Wild about Weston (The English Brothers Book 5) (15 page)

His father took a deep breath, nodding as he searched Weston’s face. “Well, then, I need to tell you that—”

They were all distracted by a sudden ruckus in the front foyer. The sound of a door slamming, feet running, another door slamming, more running feet, getting closer.

“Molly?” a male voice yelled, echoing through the marble halls. “Molly?! Where are you?
MOLLY
?”

Suddenly, the double doors of the dining room burst open, and an enormous man stood—arms stretched, eyes wild—in the doorway.

“Molly!” he cried, zeroing in on her shocked face as he strode across the room to stand before her, “Thank God I found you!”

***

Molly felt the plate slipping from her hands and would be eternally grateful for Emily Edwards’ quick reflexes. When she was able to form words again, she’d need to remember to thank her new friend for catching it.

How the hell an unshaven, rumpled, wild-eyed Dusty Hicks had suddenly appeared in the dining room of the English family’s mansion the day after Daisy’s wedding was a question that seemed so absurd, she started laughing. Staring at Dusty’s face in shock, she felt the giggles start deep in her belly, making shoulders shudder as her eyes suddenly burned with embarrassment and her fists curled in fury.

She felt an arm—a strong, possessive, stable-smelling arm—slip around her waist and she stopped laughing immediately and blinked, looking up at Weston English as a flood of tears welled in her eyes.

“Molly,” murmured Weston, concern etched into his handsome face.

With her brain on overload, she tried to speak, but couldn’t. Her mouth opened, then closed quickly as Dusty demanded her attention and she jerked her neck to face him.

“Moll…” asked Dusty in his loudest, most belligerent voice, “who the
hell
is
this
?”

Emily Edwards’ father, Felix, the English’s gardener, suddenly appeared in the dining room doorway, huffing and puffing beside a confused butler.

“He…jumped…the wall. Left his car…by the gatehouse and…jumped the wall!” panted Felix. “I ch-chased him up to the…house.”

Emily quickly set Molly’s plate down on the table and rushed to her elderly father’s side, “Daddy, come sit.”

Molly’s cheeks flamed red as she watched Emily help her father to a seat at the table.

“Sir,” said the butler, directing a haughty glance at Dusty. “The family is not receiving guests this morning.”

Dusty narrowed his eyes at the butler before jabbing a finger in Molly’s direction. “I’m not here for the family. I’m here for
her
.”

Weston’s fingers curled painfully into her waist, and Molly covered them with her hand, peeling them away gently.

“That’s right,” drawled Dusty, sauntering a couple of steps closer to Molly. His wide expanse of muscled chest rose and fell rapidly under his rumpled, untucked flannel shirt. “Hands off my girl.”

“
Your
girl?” spat Weston.

“Last I checked.” Dusty dropped Weston’s eyes, sliding his gaze to Molly. “Baby, I know you’re mad and that’s why you didn’t answer my texts, but we need to talk.”

“He’s been texting you?” asked Weston.

“All night long,” purred Dusty. “And Molly played hard-to-get so I’d have to come here in person.”

“I never read one text,” said Molly, looking up at Weston. “Not one. I deleted them all.”

Weston gave her a thin smile, which gave her the courage to let go of her shock and embarrassment and face Dusty with steel in her voice. “I deleted them because there’s nothing to say, Dusty.”

“Baby, there’s lots to say.”

“Like what?”

“You want to talk in front of all these people?” he asked in a silky, teasing voice better suited to the bedroom than an audience of English brothers, their fiancées and girlfriends, two fathers and a butler.

“I don’t want—”

“Fine, baby.” He shrugged. “Here goes…Shana ain’t pregnant. I love you. I want you back.”

The world spun and Molly’s knees buckled, but Weston’s arm snaked around her waist again, pulling her against his body. At the same time, Dusty reached for her hand, but she slapped it away.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, testing her legs, grateful that they held.

“Aw, Mol…it was just a danged lie she made up. Something about you breaking her brother Joel’s heart in the eighth grade. She always wanted to get back at you for it. Said she just wanted to break us up, not get married.”

Molly had a quick mental flashback to creepy Joel Evans asking her to the eighth grade formal and swallowed hard.

“Well, she got her wish,” said Molly in a breathless voice, grateful for Weston’s support, but finally feeling strong enough to stand on her own and face Dusty. She took a step forward, getting ready to tell him off. “We are definitely broken up.”

“Come on. We were together a long time, baby. I want another chance.”

“Another
chance
?” she asked, followed by another bout of near-maniacal laughter. Weston reached for her, but she lurched away this time. It was too easy to lean on him, and she needed to face Dusty on her own as Weston had faced his father on his own a few minutes before. She could feel his strength and presence beside her, and she was grateful for his support, but this was
her
fight.

