BENTLEY

by Olivia Chase

  “I…” He clears his throat. “I never told the police as much about it as I wanted to. As I should have. I was so scared, so mixed up. I’m the only one who knows everything about that night. Well, me and him .”

  I know who he means. The murderer .

  I stroke his back. “You were a child. It’s okay. It was a horrific experience .”

  “My adoptive parents just wanted to move on and forget about what I’d been through,” he continues. “They knew my situation when they took me in, but we never discussed it. Not once. So the secret of my mom’s death…it was a burden I shouldered alone .”

  My heart breaks anew for him. I imagine him as a young boy, trying to move on, but feeling like no one wants to hear what he saw. Even so, I can’t quite be mad at his adoptive parents. I saw the way they looked at him when I met them. They loved him, even if their idea of helping him by ignoring the murder was faulty as hell .

  We sit in silence for a long stretch, and I let him be in his own thoughts. I sense that Bentley needs to collect himself in his own way. The best I can do for him right now is just to care .

  I stand and stretch, then reach my hand out to him. “Let’s go lie down again .”

  “In a moment. I need to wash my face.” Bentley pads into the bathroom and closes the door. I see the light switch flick on through the crack at the bottom, and then the faucet is running .

  I move to the side of the bed, rolling around everything he just told me in my head. For over twenty years, he’s been bearing the burden of this, too scared to trust anyone with the truth of what he saw. Even his adoptive parents didn’t want to hear, maybe too afraid themselves of learning the extent of the truth .

  Now I understand the darkness in his eyes .

  The light flicks off, and he comes out .

  “The day you came into the bar…” I start .

  “It was the anniversary of the day she died,” he finishes as he settles onto his side of the bed. He’s sitting up and leaning against the headboard, not looking at me. “That’s the only day I let myself think about what happened .”

  I remember the haunted look on his face, how he sat there quietly. “You just wanted to drink the pain away, and Chet was a dick and wouldn’t let you memorialize your mom the way you need to.” I pause. Scoot back to sit beside him. I don’t touch him, not yet. I give him the space to pull back into himself as he needs to. Because I understand that impulse. I felt it too, though obviously to a lesser degree. “I’m sorry .”

  That makes him jerk his head to look at me. “Sorry? Why? Because you stood up for me, a total stranger? You opened your heart and shared your secret with me, and instead, I turned it into my own sob story .”

  I frown. “Don’t do that. Don’t you dare do that .”

  He huffs a sigh. “I…I’m so bad at this .”

  “It’s called communication,” I say dryly. “You’ll get used to it .”

  That brings a small smile to his face. “I don’t judge you about that situation you went through in college, you know.” There is a difference in his voice. An openness that wasn’t there before. I didn’t realize until now exactly how closed off he was before .

  But he’s letting me see him. All of him .

  That’s what Bentley’s love is .

  My heart swells. I reach over and touch his hand, just for a moment. For solidarity. “Thank you. I was afraid to tell you, to be honest .”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he murmurs. When I withdraw my hand, he snags out and grabs it again. Grazes his mouth across my knuckles. “What he did…that wasn’t your fault. He took advantage of you. But I understand why it hurts .”

  “Thank you,” I repeat, this time in a whisper. It feels good to have unburdened that, to let him know more about me. I just hope that in time, he’ll feel the same about what he confessed. Part of me is worried as hell that tomorrow, he’ll freak out and push me away .

  And if he does, I don’t know what I’ll do. But I do know I’ll still love him. I can’t help it now .

  “Are you tired?” he asks me .

  I nod. “A little,” I admit. I actually am. This was a draining night. Important, but emotional .

  “I want to fall asleep with you in my arms .”

  The admission surprises me. I’m not used to Bentley being so open and emotional. But I like it .

  We slide under the bedspread again, my back to his chest, and before long, I can hear the soft puffs of him fast asleep. It takes me a long longer to do so though. I’m plagued by images of what he saw. By the pain he feels over his mom’s murder .

