29. Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
Benjamin
F rancesca’s mouth hung open, and Benjamin watched as her cheeks quickly flamed from a cozy pink to an embarrassed, regretful red. She’d pushed. Used the silly point system to get him to talk. He could have denied her. Could have said that he refused to answer such personal questions. Yet why did it feel critical to be candid with her? He’d tried to fight it, but after blurting out the truth, he felt the dam give way.
“My father dropped my mother and me for a woman twenty years his junior. If that wasn’t bad enough, he hired a team of divorce attorneys to ensure we wouldn’t get a penny beyond the laughable child support he paid every month. We went from living in luxury—literally having every whim fulfilled—to barely getting by in a one-bedroom apartment in South Tacoma. I adapted. Quickly became familiar with food banks in the area and churches that provided shoes and clothes for teens. I figured out how to survive, but she . . .”
The beautiful, jovial, statuesque woman who’d raised Benjamin flashed through his mind. Images of her in cocktail dresses as the family hosted annual Christmas parties. Sweeping wayward strands of black hair off her face as they sailed on their boat on Lake Washington. Smiling warmly at him when she’d lightly kiss his forehead before bed each night. I love you to the moon and back, she’d say as he climbed the stairs to his room. Until tomorrow, my love .
“My mother wilted. Drank to drown her sorrow over the fabulous life she’d lost. Her parents wouldn’t help us either. Said she’d made her bed, and if she couldn’t keep her husband in it, then it must have been her fault. For whatever sick, self-torturous reason, I became a divorce attorney and a damned good one. I managed high-profile cases, earning buckets of money off vulnerable, powerless people. I helped countless rich pricks do to their spouses what my father did to my mother. All the while, I justified the cyclical behavior because I’d suffered too. Like it was my turn to be the powerful one. I worked hard, kept my nose clean, cared for my mom when she was too broken to care for me, and so I figured I was owed.”
At some point during his blabbering, he’d stood and started pacing. Francesca said nothing. She just sat there with tears rolling down her face. He turned, couldn’t watch the salty trails left on her cheeks, feeling torn between wiping hers away and crying his own.
He’d allowed himself to weep for his mother on the day of her funeral. Surprisingly, his father had shown up, landing a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“She wasn’t like us,” his father had said.
Benjamin had turned and looked at the man beside him, an older version of himself, but kept his mouth shut.
“We’re strong. Resilient.” Benjamin felt nauseated under the squeeze of his father’s fingers. “I’m proud of you for making something of yourself. Just like your old man.”
The next day, Benjamin had marched into his boss’s office and resigned. He left without a backward glance, determined to make amends in some way for the rich dirtbags he’d helped in his years at the firm. He spent every day at the university trying to churn quality, socially responsible lawyers out into the world to rebalance the chaos he’d unleashed. His efforts hadn’t quelled the regret. But being so busy distracted him from the pain and anger that remained locked up in his chest.
Out of sight but ever-present.
Dormant.
That is until Francesca decided to waltz in and open the Pandora’s box of his repressed memories.
“Anyways.” He cleared his throat. “She died of liver failure just before I started teaching, and ever since, I’ve been doing everything in my power to be the opposite of him.”
"So, last month? When you told me you were on your way to visit her?"
"I take flowers to her grave every year on her birthday. Pink roses were her favorite."
“I’m so sorry,” Francesca gulped out on a sob. “I was such an ass. I made comments about your mom not existing and you being spawned instead. And I’ve been so mean to you since we arrived. Had I known—”
“You couldn’t have. I haven’t even told your brother about half of this. He knows about my youth and everything leading up to graduation and me joining the law firm. Since then, he’s shared with me, but I’ve held back everything from him.”
“Why?”
Benjamin dropped his head into his hands, struggling even to contemplate weighing someone else down with his issues, like how he was at that moment with Francesca. This was wrong. He shouldn’t be sharing this with his best friend’s little sister. He shouldn’t be seeking out understanding and comfort from someone he’d been judgmental and unyielding with the last few months. A sharp woman with a bright future, intentionally sabotaged by a professor who couldn’t see past his own conflicting feelings.
His actions were unforgivable .
“I didn’t want to burden him with my problems, not after his father—your father . . . and then Cynthia. It would be selfish.”
Francesca sniffled and wiped her nose. “I can empathize. We had a rough start, but it got so much better once we were adopted. Others have it so much worse. I have no room to complain, seeing as I got my happy ending, and so many others don’t.”
He’d always forgotten that Johnny and his sister were adopted. His friend was so solid, forever talking about his amazing family, that it was easy to forget they weren’t biologically linked.
Francesca released a slow, wobbly exhale, and reached over to lay a hand on Benjamin’s forearm. She squeezed.
“It’s good that you want to be better than your father, but don’t punish yourself for following his lead in the past. You switched gears and now you do something positive with your gifts. You might be a hard-ass in the process, but I guess I can see why.”
