy, and a collar.”
    “You’re better than a pet store.” He turned to Harry. “This is your lucky day.”
    “We take in strays all the time. They wander in from downtown, and my mom usually catches them drinking water from the birdbath.”
    The thing seemed to calm under Cat’s magical touch. It lifted its head to give her better access to stroke along the back of its head, and even settled in on Preston’s lap. As they drove the few miles to his house, Preston couldn’t help comparing himself to this bedraggled animal, the lucky bastard. He wished it were as easy for him to surrender to her soothing voice, her calming touch. Bask in her clean, wholesome fragrance as he held her close. She was everything good and untouched by the poisonous, life-ruining violence that alcoholism had claimed as its own. Reason number one thousand why any association with him would only bring her down.
    After she’d parked in his driveway, Cat walked around to his side of the car and lifted the cat off his lap. Then she held it above her head and looked at its underside. “Well, what do you know.” She looked at Preston and grinned.
    Preston frowned. “What’s wrong?”
    “Harry is actually a Harri et .”

Chapter Six
    “You’re late,” Preston said, sounding more than a little irritated as he paced back and forth near the bottom of his driveway the next morning as Cat pulled up her car. Seeing him with so much nervous energy all the time troubled her.
    He’d always