“You’re crazy as the loon, Dusty Hicks.”

Dusty took a step closer, offering his best smile—the one that had made Molly say yes so many times when she should have said no.

“Baby, look at me. I just made a mistake. You’re so sweet and good, Mol. You’re the one I love. You’re the one I want.”

Beside her, Weston cracked his knuckles, and she caught sight of his fingers curling into fists from the corner of her eye. She didn’t want a fight. No. Absolutely not. She needed to get Dusty out of here. She’d take him back to her apartment, give him back the ring and tell him to go home to Ohio.

“Dusty, we’ll go talk at my place. Wait for me outside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sounds good to me,” he said, his tone victorious.

Felix stood to escort Dusty back to the front gate and Molly turned to Weston. The confusion and pain in his eyes made her breath catch. “Wes, I just need to—”

He pursed his lips together and nodded. “Yeah, I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do, but he drove all the way here and I—”

“I understand,” said Weston, though it was clear from his clenched jaw and the hurt in his eyes that he didn’t.

“Wes, last night was—”

“You know what I just thought of, baby?” asked Dusty, turning around at the dining room doors to interrupt them. “Even if you screwed this guy, it’s okay by me, because I figure that’ll just make us even.”

Molly heard several light gasps as she spun with fury to face Dusty and tell him that there was no scenario on earth in which they’d be even. But, Weston was faster than she was. In three—two?—strides, he’d crossed the dining room and slammed his fist into Dusty’s face. Molly watched in horror as Dusty’s nose exploded in a flash of bright red before he faltered backwards into one of the two doors. Weston was on him again in an instant with another punch to the jaw and another to the gut.

“You. Don’t. Talk. To. Her. Like. That!”

Molly’s eyes were round and wild, her hands covering her mouth in horror as Barrett and Alex rushed forward to pull their brother off of Dusty. Thus restrained, Dusty was able to crawl up off the floor, draw back and get one good hit to Weston’s vulnerable stomach. As Barrett continued to pull Weston away, Alex hit Dusty once more in the face, splitting his lip as Dusty fell against the door, slumping to the floor.

“You hit my kid brother!” Alex bellowed, shaking out his fist and climbing over Dusty’s body to pull a worried Jessica against his side.

Molly could barely draw a full breath and tears streaked down her cheeks as she looked around the room at the shocked and upset faces, more and more eyes turning to her.

“I’m so…I’m so terribly…” Her breath hitched as she looked at Weston’s face, which was a mask of pain—both from his perception that she
wanted
to spend time with Dusty and from the blow he took to the stomach. She gasped softly, pushing away a new stream of tears. “Weston, I’m so…”

He dropped her eyes, looking down quickly, as though the sight of her was unbearable to him. Her chest tightened and she inhaled an audibly ragged breath.

“Mr. English, I’m so sorry,” she said to Weston’s father, who gave her a pained look and nodded.

Keeping her head down, she stepped over to the dining room door, and with Felix Edwards’ help, she lifted Dusty Hicks off the parquet floor and escorted him back out the front door.

“What the
fuck
?” demanded Alex, still holding Jessica close as he opened and closed his hand to flex his bruised knuckles.

Weston shrugged Barrett’s arm from around his shoulder, looking at his older brother with venom. “Thanks so much for helping him get that hit in, Bar.”

“I was trying to help, Wes. You’d already gotten him three or four times. You needed to stop.”

“Well, thanks again. It felt great.” Weston rubbed his aching stomach and looked around at the shocked faces of his family members. “Show’s over, everyone. Go back to breakfast.”

He didn’t trust his emotions, so he was unable to look his brothers, their girlfriends, or his father as he turned and left the dining room. Heading quickly up the stairs, he tried to ignore the ache in his heart that was far more painful than the punch to his abdomen. She’d left with her fiancé. After everything they’d shared last night and this morning, her sleezeball, scumbag ex showed up and within five minutes, she was gone.

Some part of him knew that that assessment was unfair and unkind—what else was she supposed to do? Have a huge fight with her ex-fiancé in front of virtual strangers?—but he couldn’t help it. Watching her walk away hurt. It just did.

Weston stripped out of his tux, hidden bits of hay scattering across his bedroom floor as he walked into his bathroom and turned on the shower. Stepping into the warmth, he leaned his forehead against the tile, clenching his jaw as the image of Molly reaching down to help Dusty ran through his head on a loop. What if they got back to her place and Dusty managed—with his “baby”s and “I love you”s—to coax her back into his arms? She and Weston hadn’t really promised each other anything. Their entire relationship hinged on a date tonight that he didn’t feel so certain of anymore. She’d programmed her address into his phone, but should he go over there tonight? God, what if she and Dusty had reconciled by then and Weston walked in on them—

He pounded the wall with his fist, turning around to let the hot water beat down on his back and savoring the sharpness. He was angry with himself too…why had he gotten so defensive? Why hadn’t he let her tell him whatever she was trying to say? She said,
I just need to…
To what? he wondered. What did she “just” need to do with her cheating jackass of a fiancé? Because that guy didn’t deserve an ounce of sweet Molly’s time. Not a minute. Not a second. And yet…there was nothing Weston could do about it right now. It was threatening to eat him alive, but there was nothing to be done.

