Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
BENJI
NOW
“Uncle Benji!”
Two tiny bodies slam into me in unison, almost taking me off my feet. Isaac follows behind, his arms full, looking like a door-to-door backpack salesman.
“Hey, kiddos. The D Team in the flesh.” I kneel down so I can fist-bump them both.
Daphne giggles while Dominic adds extra explosion sounds.
“You’ll have to register your trademark soon. Then we can get started on training.”
“Actually, Uncle Benji—”
Isaac’s dad mode kicks in. “Dom, remember what I said in the car.”
Dom gleefully ignores him. “We changed it. It’s Double D now.” Said with all the authority an eight-year-old can muster. Which is surprisingly a lot.
“Jesus,” Isaac whispers under his breath because he knows this is the best thing I’ve ever heard.
My last three brain cells are running in overdrive to keep my expression clear in the face of this new information. It’s just too good.
“Did you now?”
The kids nod in unison, and Dom adds, “Dad hates it,” but he’s smiling like that fact makes it more appealing.
I look up at my older brother, who is freely staring daggers at me over the kids’ heads. Fuck, the urge to laugh might just kill me before I can make his life hell.
“Do you know what I think?” I ask them. “I think you should go find the presents I left in the spare room for you.”
Their curiosity activated, Daphne and Dom race each other down the hall to a combined cry of, “Presents!”
Isaac relieves himself of the kids’ packs and his own duffel before toeing off his shoes. He looks good. Tired, which I’d guess is fifty percent travel and fifty percent single-parent exhaustion.
“Double D, huh?” I ask, finally free to enjoy it.
He follows me into the kitchen and empties his pockets onto the counter. “I don’t know how, but this is your fault. He keeps asking me why he can’t say it.”
“What the hell—agh!”
Isaac pinches me.
Dick.
“They can’t even hear me,” I grumble, rubbing my arm. “What did you tell him?”
“The truth. That it’s a grown-up thing he can only know about when he’s older. Preferably forty.”
He pats down his pockets, confused, and I pluck the sunglasses off his head and throw them on the kitchen island.
“And—let me think—that made him want to say it more.”
Isaac moves his sunglasses over to the neat little pile he’s built of his keys, wallet, and phone. “What do you think?”
I just laugh in his face.
“How’s work?”
Isaac is a professional nerd—or in his words, a “risk analyst.” It’s really boring, so, you know, it’s perfect for him. I make a note to ask about it every time we talk because it annoys him.
“Busy,” he says, laughing, then mouths, Asshole, as he pulls me into a hug, slapping my back a few times. “But good. How about you? How’s Paige?”
Yeah, okay. I deserve that.
“I’m good.” I ignore the second part.
“Just good?” he asks, stepping back. “Did your idiotic plan work out? You know, lying to the woman you’re trying to win back is a terrible way to regain her trust.”
“Yes, Moral Mabel, you’ve already said that. Hungry?”
“Starving. I gave up my lunch to the kids.”
I pull a loaf of bread from the pantry and throw together enough sandwiches for everyone. “The plan went as expected.” Mostly. “Paige is …” I shrug in lieu of an answer. “We’re okay, I think.”
“What did your therapist say?”
Jesus. “Couldn’t even make it through a meal without asking, could you?”
I hand him a plate, and he slides into a stool to eat.
I settle back against the cabinets, crossing my ankles and soaking in the sight of him.
I’d never say it to his face—he’d never let me live it down, for one—but I’m glad he’s here.
I’ve missed him. A year of living together again while I tried to unscramble my head got me used to having him around.
Swallowing my next bite, I relent. “And, yes, we talked about it. He wasn’t happy that I’d manipulated the date—”
“Told you.”
I flip him off before taking another bite. “But he said it’s good that I came clean and owned up to why I’d left in the first place.”
It wasn’t fucking easy, but a year of therapy had taught me that none of it was going to be. If I want this—and there’s nothing I want more than getting Paige back—I’m going to have to suck it up and start sharing.
Isaac walks his empty plate to the sink. “Aw, what a good boy you are.”
He pats my head, and I slap his hand away.
“Fuck off.”
“Language,” he says on instinct, but there’s no bite to it.
I finish my own food while Isaac retrieves his duffel bag and dumps it on the couch. Fuck, he looks exhausted.
“Dude, take my bed,” I say. “I can handle the couch for a week.”
“Nah, I want to be in range if the kids need me in the middle of the night. The couch is fine, man.”
It’s his back, I guess.
Tiny feet stampede down the hall, and Daphne rushes up to Isaac, pulling her shirt out for emphasis. There’s a sequined unicorn on the front with ballet shoes.
“Dad, look what Uncle Benji got me.”
Even at five, it’s obvious she takes more after my side of the family—confident to go after what she wants and smart enough to know how to get it.
Dom is like my brother, through and through.
Quieter, more sensitive, but no less intelligent.
Smarter, in my opinion, because, unlike me, Isaac’s patient.
He wraps her in a hug. “That was really nice of him. Did you say thank you?”
Daphne barely turns her head to scream, “Thank you, Uncle Benji,” while a softer echo comes from Dom in the guest room.
Isaac mostly hides his wince. Dude needs a massage and a holiday.
I cross my arms over my chest, watching them. “Where’s Rebecca? I thought she was coming with you this time?”
Daphne answers first, “She’s working.”
And then the boring adult conversation sends her back to her brother.
Isaac sags back into the couch with a sigh, which isn’t a great sign.
