Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(40)
Author: K.A. Tucker

“It’s okay. Yell all you want, Ben.”

He reaches up to rest his hands on top of his head as his mouth opens to speak, only to falter. And then he explodes. “I’m f**king ecstatic that he’s gone, Reese! How wrong is that? I mean . . .” His arms drop so heavily that his hands slap against his thighs. He starts pacing. “When I saw Mama crumpled in a heap like that, I thought she had had another heart attack. I couldn’t get to her fast enough. And then I saw him slumped in that chair—dead—and the only word in my head was ‘finally’! Finally, after everything he’s done to her, after all the pain he’s caused her and this family, and how much we’ve lost around here, the f**ker is out of our lives!”

His tone softens a little, his voice cracking. “While my mama is standing there, sobbing over his death, I’m ready to sing halle-fucking-leuiah.” I can almost see the guilt weighing his shoulders down. “What kind of person does that make me?”

“Normal, Ben. He was a shitty father and husband. Even your mother knows that.”

“Really?” He turns to look at me. “What if you got a call that Annabelle died. Would you want to throw a party?”

Good question. Annabelle . . . dead? I’ve never given it much thought. What would I feel for a woman who seemed incapable of feeling anything for me? “I don’t know,” I admit with a sigh.

We fall into silence as Ben leans back against the wagon.

Finally I hazard to ask, “What’d the note say?”

He purses his lips for a moment. “That he was sorry for . . . everything. He wishes he could have been a better husband. That he wants her to stay on the grove and be happy again.”

A lump spikes in my throat. “How does a person veer so far off course?”

“Alcohol . . . depression . . . fear . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

Why did it take a bottle of aspirin and a death wish for Ben’s father to admit his faults? What if he had just said these things years ago? I guess maybe he didn’t see what was wrong. Or kept denying it. Until it was too late. “At least he gave her that.”

“Yeah. There was also an envelope with a life insurance policy they took out years ago. A pretty big one, too. One that will pay out, even after a suicide.” He smiles sadly. “It’ll help her fix the house up.”

Warmth spreads through my chest. “That’s great news!”

Ben turns to give me a funny look.

“What?”

He says nothing, though. He simply holds a hand out. When I take it, he pulls me in to him. Lifting me up onto the edge of the trailer, he wastes no time pushing my legs apart to slide his body between them. “I know it’s been a shitty day but, I’m glad you’re here.”

“So am I.” All I’ve wanted to do is wrap my hands around that giant heart of his and protect it from any more hurt. Hurt like I saw last night. The kind that you feel when you’re faced with the deeply rooted bitterness that Ben has had to face for years. I wonder if it’s better or worse than the indifference I see when Annabelle looks at me.

I’m expecting Ben’s hands up my shirt in seconds, but all he does is rest his forehead against my chest. And so I coil my arms around his head, press my cheek against his hair, and watch the afternoon sun shift along the horizon in silence.

“I should have just called him. I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Ben mutters, pulling into Jack’s driveway that night.

“I told you. He already knows I was with you and what happened. He’ll want to pay his respects in person.”

Ben heaves a resigned sigh.

“He’s not going to fire you!”

“Well, doing it today would be in poor taste, I guess.” Ben slides out of the driver’s side reluctantly and trails me inside.

Both Mason and Jack are waiting for us in the kitchen. Jack’s on his feet instantly, walking forward with a morose expression and his arms out to offer a confused-looking Ben a manly hug. Mason is close behind. “How can we help?”

“Well, I think Reese already mentioned me needing a week off. My brothers and sister are trying to get flights in, but I’m not sure when they’ll make it. I can’t leave my mother alone.”

“Done,” Jack states simply.

Ben swallows. “Thanks, Jack. That’s a relief. I just drove back to drop Reese off and get some clothes and I’m heading back up tonight.”

There’s an awkward pause as three sets of eyes flash to me—Mason’s filled with curiosity, Jack’s with reluctance, and Ben’s baby blues with . . . I don’t know what that look is, but I’ve been getting it a lot today.

“My mama sent you her meatloaf as a small token of thanks,” Ben adds, handing Mason the box of food that Wilma packed up. News in the small community spread quickly. By the time I made it back to the house, the fridge and freezer were brimming with food from friends, and Wilma was still cooking.

“Well, tell her that was unnecessary, but it’ll go to the same good spot it went last time.” Jack’s soft chuckle fills the kitchen as he pats his belly.

“Well, I should get going.” There’s another awkward pause as Ben glances at me. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably the same thing I’m thinking: What’s the standard protocol for saying goodbye here? Because I know what I want.

I want him to kiss me.

Clearing his throat, Ben finally offers, “Thanks for all your help today, Reese. Mama sure appreciated it. You’ve got to be tired.”

Exhausted, actually. I don’t know how she does that day in and day out. I simply nod and watch his retreating back as he disappears out the front door.

And it hits me. I’m not going to see him for an entire week. At least! Is he feeling any of what I’m feeling right now? Or is Wilma wrong? Is this just his regular friendship, with a bit of a personal tragedy kicker thrown in to wreak emotional havoc? And what if he is feeling it and he doesn’t like it? Wilma’s been introducing me as Ben’s girlfriend to anyone who will listen, including the priest from her parish who stopped by as we were packing the car up to drive back to Miami. There’s a really good chance that Ben is looking to hightail it out of here.

Maybe into someone else’s bed.

Shit. Am I developing real feelings for Ben Morris?