  I can’t imagine. I just can’t imagine. What must it have been like, going year by year with no one around you helping you process what happened? If the police didn’t know the full extent of it, perhaps his parents didn’t, either. They must have thought they were doing him a favor by not talking about it .

  He was never able to grieve, never able to process what happened. To understand he wasn’t to blame. For Christ’s sake, he was a child. Petrified. Of course he was frozen. I would be too. As would most people, I’d venture .

  And all these years, he’s been beating himself up for not saving her. Odds are, he would have been killed too. If that murderer was sick enough to kill Bentley’s mom right in front of him, he surely would have slit a little boy’s throat without blinking .

  Fatigue finally drags me under. I tell myself right before I fall asleep that I will be here for him. I’ll help him however I can—to seek counseling, to have a safe space to express his emotions. Whatever it takes .

  I won’t let my love down .

  * * *

  I wake up to a hand stroking my hip, a warm mouth nuzzling against my neck. Eyes still heavy with sleep, I roll onto my back and look over at Bentley .

  His face is lighter than I’ve ever seen it .

  “You’re still here,” he whispers .

  I offer him a sleepy smile. “I’m still here.” I reach for his hand and cup the warm fingers in mine. “I’m going to be here. I’m not going anywhere .”

  He draws in a slow breath, and I can see his pulse hammering at the base of his throat. “I was half sure when I woke up that you’d be gone .”

  I frown and blink the sleep from my eyes. “Why? Because you opened up to me last night and shared something important about your past?” I stroke his brow, the deep worry line right above his nose. “I can’t leave you. I love you .”

  “I…I was afraid I’d dreamed that part,” he confesses. “You feeling the same about me.” Then he tugs me into his arms, my cheek resting against my chest. I’ve never had a man embrace me the way he does, his arms wrapped fully around me. Like I’m small. Like I’m protected .

  “You didn’t. I’m in love with you, Bentley,” I say quietly. “That’s not gonna change. If anything, I feel even more so after you opened up to me last night. That took courage. I’m so grateful you trust me .”

  “I can’t believe I told you,” he murmurs against my brow. His hands clench me. “I don’t know what to do now .”

  “Whatever you do, I support you. A hundred percent.” I tug him as close as humanly possible. I need to feel his body against mine. Need to memorize the warmth and strength. “But this isn’t a bad secret, and you should never feel ashamed. You did nothing wrong. If you decide I’m the only person you’ll ever tell, that’s okay. But if you think otherwise, I’ll be by your side, holding your hand .”

  “You mean that, don’t you.” There’s awe in his voice, real wonder. He’s never believed someone could love him like this. Which makes my heart ache more .

  “Yes, I do .”

  “Move in with me,” he says. When I still in his arms, shocked, he pulls back and tilts my head to make me look at him. His eyes are earnest. “I need you with me. Live with me. Please .”

  The Bentley I met for drinks last night is not the same man before me today. This man is different. The walls are down. He’s open to me, not hiding himself
anymore. Letting me see the emotion on his face without filtering it .

  It’s humbling. And it just reinforces that we can make this work .

  “I’m going to get a job while I’m finishing school,” I tell him. “You’re not paying for everything. We’re going to share in the expenses .”

  He rolls his eyes. “I’m a billionaire, but you’re worried about paying the electric bill. That makes sense .”

  I shove at his chest and laugh. “Hey, I need to pull my own weight, even just a bit. It makes me feel better.” I pause. “It makes me feel like we’re…more equal. Not that I’m just living off you .”

  “Oh, doll.” Bentley brushes a kiss across my lips, and my entire body warms from the sweet gesture. “The last thing I’d ever worry about is you living off me. But if it makes you feel better, I can hire you to clean my penthouse suite .”

  I can’t help the laugh that rolls out of me. “You’re such a shit .”

  His eyes narrow in that hot, sexy way that drives me wild. “You’d better watch how you address me, Samantha .”