He had one choice to make: go to Molly’s at six o’clock, or not. And he had a whole day before him to figure it out.

In the meantime, before her fuckhead fiancé—
ex-fiancé, Wes. EX
, he reminded himself—broke up their brunch, his father was about to tell him something that had seemed important. He turned his mind to his father and brothers, which, frankly, wasn’t a whole lot better than thinking about Molly. Yes, Barrett seemed to have softened, but Alex…Alex was still pissed. Except, Weston remembered, his lips twitching, Alex had taken down Dusty with one right hook after that sucker punch. It comforted Weston—hugely—that Alex had shown that kind of instant loyalty and protectiveness. Alex was pissed, yes. But he would come around. Even Weston’s father, with his inscrutable poker face, hadn’t seemed furious. A little disappointed, maybe, but resigned too. And something else…

As Weston toweled off and pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt, he realized he recognized the expression on his father’s face. It was the same one they all got when they figured out the answer to a complex situation or troubling problem. He knew what it meant: his father had a solution to Weston’s decision not to work for English & Sons, and if his dad’s face was any indication, it was a good solution.

Running a brush through his damp hair, he tugged on some leather slippers and headed back downstairs.

***

Molly barely said a word to Dusty as he drove them back to her apartment in his pick-up. At some point it had occurred to her that leaving her car at Haverford Park meant she’d have to go back for it later, but maybe that was part of her design. It gave her a bona fide reason to return. Her stomach flipped over when she recalled Weston’s face—he’d looked so betrayed, so hurt. When they stopped at a red light, Molly reached back and slapped Dusty’s face as hard as she could.

“Goddamn, Molly! What the hell was that for?”

“For punching Wes!”

“Did you miss the part where he hit me four times first?”

“You deserved it, Dusty. And more.”

He rubbed his cheek as he glanced over at her. She felt his gaze on her kiss-swollen lips and tousled hair. “But, I wasn’t wrong, was I? About you sleeping with him?”

“It’s green,” she said, her cheeks flushing. “And it’s none of your business.”

He shook his head. “I can’t believe you slept with him…I mean, we’re hardly broken up.”

“Wrong, Dusty. We are totally and completely broken up.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “My road’s the next up on the left.”

“Molly,” he said softly. “I meant what I said. I love you. I made a mistake. How do I get a second chance?”

“You don’t.”

“Why n—”

“Dusty, you were sleeping with her when I came home for Christmas,” Molly said, keeping her voice calm and even, despite the anger she still felt. She wanted to get this over with and she wanted Dusty to leave. The best way to achieve that end was to shoot down his dreams of a second chance as swiftly as possible, give him the ring and say goodbye. “You were sleeping with both of us at the same time. And I didn’t ask you to use a condom, because I thought I was sleeping with my future husband. And you sure as hell weren’t wearing a condom with her if she convinced you she was pregnant.”

The tips of his ears were bright red as he looked out the window.

“How could you do that to me?” she asked, all of the hurt and humiliation from yesterday morning taking center stage in her chest and squeezing. “That was
a horrible
thing to do. You should’ve just broken up with me at Christmas.”

“But I still loved you. I
do
love you.”

“You did maybe, once. But you don’t anymore. Come on, Dust, you don’t and we both know it. You don’t treat someone you love like that.”

“I was just lonesome, Mol. You were here. I was there. Shana was…persuasive.” He pulled into the parking lot of her small apartment complex and cut the engine.

“I’m sure,” she said, realizing she had no interest in fighting with him. Her chest relaxed and she filled her lungs. “Even if you hadn’t slept with Shana, though…You live there. I live here. I’m
staying
here.”

He sighed, looking around at the suburban apartment complex. “Maybe I could give Philly a try…”

“No,” she said gently, delivering the final blow. “I don’t love you anymore. There’s no second chance waiting for you here. This is over. I’m sorry.”

He turned to her, shaking his head with tears in his eyes. “I’m a fool, Molly Samaria. Just a damned fool.”

“Yes, you are.” She nodded. “But if you get back to Hopeview by this afternoon, Shana doesn’t ever need to know you were here. Maybe you two can—”

“I don’t want Shana,” he pouted.

“You must have liked something about her.”

Am I trying to convince him to be with her? Good Lord, this is a strange turn of events!

