by Snow, Nicole
After putting everything away, I head to Ben’s floor. I see Jingles sitting at the top of the stairs. He greets me with a friendly meow, licking himself, and I stop to stroke his head on the way up.
My knuckles tap at his bedroom door. I wait. When he doesn’t respond after twenty seconds, I open the door.
He’s sleeping like the dead, all right. Snoring so loud it's like a lumber mill.
I cross the room. It’s after noon, so I’ll see if he’s hungry.
I'm reaching for him, but my hand stalls before I touch his shoulder when I see it.
Something that shouldn't be there.
Pictures lying on the covers next to him. Several pics. Wedding pictures of Cory and Juno.
Fuck!
Trying not to panic, I tiptoe around the other side of his bed and start gathering them up, looking at each one a bit closer. Most are far off shots.
The close-ups are only of Juno. Luckily, none of them are of the three of them.
“Hey, Dad? When did you get home?”
I bite the inside of my lip for a second, wondering how to handle this.
Wondering how Wendy would suggest I handle this.
“Just a few minutes ago. Came to wake you up. You hungry yet?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He sits up, rubbing his eyes, then stares at the photos peeking out of my hands. “Why didn’t you show me those?”
I know he’s referring to the pictures. Rather than answer, I ask, “Where did you get them?”
“We found them. They were in a box in the garage.”
Shit. I could've sworn they were all in my office, behind lock and key, along with all the files I've kept related to the fire.
Am I losing it? Or is it just the past weekend leaving my mind rattled?
“Son...why were you digging around in the garage?”
“Uncle Sloan was looking for a sweatshirt to wear to the game. He thought we had a few packed away. Said it was from that time years ago, when we all went to a couple games, and then the stuff we'd bought got mixed into the cleaning the next week. Remember?”
“I don't,” I say coldly. I'm not pissed at him, but myself, because I should remember something. “I'm not sure about that, Ben. You have several shirts in your closet, too. Your sweatshirt might've fit him.”
“Oh, we tried. But they were all too small.”
I chew on that, knowing how big a guy Sloan is. Ben likes them overly large, though, and I swear what he has in the closet would even be big enough for me.
“He found the one he was looking for after we went digging,” Ben says.
“He did?” I blink. Fuck, why doesn't this make any sense? Where's my brain?
“Yeah. It was there just like he said, tucked away in a box of old stuff. Along with these pictures.”
For the life of me, I don’t recall a box of stuff out there. Not with hockey sweatshirts. Definitely not with these pictures in it.
But he's right about one thing: we had gotten all that stuff at a game years ago. And some of it had gotten packed away. I remember the spring cleaning, when the staff came through like a whirlwind, collecting old stuff for donation and filing away the toys he'd gotten too old for.
That had to be it. I can't believe anything else. Or that Sloan would lie to me.
He knows the dangers of Ben learning the truth better than anybody besides me. The damage it could do.
Hell, Sloan was the one who insisted Ben should never learn Cory is his real father. Not for many years, anyway.
I cringe when I think about him learning I'm one more uncle, in reality, even if we share the same blood.
Once, I'd argued the truth would do him good once he'd reached this age. Now, it’s gone on so long...fuck.
I can't have Ben finding out I’ve lied to him for twelve years. Even if I did it to protect him and our little family.
I don't want anyone knowing. No one except Sloan. Wendy would skin me alive if she found out.
It's not like I never second-guessed what I was doing. There were late nights over beers where I asked if I was doing the right thing, but Sloan always made me see reason.
He made me see how much it would hurt Ben, how little he'd trust me after, and for what? Just to learn both his biological parents are dead?
Just to find out I've never solved a fucking thing about their murder – I'm convinced it wasn't an accident, no matter what the reports say – and that I never got over losing my brother?
“Dad?” Ben's voice sounds like it's coming from the end of a tunnel. Uneasy. Distant.
“Yeah? Yeah, what's up?”