  Oh, he’s trying to go there. I see. Maybe I need to remind him how he has to put me in my place. It’s been far, far too long, and I’m out of control. Aching for him to take me. “Or else what ?”

  His hand is in my hair, the other hand at my jaw, before I can even blink. “Or else I’ll make sure you remember protocol without question .”

  “I want you to make me remember,” I whisper hotly. My entire body is on fire. I need him to light me up, to make me be a good girl for him. I crave those words coming from his lips .

  His growl in my ear is enough to give me goose bumps. “Oh, I will, doll. When I’m done with you, you’ll know exactly how to please me. No questions .”

  With all the sass I can muster, I turn to face him and give him a devilish grin. “ Make me .”

  Bentley

  “S amantha,” my mom hollers from the kitchen. “Can you give me a hand ?”

  My girlfriend gives me a smile and says, “Of course, Mrs. Strongwell .”

  “Penny,” she corrects Samantha for the tenth time. “Mrs. Strongwell sounds like my mother- in -law .”

  “Hey,” my father hollers to her. “My mom loves you. Nothing wrong with being Mrs. Strongwell .”

  I hear sniggering in the room from our other relatives, gathered in the living room and chatting among themselves, and find myself laughing too. Samantha brushes a kiss across my mouth and then slips into the kitchen to help my mom with whatever mysterious shit my mom does in there .

  As silly as it is to me, Mom believes in women being in control of the kitchen. I’ve tried to help her, but I guess the time I set the dish rag on fire in the stove convinced her I’m rather useless there. Oh , well .

  Dad claps me on the back and leads me to the living room, where the football game is on. “You’ve got a good one there,” he says regarding Samantha. “Few women can put up with your mom barking orders at them when it comes to food. She just seems to roll with the punches .”

  Samantha and I have been coming over regularly—at her insistence—to visit my parents. And not just on family dinner nights. Other times. Like today, to watch the New York Giants play the Cowboys. She doesn’t care about football at all, and in fact, she’s called it “sportsball” in private. But she does care about me being more with my family .

  I didn’t understand why at first. I thought she’d actually want to spend more time with hers. But I think I’m getting it now .

  The more I’m around them, the more comfortable I feel. I was keeping them at arm’s length. Have been for a really, really long time. And it wasn’t helping our relationship at all. I’ve kept them in the same space I did as a nine-year-old. As people I couldn’t open up to .

  Maybe I’ve done them a disservice .

  “Yeah, I admit…I didn’t expect this to happen,” I confess to my father. “For me to …”

  “Fall in love?” He raises a brow. Claps a hand on my shoulder. “Son, if you have the fortune of meeting the woman who lights up your life, you have to hold on to her and never let go. I almost lost your mom, you know .”

  “What?” I blink. He’s never mentioned this before .

  Dad laughs and drops his hand. We sit down on the couch. “I was an idiot. Unprepared to date real women. I…played the field, if you know what I mean .”

  I blanch. “Yeah. I get it .”

  “Anyway.” He waves a hand. “I met your mom in college. I was playing football at the time, you know. But I was more interested in her roommate. Your mom wasn’t my type. Not wild enough, if you know what I mean .”

  I don’t even want to ask him what that means, so I stay quiet and hope he skips on past that part .

  “I dated her roommate but things fell apart fast. We didn’t connect. And I showed up one night at their dorm room, daisies in hand, ready to plead my case. The roommate wasn’t there, but your mother was.” Dad gets a wistful smile on his face. “She invited me in and listened to me whine about my feelings, and then she told me to get my shit together and stop pining over someone who didn’t deserve me .”

  I bark out a surprised laugh. “That totally sounds like Mom .”

  Dad nods. His smile is infectious, and I can see he’s reminiscing. Happy. “Yeah. Something about her spark caught my attention. Made me notice her. She didn’t let me get away with the bullshit I used to pawn on people. I had to be real with her. Asking her to marry me was the best decision I ever made .”

  “What made you have the courage to ask ?”