“I was unnecessarily hard on you.”
“Yes, you were,” she said with the hint of a smile. “But I’ll survive. Water under the bridge or whatever cheesy euphemism you want to use.”
“What can I do to make amends?”
She rolled her eyes. “Saying you’re sorry is a good start.”
“I am sorry, Francesca.”
“I forgive you,” she stated simply.
“Just like that?” It couldn’t be that simple. He really had been unbearably cruel to her, holding her to an impossible standard, intentionally trying to edge her out of his classroom. There’s no way those few little words did anything. Yet any animosity she’d been harboring seemed to drift away as she sat opposite him wearing a calm, if sympathetic, expression.
“Do you mean it? Are you actually sorry?”
She couldn’t imagine how much Benjamin’s poor treatment of her weighed on him. He felt like he’d reverted to his heartless days as a high-powered attorney. He’d spent months cutting Francesca down, attempting to reduce her to a dog that had been beaten down enough times that there was no fight left. He was disgusted by his actions. He did not deserve her forgiveness, but the apology wasn’t about him.
“More than you can fathom.”
She chuckled softly and nodded. “Then I forgive you. Just like that.”
Something pricked at his heart. He hadn’t learned how to forgive. In his experience, forgiveness wasn’t something freely given. Ever. Following his parents’ divorce, his mother held onto her hurt and anger, allowing its intoxicating venom to poison her heart. In turn, she added alcohol to the mix and poisoned her body along with it. She allowed herself to rot from the inside because she refused to let go and create a new life for herself.
For her son.
Francesca drummed her fingers on the table. “Especially if you clean up from dinner so I can test out that shower I’ve been working so hard on.”
“You call melting a little snow hard?”
“Hey. I’ve melted a whole damned igloo all right? Either way, I’m doing philanthropic work by washing the stink off. You should be thanking me.” She stepped close, leaning down and taking an exaggerated sniff of Benjamin, then moseyed across the room. “And do the same.”
“That all depends on how things shake out for you.” He shrugged. “And if you leave me any hot water of course.”
“No promises,” she grunted as she lifted the five-gallon sack of water she’d left warming behind the stove.
“Allow me.” Benjamin rose from his seat and took the hefty container from her. Following her to the closet-turned-shower—necessity really was the mother of invention—he lifted and hung the water jug from the metal hook. Slowly releasing his hold, they both stepped cautiously out of the way to see if the contraption would, in fact, hold. Miraculously, it did. Francesca wiggled with glee and then disappeared into the bedroom next door.
Returning to the main room to clean up from dinner, Benjamin wondered how he felt both heavier and lighter. Something had felt—not quite comforting, but perhaps cathartic to confide in Francesca about his fear of becoming just like his father. She listened, empathized. Selflessly. It was like she snatched the ache from his chest and stuffed it into hers so she could help him process it.
A flicker of warmth invaded his heart.
Which became enveloped by an all-out inferno at the sound of her showering. She squeaked with the first hit of water, groaned after a few minutes when she’d likely gotten the majority of her delectable body clean, and sang a couple of his favorite 90s songs. She was off-key, but still. He imagined scooping her up after she finished and making her filthy all over again.
Did he want to take advantage of their time stranded together in the cabin? Yes. Was it a smart idea to sport fuck his best friend’s little sister? While Johnny was a great man—solid, loyal, joyful—he probably wouldn’t take too kindly to the overstep.
“No peeking.” Her words startled him out of the problematic fantasy.
“I would never.” Benjamin scoffed a little too adamantly. Because while he would do just about anything to see Francesca wrapped in terry cloth, water dripping from the ends of her hair, nipples straining hard through the threadbare weave of the towels he found in the hope chest, he also had some honor. Perhaps not enough to boast about, but enough to where he didn’t feel like a complete creep.
“Ha! Don’t sound so disgusted.”
“The only person I’m disgusted with is myself,” he murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Fine.” She cleared her throat. “There’s still half the bag left. If you want.”
“Thanks, I think I will.” It was probably wise to wash the desperation off with lukewarm water before the day was out.
He waited for the bedroom door to click shut before he stripped his shirt and pants off and strode to the shower. He’d been right. The chill of the former closet, paired with the tepid spray from the handheld nozzle, washed all excess testosterone down the drain. The increasing frigid flow made his lust more manageable.
Peeking his head outside the door to ensure the coast was clear, he snatched the miniature swatch of fabric these cabin owners passed off as towels and tucked it around his waist. He moved carefully in his bare feet across the hardwood toward the wood stove, where his clothes were neatly folded. Despite the brisk nature of the shower, he felt much improved.
Clearheaded.
Even though he’d shared a kiss with Francesca the night before, he sensed a renewed assurance that it wouldn’t happen again. They’d make it out the next day and be able to put this whole series of unfortunate events behind them.