“Why didn’t you want me to see those? Do you...do you think maybe I’m not old enough to see my mother? Can’t handle the fact that she's dead?”
My heart turns to stone. I pinch my eyes shut ferociously, a second longer than I really should, before I look at him and face the music.
“No, Ben. Of course not. I’ve always said you're welcome to remember her as you'd like at any time. Guess I just didn't think you'd want to until now, when you're growing up.”
“Yeah, maybe. I mean, you always said she died in a fire, but what about us? How’d we survive? You never said much about how you dealt with it? Not to bring back bad memories or whatever.”
He's tiptoeing around the obvious. Just a good, kind, curious young man who wants to know who he is, and where he came from.
And I'm the asshole holding out.
Christ. I don’t want to deal with this right now. I so don't want to.
Thanks, Sloan. Thanks a lot, I think to myself, gritting my teeth.
Guilt strikes a second later, though. It’s not Sloan’s fault.
If it wasn’t for him, Ben wouldn’t be here. I wouldn't be here to take care of him, either.
He was the one who saved me when I had a hole in my leg, minutes from being put out of my misery by those leering, pissed off insurgents who'd kill me in a heartbeat. He saved my life.
He was the man who’d pulled Ben out of the burning house, too. He just hadn’t been able to get to Cory or Juno. The flames spread too fast. By the time the fire department showed up, there was nothing left.
What happened in Afghanistan was almost a miracle, if I'm being honest. And what happened here in Saint Paul all those years ago was one more, when he'd stopped by their place to drop off a letter, he'd said. A handwritten apology to Cory for all the tension at Landmark. A promise he'd get his act together, after I'd been good enough to bring him into the company fold.
And he sure as hell did get it together that night. He saved my son's life. He salvaged Ben from what would've been an even bigger, soul-killing tragedy.
“What really happened that night, Dad?” Ben asks, sitting up, swinging his legs over to the floor. Those big blue eyes of his are so much like mine in the mirror when I'm deep in thought. Or demanding answers.
I almost choke. Somehow, I find my thoughts and answer him.
“We saved you in the nick of time,” I say, not quite lying. “Sloan was there, remember? He did his best, he woke me up, and...and I was there right away. But the flames were too strong for me to go back in for her. I couldn't save Juno.”
When I force myself to look at him again, I see another familiar look: fear.
Maybe it's because I realize he sees me with my jaw pinched so tight my teeth are about to break. It's hell for a boy to see his father like that, so I force myself to relax and plop down on the bed next to him.
“I'm sorry if I haven't been as forthcoming as I should, son. It's a bad place. One I don't like to go back to.” I'm brutally honest about that, even if it's not for the reasons he thinks.
“You really loved her, didn’t you, Dad?” His hand hits my shoulder and his skinny fingers dig in. It's almost a man's grip, him getting stronger and older all the time. “Jeez. I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn't –”
I feel like the biggest fucking lowlife on Earth when I whirl around and see the tears in his eyes. So I sh
ut my yap and throw my arms around him, squeezing him so tight we both hurt.
“Forget it, buddy. I love you,” I say, giving him a hug. “Whatever else happened before, Papa's here. And he loves you more than anything.”
11
Everything We Thought We Knew (Wendy)
“Well, Wendy, what did you expect?” I throw the phone onto the sofa.
My own words echo in my head bitterly. Of course, he didn’t answer my call or text messages.
Of course, he doesn’t want a fricking thing to do with me. And shouldn’t.
He said it was a game. That’s exactly what it was. A game to him.
All of this.
Thank God I didn’t drive over to his house. I’d considered it.
But why? Because I want a repeat of what happened almost a week ago?
Duh. I'd wanted it bad. That's why every day without an answer from him just gets more excruciating, more disappointing, more infuriating.
“I expected better,” I say. “And I guess I was an idiot.”
Then I shake my stupid head. I’m nuts. I’m not only talking to myself, I’m answering myself.