“I don’t want to talk about her. I’m just—I’m so sorry, Molly,” he said in a broken voice. “I screwed up my whole life.”

It shocked the hell out of Molly that tears didn’t spring into her eyes. Maybe she’d said goodbye to Dusty in her heart a long time ago. Or maybe Friday night’s news had killed any remaining tenderness she felt for him. Or maybe…maybe it was just that her heart had already been claimed by someone new. She wasn’t sure why, but suddenly she didn’t feel angry or sad, she only felt relief. She felt free from Dusty and free to follow her heart.

“You’ll see. It’s for the best.” She reached out and touched Dusty’s hand. “Wait here and I’ll go get the ring for you, okay?”

Tears were streaming down Dusty’s face when he turned to her. “I’m gonna miss you.”

She couldn’t say the same, so she gave Dusty a grim smile, patting his hand before pulling away. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

While he waited in the car, she slipped into her apartment. Getting down on her hands and knees she searched the corner of the apartment where she’d hurled the ring, finally finding it keeping the dust bunnies company under her TV stand. Charming wove between her legs, begging for his breakfast.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised him.

Dusty started the car as she stepped back outside, and rolled down his window so she could drop the ring in his palm.

“That guy looked pretty rich, Mol.”

“He is.”
…but instead of devoting his life to making more money, he’s going to do something amazing.

Her lips tilted up as she thought of him standing up to his father and brothers this morning. Her heart swelled with pride and tenderness as she remembered his eyes cutting to hers before he said his piece.

“That why you want him?”

Dusty’s voice pulled her back to reality and she pursed her lips, shaking her head as her patience and compassion for Dusty took a big dip at his insinuation. “Nope.”

“I hope he treats you better’n I did.”

“I think he will,” she answered, then winced, remembering his hurt face and furious eyes right before he punched Dusty in the face.
If we can get things back on track.

“Take care of yourself, Molly.”

“Safe drive home, Dusty,” she answered, stepping back on the curb and waving goodbye as he drove away.

***

When Weston reached the bottom of the stairs, Stratton was waiting for him. His older brother adjusted his glasses, which was a nervous tell, and bobbed his chin down the hall toward their father’s office.

“Dad wants to see you. In his study.”

Weston nodded, turning in that direction, surprised when Stratton followed him. “You too?”

“All of us,” said Stratton grimly.

The door to the study was open and Weston’s father sat behind his century-old antique cherry desk. Weston remembered all the times he’d used the desk for a Hide & Seek spot, loving the smells of stale cigar smoke mixed with scotch and leather. He’d been so sure that was the life he wanted for himself too…until he wasn’t.

Barrett, Fitz, and Alex were all seated on the button-tufted brown leather sofa across from his father’s desk and Kate sat in one of the elegant wingback chairs in front of the fireplace. Weston entered the room without making eye contact with anyone and sat down in the free wingback, while Stratton perched on the arm of his chair. He looked expectantly up at his father, wondering what was coming next.

Tom English, who’d still been fairly dashing when he met Weston’s mother Eleanora at a ski resort in 1981, looked older now. His graying hair was thinning and his wrinkles seemed deeper. He’d always carried around a gut, despite the way his wife kept after him to play tennis, ride, and swim with regularity. But his eyes had creased laugh lines that had always made him feel approachable, despite his intimidating business acumen and success. He looked up at Weston and sighed.

“So…we have our first deserter.”

Nobody chuckled at this opening, though Weston wondered if it was meant to lighten the moment. Alex scoffed softly and shot a look to Weston, which Weston felt but didn’t return.

“Wes, when you decided to pursue law school, I understood that it was for the purposes of joining me and your brothers at English & Sons. Was I wrong in that assumption?”

“No, sir.”

“Yet you aspire to a different career path now, two weeks before the bar.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I sense this isn’t a trivial decision. I sense that you’re not just motivated by your brain, but by your heart.”

“Yes, sir. I feel strongly about making a difference.”

“Not the sort of difference that makes a million or two a year?” his father asked, his face soft as he tented his hands under his chin.

“The money is compelling, but my trust fund will ensure a comfortable life. Whatever employment I seek will simply augment that income.”

“True.” Tom English sighed again, looking around the study at each of his sons, catching their eyes for a moment before returning to Weston. “You’re letting down your brothers.”

Weston swallowed. “Which bothers me more than I can express.”

“And speaks to your commitment to the DA’s office.”

Weston’s eyes stung, suddenly, from this unexpected reprieve, and he held his father’s eyes with gratitude as Tom continued speaking.

“I’m proud of you, Wes. I’m proud of all my sons, but I’m so damn proud of you for figuring out what you want to do with your life and committing to making it happen. Have you applied yet?”

“N-No, sir.”

“I’ll put in a call to Seth Garrison, the Assistant District Attorney. We go all the way back to undergrad.”