Love Bug (The Prescotts Book 3) by Tara Wyatt (electric book reader .TXT) 📗

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 was 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