I pivot, stomping into the tiny kitchen of my apartment. My lonely, one-bedroom apartment.
The place where I’ll spend the rest of my life alone. My hideous life.
I just wish I'd expected this.
Hunter Forsythe is so far out of my league I can’t even buy tickets to the stadium. I know that. Have always known it since the day we met.
I must be hungry, though. Haven’t eaten since my lunch break hours ago.
That must be it. I always get jittery when I’m hungry. Hangry, they say, and it's become one of my favorite words over the years.
Jittery, yes. Psycho, no. It’s only three.
I tell myself it's Friday. Hunter's a busy man. He might've taken a nap or had his phone turned off. Maybe something came up with Ben.
Only, Hunter doesn’t seem like a nap kind of guy.
He sure didn’t get much sleep the night of Rochelle's wedding. Neither did I. Maybe that’s it. I’m just tired. Drained.
“Or psycho, after all,” I tell myself.
My phone dings loudly. I nearly trip myself turning and run to the living room, diving onto the couch to grab it.
I see his name and smile, even though it's hardly cause for good news until I read the words.
Sorry I haven't been able to get in touch the past few days. A lot going on with Landmark and my friend, Sloan.
Just took Ben out for a snack and then grocery shopping. Just got home. How’d it go with the new bride this week?
Happiness, forgiveness, bursts inside me so big and bright I’m nearly floating. I start typing furiously. No problem. I said I’d call or tex—
I stop, delete everything, and set the phone down. Hold up. I need to think this through.
Really think this through.
I'm jumping to instantly reply to a man who made me wait days for anything.
Thankfully I’d only called once and sent him a single text. It was pure nerve-hell just doing that, but I’d controlled myself. I need to do it again. Think about what I'm expecting.
Because a few minutes ago, I’d nearly gone as ballistic as Rochelle. Maybe worse.
But he did leave me hanging, and I can't let that go so easily.
Ugh. What do I text? Technically, he'd fulfilled his end of the bargain with flying colors. The wedding is done and over. He'd been my date and my first...everything.
My heart leaps as my phone dings again. I’m almost afraid to look at it, but I'm too excited not to.
Then disappointment hits. It’s not from Hunter. It’s from Josh. I open the message.
Hey Wendy, it's Josh. Could I get Hunter’s number? I need to let him know I still have his hundred bucks. That whole thing with Ricardo...believe it or not, it wasn't me.
The sitter called, and we had to get home early. Allie was running a temp. I never got a chance to convince anyone to swallow a fish.
I smile. That makes me feel slightly better about the pure insanity Rochelle will never live down.
I also feel bad for Allie, their youngest daughter. Only three.
I contemplate whether or not I should give out Hunter’s number for a moment. Then, finally, I copy and paste it into my reply before I type back.
There you go. I think he's usually around in the evenings. Hope Allie's feeling better. I'm amazed it wasn't you because Ricardo swallowed three fish. Marco’s brother. Crazy.
After I hit send, I open Hunter’s message and type.
Hey. Hope everything is good with Ben. Good to hear you got him fed. He has a hollow leg.
I pause before sending the next message. So...I hope it’s okay that I gave Josh your number. He still has your money and asked if he could return it. They had to leave early because one of their girls was sick. Amazingly, he never got a chance to convince anyone to swallow a fish. It just happened on its own.
A new message from Josh pops in as soon as I send Hunter’s.
No shit? That’s classic! Allie’s better now. Just a cold.
I grin at the first half of Josh’s response. Poor little girl. Give her a hug from me! And yes, it was classic! And disgusting!
A message from Hunter pops in.
Damn. And here I was looking forward to paying out another two hundred bucks. Oh well. Hope their daughter is feeling better. What are you doing?
I curl my legs beneath me and snuggle into the couch.
I’m sure you were. Allie, that’s their three-year-old daughter, had a cold. I just got home. You?
