Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (2 page)

“Well, Mol, I don’t know what else to say. You took that job in Philadelphia, even though there was a perfectly good position open at Hopeview High, and—”

“You knew how important Teach for America was to me, Dusty! You knew it was my dream!” she sobbed.

“Well, it wasn’t
my
dream!
You
were my dream.
You
, Molly. You and me staying here, raising a family near where we grew up, Sunday dinners with the folks, going to the same church where we—”

“You go near that church and lightning will split your head open before you can step through the door!”

Dusty was silent for a long time. “We’re not getting anywhere, Mol, just throwing around nasty words we’ll regret. Let’s talk another time when you’re not so upset—”

“
Words we’ll regret
? Dusty, I couldn’t give a…a…” She tried to think of the most vulgar curse words she overheard every day in the hallways at school. “…flying f-fucking cock’s
shit
if you don’t like the words I’m using. I hope you are monumentally unhappy with Shana Evans. I hope she cheats on
you
. I hope
you
get to learn how it feels. I hope…I hope—”

She stopped abruptly. The line was suspiciously silent.

“Dusty?
Dusty
?”

The line was dead. Somewhere during her foul-mouthed tirade, he’d hung up on her.
He’d
…hung up…on
her
. Molly had thrown the phone across the room, but this time Charming ran for cover as she let out a long, keening sob, and fell to the floor on her knees.

Happy
fucking
Valentine’s Day.

Molly rested her forehead against the mustard-yellow tiles in the shower as the hot water continued to scorch her back. She reached for the cold water tap, twisting it just a touch. The water mellowed a little, and she reached for the gel again.

He’d cheated on her. Her boyfriend of ten years—a wasted
decade
of her life—had cheated on her. And how. Aside from the pain of his betrayal and rejection, her embarrassment was epic. Everyone in Hopeview would know Dusty had dumped Molly for Shana, and they’d quickly learn the sordid reason why.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, rubbing the gel over her body distractedly.

What would her parents say? What about her older sister and two older brothers who still lived in or around Hopeview and still attended the same Methodist church as Dusty every week? Had Dusty even had the decency to tell Molly first? She mulled over this question and decided that yes, he had. She’d checked her phone this morning after finally charging it, and there were no calls or texts, so it was safe to assume Dusty told her first. Her phone would be ringing off the hook once her friends and family found out. And sure, they’d all feel bad for poor Molly, but good Lord, she’d look like a fool who couldn’t hold her man. Not to mention, there would be some who’d say she had it coming, up and leaving a handsome young buck like Dusty Hicks behind.

She shampooed her ginger-colored hair and thought back to Christmas break. When she’d first gotten home, he’d come to see her, but every time Molly had tried to talk about her life in Philly or his in Hopeview, he’d silence her by kissing her, which had finally led to them having sex in the back of his car. As she thought back on it, yes, Dusty had been distant with her, canceling two dates and rushing through gifts with her family on Christmas Eve. When she asked where he needed to be, he said he needed to help set-up the church for the nine o’clock service, though it was strange to Molly at the time, because although she’d looked for him, she didn’t recall seeing him at the actual service.

Now it occurred to her…he was probably leaving her to go see Shana, which begged the question: Who was this man who used church as an excuse to get it on with his piece-on-the-side? She thought she knew Dusty Hicks as well as one human being could know another, but she was wrong. She didn’t know this cheating, lying piece of scum at all. And more hurt, angry tears ran down her cheeks to mix with the hot water still pouring from the shower head.

“You’ll need to get tested,” she whispered miserably, wringing out her hair and watching the water run clear. Because Dusty was her fiancé and Molly was on the pill, they’d never used any protection. And if Shana was pregnant, he certainly hadn’t been using condoms with her. She shook her head in disgust and fury.

Good Lord, what a disgusting excuse for a man.

Thankfully, the realization of Dusty’s epic selfishness had the counter-effect of staunching her tears for the first time since waking up, and her jaw was set in an angry line when she turned off the water and stepped from the shower.

