by Kristy Marie
Dark circles frame his eyes as he picks at the hem of his shirt. “I will,” I say honestly. “I planned to pick something up.”
He nods, but I can tell he’s wary.
“I promise,” I tell him. “I’ll eat.”
Fenn won’t say why he took a sudden interest in running with me and making sure I eat, but I have one blonde guess. She might not answer my texts, but she’s making sure I’m taking care of myself. Even if it is through her brother.
“I’ll meet you back here at six,” I tell him, changing the subject, tossing a few things in a bag.
Fenn nods and then exhales. “Don’t get arrested.”
“Not a chance.”
After making a stop at a little sandwich shop, I pull into the familiar lot and put the car in park. Getting comfortable, I slide the seat back and recline, taking out a sandwich and leaving the other two sitting inside the cooler. It doesn’t take long after I’ve settled in before the light turns on and a silhouette as stunning as its owner passes by the shaded window.
She sits on the bed, cradling her head in her hands. I can’t tell if she looks tired or if she’s full of restless energy. The blinds she had installed a few weeks ago have prevented me from being privy to any details of how she’s feeling. Although, she could answer my texts, but I haven’t sent open-ended questions to start a conversation.
The truth is, I don’t need a conversation. I know what I want. I’m at peace with my decisions. My plan is in place. All that’s left is finding my opening. So I’m waiting, biding my time until I spot it, then I’m going to throw a Hail Mary and hope it hits its mark.
A few minutes tick by and Aspen’s light goes off, taking her beautiful silhouette with it. Sighing, I snag my pillow and stuff it under my neck. I slept one night without her. That night I thought she had left me for Boston. But never again. Since then, whether or not she knows it, we’ve never slept apart. I don’t care that my neck hurts and I’m stiff from sleeping in the car. Hell, I don’t even care that I owe Maverick Lexington, our campus devil who grants favors, a solid. I needed the cops not to drag my ass out of this lot while I watched my girl, falling asleep when she did. Maverick assured me a detective in the bureau owed him and I was in the clear to stalk away. I don’t know what the favor will cost me, but that’s a problem for another time.
It’s not until eleven that I’m startled awake. Sitting up, I scrub at my eyes and look around. The parking lot is quiet, nothing suspicious that would send off alarm bells. Except—I strain to see her in the lamplight. Aspen stands, her shadow pacing in front of the window—restless.
Tilting my head, I take in my girl, her forehead against the shade. She can’t sleep. Like most nights, she doesn’t sleep through the night, instead, working on her computer until morning. Tonight, though, is different. I can feel it deep in my gut.
Tonight is my opening.
Pajamas are discouraged
Aspen
Bennett: I’ll cook on Wednesdays.
Bennett: Fights will always end in sex.
It’s almost midnight and I’m awake. Bennett’s increasing texts are now haunting my dreams. It’s not like I wasn’t already a mess seeing his name pop up on my phone daily, but these texts—these rules—unnerve me. I suppose he doesn’t intend for me to answer. Which I don’t. What would I even say? Are you dying? Are you okay? Do you miss me like I miss you?
It’s not like I haven’t tried to weasel out information from Drew and Fenn, but both turds have kept silent, telling me to ask Bennett myself. They’re super helpful. I even tried Mom and Aunt B. They, too, directed me to Bennett.
I’m not scared to call him. I just promised I would find myself without Bennett. But it wasn’t that simple: I found that finding me, without my best friend, wasn’t a happy me.
I miss Bennett.
I miss his grouchy attitude and ridiculous sense of humor. I miss torturing him into watching a romcom and shoving my cold feet between his legs. I miss his frown, his—I just miss him.
Nothing about finding myself has been amazing. It’s been hard and lonely. And even though I’m happy, finally opening my own agency, it hasn’t been worth celebrating because the first person I thought to call, was the same person I forbid from coming after me.
It was the stupidest rule I’d ever created.
And he followed it to the letter.
