by Shey Stahl
Bensen didn’t wait for me to reply. He knew. With a soft kiss to my knuckles, he let me go.
AUNT MEGS wasn’t home, more than likely out with someone from the wedding and everyone else was sound asleep when I made it back inside the house.
It was still dark in the house, before dawn, and I planned on sleeping, giving myself the time to think but I couldn’t. I was done fighting myself and my feelings. I was done because Bensen was done.
I could walk away forever and deep down I would be fine as I was the day I came here. But would I be happy if I walked away right now?
I learned a few things when I wrote in that journal. Sometimes I felt like a breath was never really a breath but a swallow passing of air, a gasp for needing relief. I felt like there was a wall in my lungs, which prevented them from expanding. That journal was my breath of air.
I felt like tears didn’t mean anything at all, especially now. Sure they conveyed an emotion and maybe not even the right one. I was sick of crying, sick of it all.
Like a woman laughing at her husband’s funeral, although not at all funny, after days of grieving numbing pain, laughter was the only emotion she had left. She loved him, she gave every tear she had to him, and now she was giving him her laughter, a piece of her only he would understand.
Our bodies and our minds were capable of so much more than we gave them credit for.
In all honesty, I met Bensen before I had an understanding of what love was and how any of that worked with feelings and displaying emotions.
Everyone had one person that mattered most to him or her. One person that could both destroy you and give you strength. It was the one person that held you together. Anything that happened in your life, you immediately told that one person. It could be a parent, a sibling, a best friend, a girl, a boy, it didn’t matter who they were, just that there was that person for you. Always. Maybe you were not their person, but you still had one.
I was his person. I was his one person he felt comfortable enough to let me see who he was, even down to the darkest parts.
I knew enough about Bensen that I knew, I fucking knew, in my heart and in my gut that I was something to him. The reality, the lie, was far worse than I could have imagined. Now I knew the truth. An ugly truth, but still, I had been right.
It was six hours and eight minutes before I got out of my bed and made my way back over to the Cole’s house only to find Bensen wasn’t there. Instead, after panicking a little, I found him sleeping in the back of his truck. Refusing to sleep under his dad’s roof, he hadn’t changed in that stubborn way I loved.
Sitting on the tailgate, I waited for him to wake up and watched him sleep a little while. The sun was up now, the familiar sounds I always heard around the lake tying all this together.
When he finally did wake up, he looked at me wearily. His eyes shifted from mine to my body and hands, searching my face for answers. I did the same, only his didn’t offer anything but the evidence of a rough night.
Now here we were. Two hearts, two souls, one outcome.
“Show me,” I said, leaning into him slightly, my hand on his cheek again. “I’ll give you one night. The rest is up to you.”
So he showed me. Tilting my head and kissing the side of my neck and then my lips, there was no questioning him. He was showing me this was him, and me, and it was real.
It wasn’t gentle, or slow; it was rough, fierce, and everything this Southern boy was to me. His eyes were fire, hands gripping my waist. And just when I thought he would push me away and gain some control, he was pulling me closer, mumbling words I didn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend even if I wanted to.
Bensen’s intentions, no longer deceitful, were pure, caught up with what his body and heart craved. A Southern girl with gray-blue eyes and freckles he wanted to connect.
As I tasted his lips, his tongue, we were alive with temptation we couldn’t resist.
When we parted, he didn’t move for the longest. As much I didn’t want to admit it, I couldn’t ignore how he made me feel.
His arms wrapped around me, and he pushed his head into my neck, letting out a shuddering sigh that melted me. “God, Sophie, I’m sorry for so many things.”
I wanted to beg him to never let go, but he knew. Strong arms held me in place, secured together, shaking for different reasons, breathing for the same, numbness for the same.
When I looked up at him, I thought maybe this might have been the first time he was really seeing me since I was a kid, or maybe, despite his words, he’d seen me the entire time as what I was to him. His person.
I attempted to speak, but nothing was there. Words didn’t mean shit and none seemed worthy enough.
I saw him now as a different man. Same face but different. Older, wiser—a man.
I had experienced a love I never thought I would, and it was gone before I had a chance to understand it. Only now, the past had come back. My second chance was here.
Forehead to forehead, hot breath mixing together, his lips slowly teased mine, both of us refusing to let go.
He didn’t deserve an ounce of forgiveness, but I didn’t care. That wasn’t what it was about. I saw him struggling before me with his decisions, his regrets, and I just wanted to be in love, held in place by his love, a love he never wanted to give but gave just as hopelessly as he was.
It seemed stupid, stubborn, and wasteful to get caught up on it. We had an opportunity here.
He pulled away slightly, but I pulled him back. He wanted my eyes and pushed me back again. “What if I’m not that boy from those summers? What if you love a memory and not me?”
“You are.”
“I don’t think I am.” Bensen looked down, his lashes fluttered before he looked up at me, eyes wide, searching for forgiveness he knew he never deserved.