Wrapping a towel around her small frame, she rubbed a circle in the steam on the mirror and finally looked at herself. Her cheeks were bright red due to the hot water, but so were her eyes. After whipping the medicine cabinet open, she took out a small plastic tube of Visine and tilted her head back, letting three or four drops fall into each eye. Screwing the top back on, she opened her eyes wide and watched as they cleared a little, one stray tear making its way down her nose to rest on her top lip. She snaked out her tongue and licked it.

“That’s the last tear I cry for you, Dusty Hicks. That’s a promise.”

Then, still heavy-hearted despite her bravado, Molly marched into her bedroom to throw on some clean underwear, grateful she still had several hours to psyche herself up for the very last place on earth she wanted to be: Daisy Edwards and Fitz English’s Valentine’s Day —ugh—wedding.

Weston English took one last look around his apartment, feeling like he was forgetting something. Tuxedo?
Check
. Gift?
Check
. Keys?
Check
. Toast? He patted his breast pocket, but it was bare. He ran back to the desk in his bedroom and rifled through legal documents and various law books until he found the piece of paper he’d printed out late last night: his wedding toast to his brother, Fitz, and his fiancée, Daisy, who were getting married today. Weston and his three other unmarried brothers were all planning to say a few words.

More than a little bleary-eyed from studying until three o’clock in the morning, he shook his head and grabbed his half-finished coffee cup off the dining room table as he passed. He downed the remaining dregs in a gulp and placed the cup back on the table, reminding himself that after he passed the bar in two weeks he wouldn’t need to keep burning the midnight oil studying. Checking his watch, he realized he still had forty-five minutes before he had to pick up Constance Atwell, his on-again, off-again girlfriend and date for Fitz’s wedding.

He grabbed the dozen long-stemmed red Valentine’s roses from his refrigerator and ran through the checklist in his mind again, satisfied he wasn’t forgetting anything. Pulling his black overcoat out of the small front closet, he pictured Connie naked as he closed and locked the door behind him, making the decision to pick her up early. Maybe he’d catch her coming out of the shower, and she’d be up for a quickie before driving out to Haverford. Weston grinned at his reflection in the brass wall of the elevator, his body tightening a little in anticipation. Connie was always horniest right before social events, a fact Weston knew because he’d often been the beneficiary of her favors at such times.

Heading out the front door of his modest apartment building located near the University of Pennsylvania, Weston hailed a cab and gave the driver Connie’s address.

With his four brothers in serious relationships and Weston’s second-oldest brother, Fitz, getting married today, Weston turned his thoughts to his relationship with Connie.

Weston had known Constance Atwell for most of his life. The Atwell sisters had grown up in the same area of Haverford as the English brothers, and they’d attended the same country club, hunt club, dance school, and Catholic Church. While Weston’s mother, Eleanora English, and Charity Atwell weren’t the best of friends, the Atwell’s had certainly been invited to the annual English summer party every year.

The crossover hadn’t ended there, and Weston cringed as two of his four older brothers, Barrett and Alex, passed through his mind. Barrett had dated Connie’s sister, Felicity, casually for several years, only to dump her last fall when he got serious with his now-fiancée, Emily Edwards. And although Connie’s other sister, Hope, should have known better than to expect a commitment from Alex, she was very hurt when he chose Jessica Winslow over her just before Christmas.

Weston and Connie had never declared their feelings for each other. Theirs had been a tumultuous relationship, sometimes quite hot with them spending days and days (and nights and nights) together before having a disagreement and “breaking up.” A few weeks—or months—would pass and they’d bump into each other again. With their chemistry as scorching as ever, they’d pick up where they left off, and another slew of hot, intense days and nights inevitably followed by a fallout would commence.

If Weston was honest, he’d admit that in the beginning the roller coaster nature of their time together was a big turn-on. He loved fucking Connie. He loved fighting with her. He loved making up with her. Was it mature? No. Was it hot? Fuck, yes. And he was fairly sure that Connie liked the ups and downs—the excitement of breaking up and making up—just as much as Weston did.

