Sweet, Sweet Pursuit: An AMBW Romance (Sweet Treats Book 3)

by Nia Arthurs

  Her heart broke all over again.

  She quickly glided out of the room so she could sob in the empty hallway without disturbing him.

  A few minutes later, Benson emerged. He saw her on the floor and swiped his face with his hand. “Hey, I thought you were in the waiting room.”

  “I was.” Carrie scrambled to her feet. “I just wanted to check on you.”

  The smile he offered was weak and brittle. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Carrie wanted to believe him. “Okay.”

  “Come on.” Benson threw his arms around her. “I’ll take you home.”

  ‘I’m fine’ was Benson’s anthem for the next few days. Everyone at the club walked eggshells around him, afraid to so much as breathe in his direction in case he shattered. Benson’s façade of strength and poise was so fragile, even a blind man could see it.

  She wanted to comfort him, be there for him, but how was she supposed to do any of that when Benson kept insisting he didn’t need any help?

  Carrie felt like a stalker at this point. After all the rejected offers, the one-word text messages and the silence, she was about ready to give up.

  “Alright, Zeke, you can tape it up there.” Carrie shaded a hand over her eyes and watched the bartender like a hawk as he placed the ‘Closed For A Funeral’ sign beneath the black bow they’d purchased the day after Stacie passed.

  “Finally,” Zeke mumbled, climbing down from the ladder.

  “You have something to say to me?” Carrie frowned.

  “No, it’s just…”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been on edge ever since Stacie…” Zeke shook his head. “We’re all sad about what happened, but between Benson staring off into space half the time and you acting like a drug addict in withdrawal, we’re all freaking out.”

  “About what?” Carrie yelled.

  “What’ll happen to the bar?” Zeke rubbed the back of his neck.

  Carrie sucked in a breath. “I don’t know.” She lifted her chin and brushed his concerns away. “But that’s not the important thing right now. The owner of Hidden Reef is gone. We’re going to pay our respects and worry about the rest later.”

  Zeke shrugged and trudged ahead of her to the car. Wendy and Tanya were already inside. Carrie had agreed to give them a ride to the church.

  Her passengers were silent as she drove, as she parked and even when they entered the church.

  Carrie accepted a funeral program from the elderly woman at the door and stared at the front page. Stacie’s beaming face smiled up at her. Her fingers trembled and she dug them into the paper.

  Every harsh word and complaint she’d uttered against her boss shamed her now. Stacie had always been fond of her, treated her like a family member instead of just an employee.

  She’d nagged. A lot. But that was a surrogate, older sister thing. Carrie wished she’d appreciated her more while she was alive. Now all this guilt and regret was too little, too late.

  Already, her eyes were burning. She held the tears back and followed Zeke to a pew at the back. The church was half-filled. The crowd would get bigger as latecomers trickled in.

  Carrie spotted Benson sitting in the front row. A small woman with pale skin and a big black hat rested beside him. She figured that must be the aunt who’d raised him and Stacie.

  As much as she wanted to go over and hug him, Carrie remained seated and tried to pay attention to the service. The pastor was an energetic man who wore a three-piece suit and carried an iPad instead of a Bible.

  He clutched the microphone close and spoke calmly, “The only thing we can predict in life is that things will change.”

  Carrie’s eyes darted to Benson. He was sitting upright, like a steel rod had been attached to his back. His gaze lingered on Stacie’s casket. His aunt reached over and held his hand.

  The pastor’s mike boomed in the background. “Are you happy with your life?”

  Carrie shifted in her seat. Must not look at Benson.

  Five seconds later, her eyes gravitated to the back of his head again.

  “Do you know why you were born?”

  Nope. Not at all.

  “I believe you were born for a reason, and just like no one knows this electronic tablet,” he held up the iPad, “better than the manufacturer who made it, I think someone created you and they know you better than anyone else.”

  Carrie’s phone buzzed.

  She glanced down and saw a new text.

  BENSON: I’m fine.