I took an uneven breath as his eyes moved over my face. “Then I’ll love him, too.”
So I gave him that night. And then ten more.
And ten more just to be sure.
When your life changed, it either happened suddenly or over time, or because you changed it.
March 2013
(7 months later)
I LIVED one day at a time. Okay, I tried to live my life one day at a time. I realized that sometimes you needed to forget the past and take it for what it was. A lesson.
That was exactly what Bensen and I were doing. Seven months ago he showed up at my apartment in Atlanta, after my first day at the paper, and took me to dinner.
From then on it was a day-to-day thing, until one day it was a month-to-month thing, and now here we were, moving in together.
“My dad said he’d meet us at the restaurant tonight,” I said to Bensen, packing my picture frames from the mantel into a box on the coffee table.
“I’m thinking your dad is just going to punch me tonight,” Bensen said, helping me pack up my apartment by just tossing shit in boxes.
“I wouldn’t put it past him. You did intend on test driving all his daughters.”
Bensen shook his head, a low chuckle escaping. “That sounds horrible when you say it like that.”
Shrugging, I couldn’t offer much more than that. Bensen knew what he’d done and most everyone else did, too.
“According to your dad I’m probably the world’s worst boyfriend.”
“That’s not true. You took the garbage out last Thursday,” I said, taping up the box I was working on and reaching for the empty one at his feet. “I’m sure bad boyfriends don’t do that.”
“Oh, good point.” He smiled, feeling a little more confident. Taking the box I had just closed, he put it on the floor next to the front door. “I’ll put that on my resume when I apply for the world’s best boyfriend.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself now. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
He threw himself down on my couch, where I had just folded the laundry. Completely useless now. “Woman, get me a beer.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
While I continued my packing, Bensen watched the NASCAR race. Brady was now on the pit crew for Bobby Cole. I smiled when I saw Brady on TV, his head under the hood after Bobby apparently had some kind of engine trouble. “Man.” Bensen shook his head. “This Riley guy always wins.”
I looked up to see that Bobby’s teammate had won again.
Bensen got a call from Ariah—his partner in The Cole Company, the granite and tile company they started two months ago—right before we had to leave for dinner.
“I’ll meet you at the restaurant,” he promised, kissing my forehead. “I may be a little late.”
I nodded, knowing he wouldn’t be on time; it was just that way for Bensen. The boy couldn’t get anywhere on time. Ever.
Moving from room to room, I packed my belongings into boxes, ready for the next phase of my life. With Bensen.
When I found that journal, stuffed away inside a box with some of my college stuff, so many memories came to mind. So many. Our summers, our regrets, lies, forgiveness.
I looked at that very last entry to try and remember when I saw him writing. Bensen had written in that book the night he gave it back to me. I wasn’t sure if he hoped I’d read it that night, and it was a good thing I didn’t, because though this was sweet, what we said and how we connected that night was so much better.
I flipped back through a few pages of the journal and laughed at a few notes he had written on the sides next to my doodling. What really made me laugh were the ones next to that night with Rocco. My face flushed at the thought that he knew pretty much everything that happened.
Written next to the night he took my virginity:
And then the one next to the night with Rocco:
There were about ten little notes throughout that book, all indications he read and relived every moment just as I had done.
Lying back on the couch, I held the journal close to my chest and looked up at the picture of Bensen and me taken the night of our first date. His arm was wrapped around my shoulders, his lips pressed to my temple, eyes closed.
It was a memory I never wanted to forget. It was when I realized what we could be as opposed to what we were.
Were Bensen and I living that happily ever after?
I wasn’t sure about that. He pissed me off every single day. Those stories where the guy swept the girl off her feet, changing just for her, were not true. Like I said, people didn’t change. You just saw them differently.
Bensen couldn’t change for anyone but himself. Did he change?
Kind of.
Were we together?
For the most part. We were finally moving in together. Bensen would always be Bensen, and I had to constantly remind myself of that. You were never going to tell him how to be. Once I realized that, everything else fell into place. But I knew he loved me. Without a doubt in my mind, he loved me, and I truly believed he would do whatever he had to in order to keep me happy. That would never be a concern for me again. I would never have to question that.
It was obvious Bensen wanted forgiveness. I knew that. Did it happen right away?
Nope.
It was months and months of talking and fighting and making up.
Did we have it together now?
Some days. Maybe. Other days, no. I couldn’t deny that what we had was different now. Our honesty with one another has created a new kind of closeness I didn’t know was possible.
I hadn’t seen my dad in three months, mostly due to my working for the paper, but also because I was dating Bensen now. He didn’t approve. Regardless, it was good to see him. Though he and my mom were still civil, he hadn’t exactly been around as much as he should have been after the divorce.
“How does it feel to be on your own now?” Dad asked, scraping his fork against his plate as he tried to cut through his steak. It wasn’t awkward, but Bensen also hadn’t shown up yet. He was late.