I hit send and hold my breath while watching the screen. Waiting for his response.
So focused, I jump when my phone rings. And smile at his name lit bright on the screen. I swipe the answer button. I flinch inwardly, thinking I should've waited for at least one more ring.
“You never said how your wedding cake appointment went,” his voice growls into my ear.
I grin. “Oh, fine. The wedding’s not until February.”
“Valentine’s Day?”
“Nearly,” I say, closing my eyes at how hard my heart is thudding.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. You?”
“Just calling to see if you want to come over for supper. Ben and I picked up some steaks.”
I can barely speak through the excitement bubbling up. But I force myself to regain my wits.
“That depends,” I say, trying to sound cold. “I know you had a lot going on, but...five days, Hunter? That's how long you waited to say anything?”
He pauses. “Had to think through some shit, if I'm being honest. Not you, Sugar, but Ben. And the company. The Christmas party's coming up soon and I need to make an appearance there for morale. I'm sorry, I know I should've texted. Won't happen again.”
Satisfied, I take a breath and nod.
“Then yum. Steaks. What time?”
“Whenever. You can come over now, if you'd like.”
I can think this whole thing through later. “All right. Anything I can bring?”
“Just your own beautiful self.”
Predictably, he leaves me at a loss for words, and the call screen blinks ENDED before I can say anything back.
Bastard. Gorgeous, way-too-good-for-life bastard.
I shoot off the couch. There’s very little food in my apartment, so I grab my purse and coat and head for the door. I have to bring something.
At the store, I grab some fresh spinach, strawberries, walnuts, and a lemon to make a salad. Something quick, easy, refreshing, and made to go with everything.
I park in the driveway and as I walk up, I notice a cat huddled in the corner of the front porch. A plump, shivering silver-blue cat with big gold eyes. On the top step, I kneel down. “Here, kitty, kitty.”
The cat barrels into my arms and snuggles his head into my chin.
“Oh, poor baby, you’re so cold!”
Ben opens the door. �
��Hey, Wendy.”
I stand up. “Hey, Ben. Do you own a cat?” I hadn’t seen one the other time I was here, but had seen cat food in the cupboards. “Found this guy in the corner of the porch.”
He frowns. “Yeah, that’s Jingles! What the...” Petting the cat’s head, he asks, “What are you doing outside, boy?”
Hunter appears in the doorway behind him with a sexy look that instantly weakens my knees.
God. And I do mean instantly. Even before he flashes me that smirk.
“Jingles was outside, Dad,” Ben says, taking the cat from my arms.
Hunter frowns and cocks his head as he takes the grocery bag from me. “He was? Odd. He never goes outside.”
“I know!” Ben carries the cat inside. “Jesus. He’s shivering. How long was he out there?”
“We’ve had Jingles for years.” Hunter closes the door as we step inside and looks at me. “The only time he's ever outside is when we take him to the vet. Very unusual.”
“Maybe he ran out earlier, when you went shopping or came home?” I suggest.
“Not likely. He's a skittish boy, afraid of strangers and loud noises. We went out through the garage like usual and came back in that way. He usually waits at the door, but he never tries to go out there.” Hunter then asks Ben, “Did you see him before we went shopping?”
“No.” Ben scratches the back of his neck, deep in thought. “So weird. I don’t remember seeing him last night, either, come to think of it.” He looks at Hunter. “Man, I hope he wasn’t outside all night.”
I sense how concerned they both are and step forward to rub the cat’s head. “I’m sure he’s fine, but he might be hungry.”
Then Ben sets him down.
“I’ll go feed him.” Ben takes off down the hallway, and the cat follows like he already knows there's food coming.
“What’s this?” Hunter holds up my bag.
My lips tingle at the way he’s looking at me, and my heart flutters. “Just a salad. I know you said not to bring anything, but...”
He leans closer. “But we'll eat light for dinner. And then we’ll have some alone time, later. Good thinking, Sugar.”