I just didn’t think it would hurt this much. For some crazy reason, I hoped finding myself without Bennett would be filled with bar hopping and romantic dinners with new strangers that made my stomach flutter.
None of those things have happened in these past few months. Instead, I moved into my new apartment, leaving all the boxes packed after I opened the first two and found Bennett’s shirt and toothbrush I accidentally grabbed. It was all too much, too foreign.
So, I bought a new wardrobe, used the boxes as furniture, and ate takeout every night. I was miserable until my Mom forced her way into my apartment one day when I refused to call her back for a week. She gasped when she saw the dumpster fire that was my home and set out unpacking all my stuff while I sat on the floor, clutching Bennett’s shirt, and sobbed.
Those were the worst days of my life. I ended up falling asleep in my Mom’s arms while she stroked my hair and told me everything would work out as it should. I knew she was lying. Because the only way things were going to work out is if I went back to Bennett and followed our rules.
And on a cold Thursday night, I grabbed my keys, intending on doing just that. But Mom stopped me, insisting I give myself and Bennett time. I didn’t know about Bennett, but I didn’t need more time to know my life wasn’t the same without him.
I was tired of missing him. I was tired of loving him. But as the days drug on, and my mother forced me out of the house, I learned I loved the little sandwich shop outside my apartment and hated the dog next door who shit on the sidewalk every morning. I also learned I now hated romcoms. For someone in mourning, they were the devil.
But I endured, and eventually Mom felt comfortable leaving me to my own devices. I still thought about Bennett, though. I still slept with his dirty shirt. But I worked, securing eight new clients. Maverick, Cooper’s brother, has been sending potential clients—or favors, as he calls them—my way.
Together, we’ve been able to grow his financial business along with my agency. It’s been exciting, even though the money isn’t that great, but it will be with a few more deals.
The biggest help has been my father. Even though he was disappointed in not seeing me on the big screen, impressing the world with my crazy knowledge of sports stats, I think he was more proud about me holding my own at my first ever negotiation. He was there at the table with his scouting stats on my client. The ball club he worked with thought I would be a pushover since Theo was my father.
They thought wrong.
Of all the things I’d accomplished in school, nothing impressed my father more than me standing up and shaking hands with one of the top baseball clubs in the United States. I had struck my first deal and ensured my client a multi-million-dollar contract. Granted, my Uncle Thad was there too since I’m not officially licensed yet. But soon, that won’t be a problem. Surprisingly, Thad and my father worked together, helping me secure all the documents I needed to be a legitimate agent, operating under my own limited liability corporation.
“Come on, Von Bremen,” my father says into the phone, his voice sleepy from the late-night call. “You’re being stubborn. You know Jake isn’t worth a million-dollar deal.”
I slip down the wall, beneath the window. Jakey did exactly what I told him to do this year—kept his ass off the bench and put on fifteen pounds of muscle. He led the team with a 280 on base percentage. Basically, he’s crushed any pitching by sending that ball deep into the outfield. He was drafted by one of my father’s teams and we’re still negotiating terms.
“I respectfully disagree, Mr. Von Bremen. Your team needs a power hitter, and Jakey is your man. Now,
you can tell me all day that he doesn’t have the major league hours to back it up, but he killed your Minor League. None of their pitchers could sit him down. Your team wants to lock him into a multi-year deal—this is their reality. Multi-year contracts come with multi millions. It’s as simple as that.”
Dad laughs on the other line. “Alright, Ms. Von Bremen. I see your point.”
We always call each other Mr. and Ms. Von Bremen during contract negotiations. It helps keep things from getting too personal. Although my father has no part in the financial discussions, his teams usually ask him to talk some sense into me since we’re related, and they think his scouting reports are law.
Trust me, his scouting reports are good but mine are better.
“This is a good deal for Jake.” He sighs. “He’s young and has many more years to hone his craft and shine. The money will come.”