  Dad eyed me. “What gave me the courage was the moment I realized this woman made me the person I always wanted to be. She gave me strength. And I wanted to show her that I love and value that about her. So I put aside my fear, and I asked her .”

  I remember the story they told me. “You were in an all-night diner,” I say with a laugh .

  “I’m not saying I have the best timing,” Dad admits. “But she said yes over a stack of pancakes, and we’ve been together ever since .”

  My cousin Steve joins us, clapping me on the back. “Hey, didn’t expect you to be here,” he says, chugging his beer. “I know you’re not a Giants fan .”

  “You do? Then why do your parents keep giving me Giants merchandise?” I ask him with a laugh .

  His grin grows bigger. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like to see you get shit every once in a while .”

  I should spend more time with this man. He’s clearly a sadist. I bark a laugh. “Fair enough. But now that I know your secret, you’re in for trouble at Christmas .”

  “Dinner’s ready,” Samantha says as she steps into the room. Seeing her warm face lights me up inside. This woman loves me for me. How the fuck did I ever function without her before ?

  I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. She’s here now .

  We scoop out heaping bowls of chili, and I put cheese and a dollop of sour cream on top of mine. My mom doesn’t flinch on the heat level of chili, from what I remember. Samantha wisely follows my lead. I’m guessing Mom made her flavor test dinner, and she burned her mouth .

  We all settle in on couches and chairs around the TV. Samantha is on the floor between my feet, and I press my legs close to her to let her know I’m there. We eat chili and scream at the referees and unfair calls. I even find myself caught up in the game, commiserating with the rest of my family .

  Samantha rests her free hand on my socked foot, a comforting gesture that shows me she knows what I’m doing. That I’m trying to change, to be there more for my family instead of ducking out early. I told her about that, and she said she would be there every step of the way .

  I feel her support, her love .

  I need her to be my wife .

  God, I don’t recognize myself anymore. But it doesn’t matter. What is important is that this woman is helping me be the man I wanted to be. The one I didn’t think existed. I believed I was too broken to function, to love. But the past few months with her have
shown me how far I can grow .

  “Samantha,” I find myself saying .

  She turns around. “Hi. Do you need something ?”

  “Yes.” I tug her hand up. I don’t know if it’s crazy to do this in front of my family, but I can’t wait another minute. Her confused expression spurs me to continue, “Everything is fine. I just …”

  I hear my father suck in a breath. He knows. He fucking knows .

  “You just what?” Samantha asks .

  It’s a commercial break, of course, so now the whole family is focused on us. I try not to squirm under the scrutiny. “I…I love you .”

  The smile she gives me chases away every tiny doubt in my heart that what I’m doing is right. “I love you too.” Her face is flushed—her giveaway that she’s embarrassed. Probably because I’m doing this in front of everyone, though she has no idea what I’m doing .

  I drop down to one knee, and my mom gasps .

  Samantha freezes and stares at me. Behind her, a Cheetos commercial blares, and my dad grabs the remote and wisely shuts off the TV. Thank fuck .

  “I want you to marry me,” I state .

  She just continues to look into my eyes, hers wide, shocked .

  “I love you,” I continue. “I need you to be my wife. Please.” Fuck, I am bungling this all up. How the fuck do people do this ?

  “Kiss her,” my cousin coaxes .

  His dad elbows him .

  “I… Are you sure?” she asks, casting glances at my family. I know she’s trying to be delicate because they’re looking. “ We , uh …”

  “You changed me,” I tell her, gripping her hand harder. “I know this isn’t…orthodox. But I’ve never been an orthodox man, and I’m living more in the moment. Because of you. You’ve brought a light to my life that I’ve never felt before, and I want to marry you. I want to have babies with you. I want us to be side by side for the rest of our lives .”

  My aunt and mom both give heavy sighs at my words. I can see Mom pressing her hands to her chest .

  Samantha swallows. I stand and cup her cheeks. Force her to look at me .