Page 83 of Trouble from Abroad
“Is that your new mantra? It’s kind of catchy,” he asks.
I’ve never seen him like this. Never heard him laugh that freely.
Does my pussy have magical properties?
Because if eating me out is what puts him in this mood, I will happily volunteer as tribute. It’s my civic duty. I’m a public servant now. For the greater good.
I’m still speechless by the time the receptionist calls his name. Preston squeezes my thigh, leans close, and says, “With all due respect, Miss Thorne, I’ll be fucking you and finding out what words come out of that pretty mouth in about fifty minutes.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
preston
I wasn’tsurprised when Mia booked Dr. Beck for me. I did the same research and found the same result: Beck is the best at what she does.
No one knows I’ve been doing therapy, and I wanted to give Mia this win, so I didn’t tell her. Instead, I told Beck and her team. Then I cancelled my next appointment and pretended this was my first. Following Mia’s plan to a T.
I like it here. The room’s always quiet and warm. Honest, too. No fake plants, no inspirational quotes on the wall. Just a chair I hate and a woman who sees too much.
Dr. Beck greets me with that unnervingly calm voice of hers. “How are you doing today, Preston? Have you worked on the guilt this week? Done the exercises?”
As per our weekly routine, I exhale slowly through my nose. She calls it grounding. I call it surviving the first ten seconds.
The damn chair groans beneath me. I shift, jaw tight, knuckles pressing hard into the armrest.
“I guess I’m still stuck on how fucking stupid I feel.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just folds one leg over the other, notebook untouched.
“For?” she asks.
My eyes drift to the small window too high to see out of. Maybe that’s the point. It forces you to look in.
“For wasting so much time doing what I thought was decent. Being… honorable.” I scoff. “The good guy. I always did what was right by her. Always. Not because I was in love, but because I was horrified of being the man who left. I mistook endurance for love and called it honor. But I’m done confusing those.”
My throat locks. I scratch my beard, press the heel of my palm to my chin as I lean on my knees for support. This room is not about feeling comfortable. At all.
“I really thought I was happy,” I say, quieter now. “Thought life was about that. Marching forward. Head down. Eyes on her. On Lily. Never looked at myself. Never, for a second, had I stopped to consider what I wanted, only that I had to keep going. Because that’s what good men do.” I huff a humorless laugh. “On paper, we looked happy; at home, we were transactional and resentful.”
Dr. Beck waits.
I like that about her; she doesn’t push.
I lean forward, hands clasped. My voice cracks more than I mean it to. “But the saddest part? I didn’t notice I was tending to a woman who was miserable next to me. And fuck, I tried. God, I tried. But I guess I loved being her safe harbor more than I lovedher.”
Beck shifts slightly, but stays quiet.
“I see now how messed up that was. Thinking happinessis about sacrifice.”
Silence creeps in, and I let it. It’s not awkward in here.
“I had to be abandoned to realize I was never fully… there. Not for myself. Not for her. Not for anyone. I wasn't present enough to claim that.”
Dr. Beck leans in a fraction. “Is that what you were mourning, Preston? Is that why it’s still so hard for you to say her name?”
I nod. Slowly. “People assume I was drinking myself to sleep because I missed her. That I broke down because I lost the love of my life.” I swallow, and it burns. “I drank out of self-pity, I drank to avoid dealing with the harsh reality of not only telling, but dealing with what that would do to my daughter. But no, I wasn’t mourning… Blake. We’d been over—quietly, for years—but neither would say it out loud. I was mourning the idea of who I thought I was. A good man. The perfect husband. A father to a son who isn’t mine but I still love and miss anyway.”
She writes something. I don’t ask what.