Except, it was getting a little old after a year. He wanted more than fucking and fighting in an endless rotation. He didn’t know if it was possible for him and Connie to build something real, but lately he liked the idea of giving it a try. Today he planned to broach the subject with her—to see if she wanted to jump off the carnival ride and give a real relationship a try.

He knew the way Barrett and Alex had treated Felicity and Hope might make it difficult for Connie to trust Weston, but he planned to assure her that he wouldn’t treat her as his brothers had treated her sisters. He didn’t like the idea that his chance for something real with Connie might be compromised by the actions of his older brothers.

Weston huffed, clasping his jaw in his fingers as the cab neared Connie’s apartment. For most of his life, Weston hadn’t liked being the youngest of five. So much of his identity was determined by the fact that he was “the youngest English brother,” and also by the behavior of the four preceding brothers. Friends and acquaintances somehow expected him to be a younger version of the brother they’d met first: a mini-Barrett, sensible and single-minded like Fitz, a player like Alex, alarmingly smart and awkward like Stratton. Weston was his own person, his own man, and he didn’t appreciate it that his personality took a backseat to his brothers’.

Without much input, he’d been told from an early age that he’d grow up to be the legal counsel at English & Sons because, after all, Barrett was the oldest and would take over, and the personalities of his older brothers had determined their positions as well. While Fitz had pursued law for the purposes of compliance, none had taken an interest in the role of legal counsel, so, by default, Weston had been nudged toward law school. Anxious to please—and resigned to a future at English & Sons—Weston had complied. But as the bar exam loomed closer, he had misgivings.

It’s not that Weston didn’t like the law, he did. He appreciated the logic of it. He loved looking for loopholes or reading briefs with interesting legal arguments. The law itself appealed to him.

But corporate law? Ugh.

What his family didn’t know, was that Weston had no interest in corporate law, and he dreaded the day he passed the exam because he’d have no more excuses for not working at English & Sons. He’d be consigned there—the youngest English brother falling into line and meeting everyone else’s expectations, because that’s simply what was anticipated of him.

His brothers and parents would probably be shocked to learn that what Weston really wanted was a job much closer to law
enforcement
. His favorite law school professor was a former employee of the D.A.’s office, and Professor Callum’s stories and experiences there were fascinating to Weston—work a man could be proud of. In fact, if he could have any job in the world, he would work for the Philadelphia District Attorney’s office in the Juvenile Division.

He knew full and well that turning his back on English & Sons to become a civil servant would not just be
hurtful
to his brothers, whom he loved, respected and admired, but had the potential of causing a deep rift between them. His brothers had a love for English & Sons that was almost equal to their love of each other. So it raised the question…despite the fact that Weston English didn’t necessarily enjoy being the youngest English and wanted to strike out on his own, was he ready to betray his brothers? To disappoint their expectations? To hurt them so entirely?

He wasn’t.

Just thinking about betraying, disappointing or hurting his brothers made Weston feel sick. Unfortunately, however, a life of corporate law at English & Sons made him feel trapped and hopeless.

“That’ll be six bucks,” said the cabbie and Weston handed the driver a ten, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut.

Reminding himself that today wasn’t about becoming a lawyer or passing the bar or his dubious future at English & Sons, he took a deep breath, thinking of Fitz and Daisy and fixed a smile on his face. He was genuinely happy for his brother, who was not only getting married today, but would be a father in a few short months, too. Weston loved Daisy like a sister, and he was excited to become an uncle this summer. There was plenty of time to wrestle with his future after the wedding. No sense in letting it cast a pall over an otherwise joyful day.

Nodding to the concierge, Weston headed for the elevator, pressing the call button. No doubt Connie would be extra stunning today. With long blonde hair and dark blue eyes, she was the most beautiful girl Weston knew, and again he considered that he’d like for them to try dating—exclusively and without drama.

The elevator opened on the fourth floor, and Weston looked down at the roses and grinned, crossing his fingers that Connie wouldn’t be
quite
ready yet, and maybe she’d want to—

“Weston?”

