30. Chapter 30
Benson
I don’t know how long I’ve been staring at the ceiling, but the soft strip of light peeking through the curtains tells me the night is finally over. Not that I slept. How could I have possibly slept last night after everything?
Sighing, I roll over to my side and take in the way the line of light rests in the middle of the family portraits mounted on the wall in the den.
Naturally, the light divides my picture from the rest of the family’s, highlighting the way my picture hasn’t been changed since high school.
McKay and Kimball have their whole families with them, Mom and Dad have each other, and then there’s me.
Alone.
Always alone because I mess everything up.
My body aches, not so much from the couch but from the exhaustion that runs so much deeper than my bones. It’s in my soul . Every time I closed my eyes last night to try to get some sleep, all I could see was Avery’s face. The pain in her eyes when she made my choice for me.
I never wanted to hurt her.
But I think hurting people I care about is all I’ve ever been good at.
Sighing, I dig my phone out of the couch cushions and blearily look at the million notifications waiting for me.
I half expect one of them to be from Eric, like he would have sensed how thoroughly I did exactly what he didn’t want me to do and hurt Avery, but he’s been radio silent since Thursday.
Strange, with how intent he was on reminding me to stay away from her.
There’s another email from the Australian company, presumably offering me more perks based on the first few lines, but that’s the last thing I want to look at right now.
Same with the string of texts from Phillip Rogers with more ideas for R&Q’s marketing plan, as if I’m part of the company instead of a temporary blip in their story.
And email after email from potential clients and past clients and upcoming jobs leave me feeling like I have nothing left of myself to give.
I hate how badly I want one of these texts to be from Avery, telling me she’s changed her mind and isn’t ready to give up on me.
But she’s not going to do that because she’s grown too much over the last few weeks to set aside self-respect.
She made the right choice by cutting me loose, even if her choice leaves me feeling like I’m never going to breathe again.
My hand shifts to my pocket, where the bracelet Poppy gave her seems to burn through the fabric and into my skin like it knows things are over between me and its owner.
Whether Avery knows I have it, I can never give it back now.
Not when it might be the only thing I have left.
I pull it out, slipping it onto my wrist even though it makes my chest ache to see the little pink stone and the love it supposedly represents.
Sitting up with a groan, I run a hand down my face, trying to decide what to do next.
I don’t want to abandon Avery to deal with her car on her own, but neither do I want to force my presence on her now that she’s done with me.
Now that it’s not the middle of the night, I can find her a tow truck and pay for everything in advance to alleviate some of that stress, but she’s still going to have to get home.
Get a rental. Figure out insurance. Things she shouldn’t have to face alone.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and my eyes slide to the text that drops down from the top. I read the short message, then blink, not sure I saw it right. But after three more read-throughs, the words stay the same.
Kimball:
For the record, you’ve always been a pain in the butt, Benson. But never a failure.
I don’t… What does… I stare at the text with my breath held in my lungs and my body tense, like I’m waiting for the knockout punch that’s coming now that he’s caught me off guard. But it doesn’t come.
This isn’t the kind of text someone sends at six in the morning just for fun.
Never a failure. He can’t really mean that. Can he?
I sit frozen, staring at my phone until my dad’s words from last night repeat in my head, echoing Kimball’s text. You’ve always been worth my notice .
Neither of these things make any sense. They don’t fit with the life and family I’ve known, but my dad has never been a liar. Neither has Kimball. If they didn’t want me around, they wouldn’t bother saying things that make me want to stay.
Oh.
I press a hand to my chest, feeling like my heart is going to give out on me as that realization hits me hard.
I want to stay . I’m so tired of running.
Hiding. Pretending I haven’t been slowly falling to pieces with every year I’ve remained unsettled.
All that time I’ve spent staring at the mountains over the last couple of weeks, and I’ve been too stupid to realize that I’ve been homesick . Desperate for a safe place to land.
And when I finally found it—found her —I went and messed everything up.
“Who are you?”
Startled by the sound of a small voice, I look up to find a little girl in the doorway of the den. She must have come up from the basement, the first of the kids to wake up, and she’s staring at me with narrowed eyes as she hugs a stuffed cow.