“Mr. Von Bremen,” I twirl a few strands of hair through my fingers, hearing my father pad down the hardwood floors of my childhood home. “No disrespect, but my client and I wipe our nose with the money Atlanta is offering. The market is competitive, and I won’t recommend my client lock into a multi-year deal without incentive. He’ll do his one year and then we’ll arbitrate.” I shrug, looking longingly at the bed that doesn’t feel like mine. “It’s up to Atlanta, but fourteen million for three years is our offer. You tell your team if they send you to negotiate with me again, our price will double.”
My father barks out a laugh. “I see. I appreciate your time Ms. Von Bremen. I will relay your message.”
“You do that.”
It’s like I can see my father grinning on the other end of the line. “And, Aspen,” he says, dropping the professionalism. “I better see you on Thanksgiving. If I have to babysit your Uncle Hayes and his demons one more time, I’m going to bash my head in.”
He’s lying, but it makes me smile anyway. “I’ll be there.”
It’s the first holiday since Bennett and I have been apart. My mom sent out a group text saying that Bennett and I were supposed to bring a pie—sugar free of course. I didn’t text Bennett to coordinate. I figured I would get one and meet him there. Thanksgiving will feel different and, more than likely, awkward, but I need to get used to seeing Bennett at home. No matter what happens between us, I’ll never make him think the foundation isn’t his home. We made a promise to spare our family’s relationship. I won’t go back on that promise.
“Good,” my father says. “Now go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you.”
My head drops to my knees, the high I felt while negotiating dissipating with every breath. Can I see Bennett again? Can I be indifferent and not latch onto him and beg for him to talk to me?
I don’t know, but I’ll guess we’ll see. “Yeah.” I exhale. “I love you too, Daddy.”
Hanging up, I sit on the floor of my bedroom. It’s not fancy, just a thousand square feet of no memories and bare walls. I prefer my office that’s four blocks away, but eventually, I have to come home and face the nothingness. It’s the harshest reality I’ve ever faced. A life without Bennett is bitter and barren.
My eyes close and I consider just sleeping on the floor. Maybe I won’t dream of his smile or that annoyed look whenever I said something inappropriate. Yeah, the floor is good. It isn’t a bed where I drifted to sleep in his arms. Floors are good for picking up the pieces of my shattered heart. Floors are good—My phone dings and my lashes flutter open, eagerly reading his text.
Bennett: Pajamas are discouraged.
I don’t know what exactly that means, but I’ll admit, it makes my sick little heart happy. How many times did I dream of Bennett naked in bed? The feeling of his skin on mine as we laid in bed this past summer is something I will never forget.
I trace over the name of his contact. It’s simple, nothing cute with hearts or emojis. Just a simple ‘Bennett.’ Because, at this point, that’s all he is to me. He’s not my BJ or even my annoying Jameson. For all I know, he’s someone else’s pain in the ass.
A knock on my window startles me upright. I stay silent, hoping that if it’s a serial killer, he’ll move onto another apartment.
“Asp.”
My heart—I’m not even sure if it’s beating.
“Bennett?” I haven’t said his name out loud in months. It feels strange and comforting. Inching up the wall, I move the blinds to the side and peer out, a brilliant frown outside of the glass. “What are you doing here?” I ask, inching up the blinds, and pushing up the window.
His enchanting emerald eyes haven’t looked away from my face. It’s almost as if he can’t believe we’re really together. “It’s Wednesday. I told you I would cook dinner.”
The texts.
He passes me a cooler through the window, and I take a step back, watching as his big body squeezes through.
When he’s settled in my bedroom, I give him a once-over, taking in his t-shirt and jeans. I arch a brow like I haven’t been away from him for four months. “You’re saying you cooked?” I jiggle the cooler in my hand.
He smiles bigger and more beautiful than I’ve ever seen and steps up to me, chest to chest. “Would you believe I gave up football in favor of baking?”
Gah, my heart can’t take him this close, with a smile I have only seen in my dreams, and he smells… like soap and bread—all things I love dearly.