I fold myself into the armchair beside him. “Everything okay?”
He’s nodding, wiping his hands on his knees. “Yeah, uh, I’m going to ask Bec to marry me.”
Something in my chest just … fucking clenches and burns, but it’s good. It’s really, really good because I’m proud of how happy Isaac is and the future he’s building. It’s just … I want that too. A future. A family.
I want it with Paige. I don’t want anyone else.
“What the fuck? I thought you were dying or something. Shit, man, that’s amazing.” I grab him and pull him into a hunched-over hug, slapping his back. “Congratulations.”
He’s smiling when he pulls back. “Thanks. She’s incredible, you know, and, oh, the kids love her. I love her. Why waste any more time?”
Fuck, I know exactly what he means. Hell, it was the prime topic of conversation when I was staying with him. Taking the bull by its horns and all that carpe diem stuff. But his knee is jumping, and he only ever babbles when he’s nervous.
“Hey,” I say, patting him on the shoulder. “She’s going to say yes, all right? And as long as you don’t go eloping in Vegas without telling me, I can start designing something for the invites.”
Before last year, I hadn’t picked up a pencil to draw anything in years. Had talked myself out of it, too choked up on not being good enough. I talked myself out of a lot of good things that way, Paige being at the top of the list. But I’ve been practicing, and it would be good to do this for him.
Isaac was a model kid. Straight A’s, perfect posture—I’m convinced he used to tape a fucking ruler to the inside of his shirts—and always agreeable. I always knew he’d be a great dad—he got enough practice with me after all.
It was rough for him after his wife died, but he pulled through, and those kids have never gone a single day wondering if he loves them. He’d go to the ends of the earth for his kids.
He exhales, but it’s less stressed and more of a release. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
He leans his head back and closes his eyes, and I head back into the kitchen. Champagne is usually the right thing for celebrations, right? I don’t have any, but maybe beer will do.
I pull two out of the fridge. “Hey, do you want—” I turn, only to find Isaac asleep on the couch. Poor guy.
I’d love to give him more of a chance to rest—it’s clear he’s absolutely dead on his feet—but convincing him to take a break is like getting me to open up.
Impossible.
The best I can do is to occupy the kids’ time as much as possible while they’re here, and, hey, that’s not a hardship.
I shove the beers back and check in on the kids, who must have grabbed their bags while we were talking.
It looks like they unpacked by throwing their cases around the room.
They sit, cocooned within the chaos, having cleared a spot on the floor, where they’re pulling clothes off the Barbies I bought for them on their last visit.
“Can I play too?” I ask, shifting some clothes with my foot so I can sit with them.
“Sure,” Dom says, passing me a doll.
His hair is still combed back perfectly after the trip.
I used to think it was Isaac caring too much about appearances, but now I know better.
I’ve watched Dominic run the comb through over and over, getting it perfect.
Isaac might not dress well, but that attention to detail? That’s a Collins trait.
Isaac … well, Isaac was the kind of kid who got called a heartbreaker.
Bit weird, saying that to a prepubescent, but I guess he took it to heart because he’s a hopeless romantic, right down to his marrow.
Bet if you checked his DNA under a microscope, there’d be little hearts floating around in there.
He didn’t even hesitate when I came to him, just gave me a place to crash and the number of a therapist.
And, man, therapy saved my life. When shit used to get noisy, I’d find a quiet corner in my head and lock the door behind me. Hide away until it was good to come out to play again. It kept everyone else safe from it.
Except it didn’t and only ended up trapping me in with every irrational fear.
Knocking that door down was hard work, but Isaac was there for me, and I’ll never forget that.
“Yo, Dom, did your dad tell you what double D is?”
“He said it was for grown-ups.”
For all the shit I give him—what kind of a younger brother would I be if I didn't make him want to push me down some stairs?—my brother is a good guy. After he looked after my ass for a year, I can do him this solid.
“It is. Back in the ’80s, there was this really cool band called Double D. Long hair and pink shorts—”
“Those are for girls,” Daphne interrupts.
“No,” I say gently. “Pink is for everyone.”
She perks up. “Oh, cool. You should wear pink,” she tells Dom.
“Okay,” he says immediately and grabs the first pink thing he can find, which is Daphne’s princess crown. It suits him. “Hey, look.”
“Oh, wow,” I tell him. “I didn’t realize I was hosting royalty this week.”
They both giggle.
“May I continue my story, Your Majesty?”
Dominic stops and chews on his lip as he thinks. If I saved a nickel for every emotion these kids cycled through in a day, I could shut up shop and retire forever.
“Was it really just a silly old band?” he asks, frowning.
“ ’Fraid so.”
“That’s boring. I don’t want to be Double D anymore.” He falls back to the floor, fixing his crown and shoving boots onto the doll.
You’re welcome, Isaac. You fucking owe me.
“We’re the D Team!” Daphne calls, hoisting her Barbie into the air. “Barbie is part of the D Team too.”
“That’s great, Daphne. Does she want to go to the teddy bear wedding too?”
She cocks her head and doesn’t even need to say duh because it’s written all over her face.
God, it’s only been a few weeks since I moved back here, but I really missed them.
Of course, when I tell them this, they both groan.
“Are you still going to take us to the beach, Uncle Benji?” Dom asks. “You promised.”
Yeah, that’s a lie, but fuck me because I can’t deny them anything when they’re both looking at me like that.
“Sure thing, kiddo.”