“It feels good,” I said with a sense of pride. He really didn’t have any idea how good it felt.
“You’ll always be my baby girl, Sophie,” he said, with more emotion than I thought he would ever show me.
I knew that, too. I always felt sheltered and protected by my dad and Bensen, both for very different reasons. “I know you know about the bet, Dad.”
His fork dropped against the plate and then he picked it back up, recovering and clearing his throat.
“I just wish you would have given him a chance to make it right. That’s all.”
Dad thought for a long moment, longer than I expected, before he looked up at me. He saw it. “Sophie, I think he did make it right. In his own way, he made it right.” He gave a tip of his head, an approval of sorts. “But like I said, you are my baby girl. You can’t forget that. I didn’t want to see you get hurt like I knew you would have been.”
I nodded, accepting the fact that he was looking out for me. It was never his intention to treat me as if I was just his baby girl. I was his daughter, and that wasn’t something a parent could forget.
While we talked about my job with the paper and my sisters, Bensen showed up. My dad’s posture straightened when he saw him walk past the front windows and to the door, his body language locking up.
I laughed. “What’s wrong with you?” Bensen had yet to make it to the table, but the look on my dad’s face had me worried as to what he would do when he saw him.
“Just because you’re datin’ him doesn’t mean I have to like the bastard.”
It was apparent he would be bitter for a while. “Good point.”
And then he surprised me by saying, “I’ll give the guy a chance, just like you did.”
What really touched me right then was my dad’s willingness to let it go and let me date whom I wanted to date. If I could forgive Bensen, surely everyone else should.
When Bensen got to the table a minute later, my dad stood and shook his hand. Bensen looked thoroughly confused.
Swallowing, he found his voice. “Nice to see you again … Mr. Kaden.”
“Don’t be cute, kid. Just call me Kevin,” he said sternly, but smiled slightly. Bensen’s confusion broke as his smirk appeared. He knew he was getting his second chance with my dad, too. “Now tell me about this business of yours.”
And so started the weirdest night of my life—my boyfriend and my dad actually talked.
They had more in common than they realized, and maybe that’s why I had always felt comfortable around Bensen. My dad was stubborn, didn’t like to be told what to do, and that was Bensen. They both went out on their own after basically being rejected in some way by their fathers, and still made something of themselves.
A bond was made that night, a light shined down on a situation that was once muddied, but was now clear in understanding.
We left the restaurant around ten that night and headed back to my apartment to finish packing. The boys would be there in the morning to help make the actual move, and we still had three rooms we hadn’t packed yet.
After dinner, Bensen was chatty, telling me about how he and my dad would be working on the same job later in the month, and they didn’t even know it.
It was refreshing to see him this way, relaxed and content with his life—our life.
I often wondered what happened when a movie or book ended. Even when I wrote an article these days about a business or a couple—what happened after that?
Was there always a happily ever after?
I often wondered what it would be like to get a glimpse into their future. What did life hold for them?
When I wrote in that journal, dipping into my deepest secrets from a time in my life when a boy wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t want him to, I wasn’t trying to live in the past. The truth was, I thought about the future every day. I wondered how I’d get my happily ever after if I couldn’t let go of the past.
While it wasn’t always a fairytale, I did love what we had, as imperfect a
s it was.
What life held for us was simple really. Love, yeah, but with that came fighting and passion. We were two people giving one more night—or ten. One more year—or ten—because we had something worth fighting for. I thought that was the happily ever after right there—fighting for what you wanted and what you believed to be true.
When I looked at Bensen now, I didn’t see the boy who lied to me, bet on my virginity, or hooked up with my sisters. I saw the man who struggled to tell the truth, opened up to me, and fought to get me back. There was something about his determination to be more that made him who he was.
“I found the journal this afternoon,” I said to him later that night, as we were wrapping dishes in newspaper at the table he made for me for Christmas last year. If I never moved again, it’d be too soon. “Why didn’t you tell me you wrote in it?”
Intently watching his hands as he wrapped my grandmother’s china, a soft smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes never moved. “I wanted to tell you, and you deserved my apology in person.”
He was right. It was better that he told me in person.
“Why were you so late tonight?”
“I got caught up with Ariah. We were going over some details for the Harrison job next week.” He smiled. “And then I had to pick up something downtown.”
“What?”
Leaning back in the chair, Bensen reached inside the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a ring. Sliding the ring across the table, his brow arched.
He wasn’t going to ask. No, that wouldn’t have been Bensen. Instead, sliding the ring across the table was his way. The Bensen way.
I smiled and gave him a wink. That was my way. A gesture, an untold answer to anything he’d ever asked when words couldn’t be breathed.
It was the only gesture he needed before he reached for the ring, dropped to his knees beside me, and then moved the kitchen chair I was sitting in to face him, the legs scraping against the tile.
I watched his eyes, his lashes casting shadows over his cheeks before he looked up at me, his finger positioned at the tip of my finger, waiting for the okay.