“Aspen,” he prods, stepping back and closing the window. “Can you hear me?”
I shake my head. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He hums, stepping to me, taking the cooler from my hand and placing it on my bed.
“Make yourself at home,” I say, my sarcasm coming back through the shock.
“Thanks.” He says, taking a seat on my bed and pushing back to the headboard like he’s settling in for a glass of cognac and a cigar.
My eyes narrow as I walk to the nightstand closest to him and lean against the wood for support. No way am I sitting. I have a feeling this conversation is not one I’m going to sit still for. When I’m settled with my arms crossed and a pointed gaze trained on Bennett, I try again. “What are you doing here, Jameson?”
His lip twitches, but not because he’s mad. Instead, he’s fighting off a grin. “I told you I was coming for you.”
I rear back. “I do not recall ever receiving that message.”
He shrugs. “You never have listened well. I told you, I would always come for you.”
“That’s it.” I lean forward, ready to throw him out when he stands, his chest pushing against mine. His eyes find mine while his hand goes around to his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper.
He holds it up between us. “Take it.”
I’m not sure just what in the fresh hell is going on here, but I’m curious, plucking the document from his hand and unfolding it.
In black ink, my logo stares back at me. “I don’t understand.” I also can’t focus enough to read what I already know is there. It’s my representation contract. The same one I sat down and wrote with Thad.
Bennett stares at me blankly. “I need an agent.”
“And…”
He needed one a year ago. I had agreed to do it, but that was then—before everything went to shit.
“And I want you.” He acts like we haven’t been apart this whole time—like our entire relationship didn’t crumble in front of our eyes, mere months ago.
“Bennett,” I say, laying the contract on the nightstand. “I don’t think I’m the right agent for you anymore.”
He takes a marker from his pocket and holds it up. “I disagree.”
“Of course you do. Bennett—”
He puts a finger to my lips. “Name your terms.”
Name my terms… “Did you take a hit to the head?” What the hell is going on?
He shakes his head. “I’ve given you four months,” he drawls, his southern accent thicker. “I’ve stayed away as you asked.”
My heart sinks, knowing he was giving me the s
tupid space I asked for.
“I’ve waited for you, and now I’m done.”
I cock my head to the side. “You’re done doing what?”
He tosses the marker onto the nightstand and pushes his hand through my hair. “I’m done living without you.”
I swallow. “What about the rules?”
He smirks. “I already sent all the ones I had.”
“The texts?”
He nods. “Can you live with those or not?”
This is so confusing. “Bennett, maybe I’m just sleep deprived, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What about your father and mine?”
Isn’t this what the last twenty years were all about? Our fathers staying friends at all costs?
Bennett pulls me closer, leaning his head in and inhaling. “Your father gave me his word.”
I laugh. “My father gave you his word about what?”
Bennett places a kiss to my neck. “He said, and I quote, ‘nothing—not even the two of us will drive Jameson away. If it would have, I’d have used it a long time ago.’”
A deep laugh seeps out of me, followed by a hiccup. “And your father?”
Bennett tightens his grip in my hair. “Said he was a grown ass man, and I’d do best remembering that.”
I stop breathing. That wasn’t a blessing. “How do you feel about it?”
He nuzzles under my ear. “I’ve had months to get used to just taking care of myself.”
I pull back so I can look at him. “You learned to give yourself shots?” He nods. “Our fathers suggested I learn how to handle my shit and stop worrying about theirs.”
For the first time since Bennett showed up, I allow myself to touch him. Running my hands over his shoulders, I take in the additional muscle he’s put on since we’ve been apart. “I’m proud of you,” I tell him.
He kisses my ear and whispers, “Don’t be. I should have done this a long time ago.”
Eh. Maybe.
“I’m so sorry, Aspen.” His eyes are alight with excitement, but his body is tense. “There’s nothing I can ever say to make up for all the wasted time and pain I’ve caused you.”