  Shocked, she lifted her head and looked his way again. Only this time, Benson wasn’t rigid and staring straight ahead. His eyes found hers. He lifted the corners of his lips reassuringly.

  They were at his sister’s funeral.

  Nothing about this moment was romantic in the least.

  And yet her heart started thudding like crazy.

  Her phone chirped again.

  BENSON: I miss you.

  She dug her fingers into her dress and exhaled deeply. The butterflies beating the lining of her stomach refused to quiet down.

  Carrie bit the inside of her cheek. She’d been running from her feelings since the moment she laid eyes on Benson Choi, but there was no denying it now.

  She’d gone and fallen for him. Big time.

  23

  The past few days had been a rush of emotions and arrangements. Before this, he’d never have guessed how complicated funeral planning could be. Or maybe it was just him. Maybe he labored over every decision because he didn’t want to believe he was actually planning Stacie’s funeral.

  Pushing Carrie away had been a necessary coping mechanism. She was like the sunlight, but he’d delved into a dark place and her light was so blinding it hurt.

  “She died too soon.” Aunt Mae sobbed as the workers shoveled dirt on top of Stacie’s coffin.

  Benson’s jaw trembled. The lump forming in his throat warned that he was on the verge of tears. So he bit down on his lip and kept it in.

  Strong. He had to be strong for his aunt and uncle. Had to send Stacie off the way she would have wanted. His sister wasn’t big on dramatics. She’d hate to hear that he’d ruined her funeral by leaping into the casket and begging God to bring her back.

  The sun was low in the sky. Benson felt numb as Stacie’s friends and associates gathered close to him, muttering their condolences and walking off in a haze of grim sobriety.

  Stacie’s gone.

  Those two words didn’t belong in the same sentence.

  “Benson.” He heard his aunt and dragged his gaze away from the mount of fresh dirt atop his sister’s grave.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re going back to the house. Would you like to come with us?”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” She bobbed her head. Aunt Mae was a short lady with thinning black hair, a wide, friendly face, and almond-shaped eyes. She was always smiling growing up. But that trademark grin was gone now.

  He wondered when it would appear again.

  If ever.

  “Is Uncle…?”

  “He’s fine.” She glanced over her shoulder to where her husband sat in a wheelchair. “The plane ride was hard on him, but we wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  Benson knew the travel had been a sacrifice. His uncle had been diagnosed with diabetes a few years back. They’d caught it just before it spread too far, but they’d had to amputate his leg up to his knee and that made any movement difficult.

  Aunt Mae grabbed both his cheeks in her hands and turned his face toward her. Benson stared into her familiar brown eyes and fought back his rising panic.

  Would he really never see Stacie again? Never again tease her about her affinity for heavy black eyeliner? Never again get scolded for working too much?

  He sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know… if I can leave her.”

  “Stay as long as you want.” Aunt Mae brought his head down to kiss his cheek. She smelled like peppermint.

  If he closed hi
s eyes, he could pretend he was a kid again, standing at the head of his parents’ graves, taking her hand as she smiled at him and ushered him home.

  Benson straightened and her fingers fell away. Aunt Mae clutched the fluttering lapels of her black jacket and strode back to his uncle. Out of the corner of his eye, Benson saw her pushing the wheelchair.

  A part of him wanted to follow her and help her navigate through the burial ground. A recent rain had turned the path into mushy clay puddles and he didn’t want her shoes to get messed up.

  Still, he couldn’t tear himself away from Stacie’s side.

  Benson hadn’t felt this way when he saw his sister’s body at the hospital or when she was in the casket lying in front of the pulpit. He’d even gotten through the burial without any problems.

  But this…? The moment he walked away from this plot, he’d be leaving Stacie behind and that was unacceptable.

  The sky was a brilliant orange and purple hue. Tree leaves shuddered in the wind. Flowers popped up untamed and beautifully wild. If not for the graves, he could imagine this place being a stunning garden.