“I forgot something in the car.” It’s comes out sounding stilted and obviously untrue. I glance at Jack as I pass by. He’s just staring at me. I try not to rush out the door, but I’m pretty sure I’ve failed at hiding my hurry.

Ben’s tall frame is just about to fold into his driver’s side as the front door clicks behind me. He stops and watches as I take tentative, stiff-bodied steps toward him, my stomach a mix of butterflies and dread, not sure what’s going on in his head. This “thing” between us was easier when I didn’t care. Now . . . I’m pretty sure that I do. God, I don’t want to be another Mercy, another “friend” that he’ll need to gently turn down.

“I just . . .” My voice drifts off as I reach him. What the hell do I say now that I’m here? “I’m really sorry about your dad. About all of it. Not just today.”

His head cocks to the side as he regards me. “Reese, are you falling in love with me?”

“No!” I yell with a touch too much vigor. I feel my face burst into flames as he starts chuckling. “Shut up, you ass**le.”

“Dude! My dad just killed himself today and you’re calling me names?” His terrible attempt at humor makes me cringe. “All right already, come here.” An arm hooks around my back and he pulls me into a tight hug, my face pressing up against the softness of his T-shirt. All of his shirts are soft and comfortable and worthy of melting into. I inhale deeply, catching that soapy clean smell that I’ve already missed.

“Are you going to survive a week without me or do you need to keep one of my shirts to tide you over?” he murmurs, his mouth pressed up again my hair. I hear the smile in his voice.

I turn my face away as another burst of heat touches my cheeks. “Maybe just one.”

He groans, his arms tightening around me. “So you can use it for some weird exorcism-voodoo shit when I piss you off? Hell no! I’ll end up with a nasty rash, won’t I? Oh, wait. You called me a rash, didn’t you?”

I find myself giggling against him as movement in the blinds at the front window catches my eye. Great. Jack. I’ll have that to deal with when I go inside.

Ben must have seen it too. “What’re you going to tell Jack?”

“I don’t know.” I pull away and tilt my head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “What should I tell him?”

His chest presses against mine with his deep breath. With another quick glance back at the window, he leads me ahead of his car and into the cover of the garage doors, set far enough out that no window has a view. He looks down at me, roaming my features and settling on my mouth. “That we’re good friends.” And then, so contrary to his words, and in a manner so different from the Ben that has kissed me in the past, he dips down and settles a soft, lingering kiss on my mouth, his thumbs rubbing against my cheeks. “I’ve gotta head out now. It’s a long drive back and I’m beat,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice crackling with its low cadence. I feel his lips curve against mine. “I didn’t sleep well with all that babbling you were doing last night.”

“What?” I feel my brow furrow. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

There’s just enough light from the corner of the house that I see his dimples. “You do. I just didn’t have a chance to make fun of you for it earlier.”

Curiosity overcomes my embarrassment. “What did I say?”

He pauses, as if deciding whether to tell me. And then he shrugs. “Hard to tell, with that ass of yours going all night, too. What did you eat, because . . . Jeez!”

“What!” I shriek, pulling away from him to smack his broad chest hard as he bursts out in laughter. “I do not fart in my sleep!” I hiss. This may be worse than the puke and the crawling.

“I was the one pressed right up against you all night. I think I’d know.”

“Oh my God.” I close my eyes as I wince. Of all the guys to do that in front of—if it’s even true; Jared never said anything—it had to be a guy like Ben? Who will torment me! Does this kind of stuff happen to other women, too? Or is it just me? I shift away from him and start moving backward. “Well, you’d better get going. It’s a long drive.”

Two strong hands shoot out to grab onto me and pull me back until my back is pressing against the garage door. “Don’t worry. I still think you’re hot.” With an infuriating smile, he dips down and levels me with one of his overpowering kisses, this one much more familiar and “Ben,” buckling my knees as he crushes his body against mine. My eyes finally open to deep dimples as he lifts a hand and kisses my knuckles. “Okay, seriously, I need to go or I’m liable to take you on the hood of Jack’s truck.” Slipping a hand on the small of my back, he leads me toward the walkway as he heads back to his car. “Do you think you can stay out of trouble this week?”

“Depends. What kind of trouble?”

He rests an arm on his open door as he smirks at me, explaining in a wry tone, “The kind that involves douchebag ex-husbands.”

I open my mouth to speak but I stall on the words as I process this. Is he referring to catfights with Caroline and violent outbursts? Or was that his way of saying he doesn’t want me messing around with anyone? I settle on, “Depends. Do you think you can stay away from Twinkies?”

He winks. “I knew you were jealous.” And then he climbs into his car without giving me a proper answer. I watch him pull away, feeling irritated and suddenly empty.

With a deep breath, I walk inside.

Jack and Mason are still in the kitchen, Jack carving a sizeable piece of meatloaf and loading it onto a plate. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, Wilma wouldn’t let us leave until we ate,” I explain, reaching into the fridge for the jug of chocolate milk. I screw the top off and am about to lift it to my lips to chug it back when I catch Mason staring at me, his mouth open and trying really hard not to scold me. My arms drops. I reach out and get a glass, making a point of watching him with a “See? I can be considerate!” glare.

“Well, the woman sure can cook,” Jack muses, opening the microwave to slide his plate in. “I’m not even hungry and I have to eat this.”

I pat his belly affectionately. “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to get too plump for Ms. Sexton.”

Mason starts snickering from his seat on the bar stool.

“Mason . . .” The kitchen fills with loud beeps as Jack punches instructions into the microwave. “Why don’t you go to your room and talk to that lovely girlfriend of yours.”