He looked up to find Connie coming out of her apartment, and he instantly smiled at the sound of her voice.

“Con!”

“Um, y-you’re early.”

For the first time, Weston realized she was wearing jeans, a white T-shirt, and a navy blazer. She had spit-shined brown loafers on her feet and her blonde hair was in a ponytail that trailed smartly over her shoulder in an elegant, uniform wave.

Weston chuckled lightly as he approached. “Not that you don’t look gorgeous, but is that what you’re wearing? To the wedding?”

“Um…I, uh…”

Her blue eyes widened, and she flicked a glance downward. He followed it to her hand, which clutched the handle of a rolling suitcase.

Snapping his eyes back up to hers, he searched her face, quickly realizing she looked sheepish and uncertain, maybe a little guilty.

“Are you going somewhere?” Weston asked, gesturing to the suitcase with the bouquet of flowers. When the cellophane rustled, heat flooded into his cheeks, and his breathing hitched.
I’m carrying flowers and she’s pulling a suitcase. Something’s wrong here.
“You’re coming to Fitz’s wedding with me today, right?”

Her eyes were sorry, but she averted them quickly and gestured to her apartment door, which was still cracked open. “Wes, come in for a second.”

He followed her into the apartment, staring at her suitcase for an extra moment when she leaned it against the wall of her vestibule.

Her apartment was dark and quiet without any of its usual mess. It looked like his apartment when he was planning to leave it for a while.

Connie sat down in a wingback chair in the living room and gestured for him to do the same, but he placed the flowers on her coffee table and put his hands on his hips, standing before her. “What’s going on here, Con?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled, reaching into her jacket and pulling out a white envelope with his name on it. “I was going to leave this for you.”

“Leave it?” He flicked his glance at the envelope like it contained Anthrax. “What does it say?” She offered it to him, but he shook his head. “You read it.”

After a long moment, she muttered, “Fine,” pursing her lips, then opening the envelope and pulling out a folded sheet of paper. Her blue eyes searched his face for a moment before she dropped them to the letter, but in that brief moment, he read defensiveness and a little bit of annoyance.

“Dear Wes,

There’s no easy way to say this.

I’ve left for Italy. My college boyfriend, Alfredo, lives in Florence and we’ve decided to give things another chance. I don’t imagine I’ll be back for a while.

Things just never really
happened
for us, did they? And yet, I worry that we’ll keep running back to each other for the excitement of it. But, I don’t want to be in a long-term dysfunctional relationship. I’d like to find something better. I want you to find something better, too.

I wanted to tell you sooner and in person, but I kept losing my nerve. Sorry to do this on Fitz’s wedding day.

Be happy.

Con”

Weston stared at her bowed head for several seconds. He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to take a deep breath, but his chest hurt. “Be happy? Be happy, Con? Be happy that you’re dumping me on my brother’s wedding day?”

When she looked up her eyes were sorry, and she spoke gently. “I’m not dumping you. I never promised you anything.”

“We’ve been sleeping together for almost a year.”

She shrugged lightly, looking away from him as she re-folded the letter. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Wes. We never committed to each other.”

That was true. They hadn’t.

“Do you love me?” he asked suddenly, instantly regretting it.

He and Connie had never burdened their relationship with feelings. What they had was casual, raw, raging, and fun. Love had never really entered the equation, and he recognized, somewhere deep inside, that it didn’t have a place in this conversation. Still, the die was cast and he stood motionless before her, waiting for her response.

“Oh, Wes…” She sighed. “Do you love
me
?”

He couldn’t form the word “Yes.” He couldn’t lie like that. Searching her beautiful blue eyes, he clenched his jaw and she gave him a small, sad smile. Sad. It was the first time she’d looked sad since he’d arrived. He’d clocked sorry, guilty, annoyed, and defensive, but not sad until now.

“Con,” he started, taking a step toward her as she stood from her chair. “We’ve never given this a chance, really. I mean, to love each other we’d need to trust each other, choose each other…we’ve never really done that. We sleep with each other for a few weeks, have a big fight, go our separate ways. But, we could—”