  Maybe it still could be. If someone was into morbid romance.

  “Benson!”

  His ears perked.

  Carrie shuffled toward him, her chest heaving with each breath. Red mud splattered the front of her knee-length black dress and caked the width of her black heels. Her hair streamed down her shoulders and she wiped the sweat from her skin with the back of her hand.

  Just looking at her made his heart expand and contract all at the same time. Her presence was a gift and he didn’t feel like he deserved anything right now.

  “Were you here the entire time?” he asked.

  “No. I had Zeke, Wendy and the other guys, so I dropped them back to Hidden Reef and rushed here.” She bent over and clutched her knees, gasping. “I ran, but the ground was sticky…”

  Benson grabbed his handkerchief, turned toward her and dried her face off. Carrie went still, watching him as if she was scared that moving an inch would chase him away.

  Benson smiled sadly and handed her the cloth. “I’m sorry you had to ruin your shoes.”

  “It’s fine. These are an old pair anyway.” She moved close to his side.

  Benson winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “I should have introduced you to my aunt and uncle earlier. I wasn’t thinking—”

  “Benson. Benson…” She took his hand, her eyes soft. “It’s okay. We can put a pause on things until you’ve sorted yourself out.”

  “What?” ‘Put a pause on things?’ That sounded like a break-up line in disguise. Hoping he’d misunderstood her, Benson shook his head. “Carrie, I—”

  “Am I interrupting?” A voice cut him off.

  Benson turned and froze.

  Luis.

  His sister’s boyfriend had tan skin, narrow eyes and a thick head of hair that looked messy and in desperate need of a wash. The black shirt and jeans he’d thrown on looked like they could use a wash too.

  He clutched two crutches in his thick fingers and the wooden ends clacked against the ground as he limped over to them.

  Anger crept into his heart; rising the closer Luis drew. Common sense told him that Luis wasn’t responsible for his sister’s death. It was an accident. Just an accident.

  Still, he needed someone to blame and, since the other driver was dead, Luis would just have to cut it.

  Carrie stepped back. “I should let you two talk.”

  “Carrie, wait…”

  She pretended not to hear.

  He watched her walk off, wanting to run after her and clarify what the hell she’d meant about pausing things. Benson had no interest in letting her go after fighting so hard to have her.

  As Carrie faded into the distance, he wielded around and glared at Luis.

  The older man wasn’t looking at him though. His gaze was fixed on Stacie’s tombstone.

  “I’m so sorry.” Tears spilled from Luis’s eyes. One after the other. They soaked the ground like the rain that had washed the city a few days ago.

  “Sorry isn’t going to get her back, is it?” he grumbled harshly.

  Luis bucked as if the words were a hundred jolts of electricity. He bowed his head and dropped to his knees in the dirt. Benson’s first reaction was to haul him up, but he held his hands at his sides and clenched his jaw.

  Luis dug his fingers into the ground and bawled like a baby. “I should have done so many things differently. If I’d known it would have ended this way, I would have been better.”

  Benson watched Luis curl into a ball and weep. Mixed in with his frustration, he felt… jealous. What would it be like to break down like that? Not care what anyone else said about him. Just let it out.

  He didn’t have that privilege. Or maybe he was avoiding the luxury.

  Either way, Benson couldn’t look at Luis while he broke down so he stared at the sky instead and inhaled the scent of damp earth that still lingered in the graveyard.

  Luis used his crutches to maneuver clumsily to his feet. The front of his T-shirt and jeans were wrecked. Maybe he’d worn those clothes on purpose, knowing he’d be facedown in the dirt.

  Luis wiped his tears with the back of his hand, leaving a mask of mud under his eyes. “I’ve gone over that day a million times in my head,” he said softly, “torturing myself with if-onlys.”

  Benson said nothing.

  At this point, he guessed that Luis didn’t care if he had an audience. The man trembled like a leaf and groaned. “If only I’d left work a few minutes earlier. If only I’d gotten on the road sooner. If only I reacted more quickly when I saw that truck heading for us.”