I swallow. “I’m Benson. Your…your uncle.” I’ve met her before. I know I have, but I struggle to remember who she is. One of McKay’s, I think? “What’s your name?” I hate that I have to ask.
She tilts her head to the side. “Marilee. I have a Uncle Benson?”
Cursing under my breath, I run a hand through my hair and look around the dim room as if I might find someone to save me from this conversation. Of course she doesn’t know me. “Apparently,” I mutter.
“I just know about Uncle Kimball and Uncle Sonny,” she says, a bit of pride in her voice. “I see Uncle Kimball lots, but Dad says Uncle Sonny lives far away and is always helping people. So he’s kinda like a superhero, and that’s why we don’t see him.”
The air slides from my lungs, leaving me dizzy. McKay said that? About me ?
“Are you going to live with Grandma and Grandpa?” Marilee asks, inching closer now that I’m no longer a stranger. She’s studying me with unveiled interest, like discovering another uncle is the best thing to happen to her all week.
“No.” The word tastes bitter, especially when Marilee’s shoulders fall, and I scramble to amend my answer. “But I can come visit.”
She smiles and flops onto the couch next to me, talking to her stuffed cow on her lap. “I like when we visit Grandma. She makes us waffles and lets us put chocolate on them.”
I can’t stop the laugh that eases out of me. “Chocolate, huh?”
“Chocolate’s my favorite. Is it your favorite too?”
My mind drifts to Florence and tiramisu and kisses under the Tuscan moon as my eyes slide to the bracelet I’m wearing. “My most favorite,” I breathe as something settles inside me, simultaneously easing the ache and making it sharper. I think I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.
But it might not be too late to fix it.
“Hey, uh, I need to…” I frown down at my niece, unsure about the proper way to end this conversation. “Do you need any help?”
She looks up at me, her head cocked again. “Do you know how to make waffles?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry.” Clearly I have no idea how to be an uncle, but now’s not the time to learn. Groaning internally, I content myself with patting her on the head before jumping up and rushing for the stairs. “It’s nice to meet you, Marilee!” I call back.
By the time I reach the top floor, I’m moving so fast that I barely see my mom before I nearly collide with her. I skid to a halt, crashing into the wall, and grimace as she stares at me with wide eyes. “Sorry,” I say again. I have a feeling I’m going to be saying that a lot. “Uh, good morning.”
Mom looks like she just woke up, her hair in a messy bun and a robe tucked around her pajamas, and she squints at me in the dim hallway. “Is everything okay, Sonny?” she asks eventually. “You look…tired.”
I exhale in something like a laugh. She has no idea. “Didn’t sleep,” I croak.
Her gaze turns even more scrutinizing as she studies me.
“You look different,” she says next. Then her eyes move to the closed door of my bedroom like she knows exactly why I look different.
My parents’ room is right next to mine—an effort to catch me when I inevitably snuck out—and suddenly I wonder if she heard my conversation with Avery last night.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Benson? ”
Smiling despite the tension building inside me, I shake my head. “Not even a little bit.” I just know I have to make things right if I can.
To my shock, my response brings a smile to my mom’s face, and she puts her hand on my chest, the gesture warm if not familiar. “Sounds like you’re doing something right, then,” she mutters and continues down the stairs, leaving me alone in the hall.
I hope she’s right. Now that I’m here, I’m terrified, and a part of me wants to run back down the stairs and beg my mom to tell me how to fix this. I’ve never confided in her in my life, but I wish I had. I wish I’d had the courage to trust that my family would accept me, flaws and all.
Like Avery did.
Moving to the door, I press my forehead against the wood and take a deep breath. There’s always the chance that Avery won’t listen to me and won’t change her mind, and I have to accept that. But I also have to show her that I’m willing to fight for her. Lay my heart on the line like she did.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I knock on the door and wait, holding my breath.
What if she’s still asleep? What if she left hours ago without telling anyone? What if she heard me talking to my mom and is purposefully ignoring me?
“Come in,” a soft voice says.