  “That won’t do any good.” Benson shifted uneasily. He knew because he’d been going through the same thing. Benson wished he’d gone for Stacie that day. There was no guarantee that she wouldn’t have died if he’d been behind the wheel, but it was a cycle he couldn’t break.

  Luis swallowed audibly. “I wish it had been me.”

  “Me too.”

  “Stacie really loved you, you know.” Luis looked at him, his glassy eyes hovering over Benson’s face. “She mentioned you at least twice a day. You were like her son. She would have done anything for you.” He laughed, a hollow sound. “She was totally planning on kicking your ex’s butt if that girl had been home.”

  Benson chuckled in spite of himself. “I believe you.”

  The men went quiet.

  Benson got lost in the memories of his sister and figured that Luis was thinking the same.

  “She was an incredible woman,” Luis said eventually.

  Benson nodded.

  “Are you going to stay?”

  “I don’t think I’m strong enough to leave.” Benson slipped his hands into his pants pockets and turned to Luis. “But I’m gearing up to it.”

  “Come on.” Luis stepped close to him.

  Benson leaned back. “What are you doing?”

  “Punch me.”

  Benson blinked. “What?”

  “It’s okay.” Luis nodded. His body went limp and his dirty fingers trembled. “Just ignore the crutches. You know you want to. It’s what I deserve.”

  It was in that moment, watching the raw pain in Luis’s eyes, that Benson realized he’d never be ‘fine’. Not with his fists plunging Luis’s face. Not standing here in the graveyard. Not when he went back home. Not today or tomorrow or maybe not in a year.

  And that was… okay.

  He let out a freeing breath as twilight descended. “Go home, Luis.”

  Eyes bugging, Luis stopped in his tracks. “You leaving?”

  “Yeah.” Benson spun on his heels and stalked away from Stacie’s grave. Every step shocked him like a knife shuttling up his foot, but he kept going and, pretty soon, the pain was confined to his chest only.

  He caught a cab and sat back, watching the city lights blur outside his window. When the taxi stopped, he glanced up. “
Wait, why am I here?”

  “This is the address you gave,” the driver said, arching an eyebrow in suspicion.

  Benson dug his wallet out. “I did?”

  “I heard you with my own ears.” The guy accepted the money. “This is the place.”

  Dazed, Benson climbed out of the car and slammed the door. The driver barely waited a second before he drove off, leaving him behind.

  Exhausted and second-guessing himself, Benson made his way up the stairs of Carrie’s apartment building, struggling to remember what number Carrie had rattled off on Sunday when she’d given him directions to her place.

  Finally, he found the right one and knocked.

  No response.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and backed up a step. Maybe she wasn’t home?

  Suddenly, the door swung open.

  Carrie stood in the doorway wearing a T-shirt and tiny shorts.

  His mind went blank. “Hey, I just thought I’d...” Benson didn’t get to say another word as Carrie dragged him into her apartment and shut the door.

  24

  Carrie ran her fingers through Benson’s hair. He’d fallen asleep in her lap. His head was heavy, she’d admit, but for now the dull ache in her thighs could be ignored. She’d wake him and drag him to bed when it was unbearable.

  Her exploration moved from his silky black hair to his forehead. He had slight wrinkle lines from where his skin scrunched when he frowned. Her fingers traced his temple, his ear, his cheeks. He breathed peacefully, nostrils flaring ever so slightly.

  The unease in her heart had fled the moment she spotted him outside her door struggling to explain why he was there.

  Carrie hadn’t spoken about the funeral or asked if he was okay. She’d pulled him in, sat him on the couch and fed him leftovers from lunch. After, they watched a movie. Or she watched the movie and Benson conked out on her shoulder.

  If his head was a rock on her thighs, it had been a boulder on her shoulder. She’d gotten him away from that section of her body and into her lap real quick.

  But now, the movie was over and her only entertainment was snoring lightly in her arms.