by Liz Talley
“That’s not what I did.” Benton moved her toward the edge of the dance floor, toward an area that wasn’t so crowded. “I’m admitting how wrong I was. I didn’t want to hurt you. It’s just with you so focused on a baby, I got scared. I started thinking about—”
Jess pressed a hand against his chest. “Don’t. I’m not rehashing all this. I know what you thought and what you wanted. You got it.”
“But I don’t want it,” he said, looking down at her. His eyes begged her. “Don’t you see what I’m saying? I was stupid, so fucking stupid. I know what I did, but I’m hoping you’ll think about talking.”
“Talking?”
He hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about communication and how if I had told you some of what I’d felt that maybe this wouldn’t have happened between us.”
“No, maybe if you hadn’t stuck your dick in Brandy Robbins, this wouldn’t have happened between us. I’m pretty sure that was the issue.” Jess pushed against him. “At this point, I don’t think talking will help.”
“Please. Just think about it. I started seeing a therapist, and he’s helping me see that I was scared.”
“Or horny.”
“No, it wasn’t about sex, babe. It was about escaping because I couldn’t cope with the idea of being like my father. It wasn’t you. It was me.”
“Seriously?” Jess asked, standing stock-still in the middle of the song. Part of her wanted to slap Benton silly, but even as she itched to lay a sting across his cheek, she acknowledged the truth in his words. She’d allowed herself to grow too focused on impending motherhood. She’d subscribed to parenting magazines, shopped for nursery furniture, and neurotically taken her basal temperature during ovulation. At first Benton had overlooked the obsession, passively giving her a “sure” or “yeah, that will be nice,” but then he’d started shutting down. One month he’d refused to have sex with her, telling her he couldn’t physically make it happen. In the corner of her thoughts, she’d known she’d pushed too hard, too fast. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. She thought about their little boy or little girl all the time and the mommy-and-me groups they’d join and about which of her old smocked gowns the baby would wear for the christening.
Oh, she wasn’t to blame for what Benton had done, but she knew she’d helped push him toward it with her baby mania.
“I’m not giving you a line. I’m being sincere. You didn’t do anything wrong, Jess. It was me, and Dr. Williams is helping me see that. I had some issues with my father and the way he raised me and my brother. It’s stuff I never dealt with before, and it cropped up about two years ago when we were talking about starting a family. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I didn’t. I looked for a way out so I wouldn’t have to confront fatherhood. I’m being honest here.”
And he was.
“Okay,” she said,
“Okay, what?”
“I better understand your motivation. It doesn’t excuse you having an affair and walking out on me, but it gives me a little bit of insight into what you were feeling. It somehow makes it … something.” She couldn’t give him a pass. She wouldn’t. He’d made his choice. No going back.
“So can we talk about a future?”
Jess swallowed and gave him a little smile. “See, that’s the thing, Benton. I moved on … and I did it without you. I get that you now have this new insight into yourself, but that has nothing to do with me. I’m happy now.”
“Happier than when we were together?” he asked, swaying a bit and giving a smile to passing couples so they didn’t look like two divorcés arguing.
Jess thought about that. “No, just different. I’m not the same woman.”
“You’re still Jess.”
“But not your Jess,” she said softly. She wasn’t trying to hurt Benton needlessly, which was surprising, since for many months as she processed through grief over their failed marriage she’d wanted to make him cry in agony. “We can’t go back, Benton.”
“I know, but we can talk about what it could be like if we”—he paused, as if grappling for the right thing to say, the thing that wouldn’t cause her to walk away—“were open to having a relationship again. I’m not talking about being who we were, but being a newer version of ourselves. We could date. Like real dating, not hanging out like we did in high school. I know it would take some time for you to trust me again. But maybe if you got to know me, the real Benton, not just the one you thought you knew, we could be better and stronger. I still love you, Jess.”
“No, you don’t. You like the fact I made your life easier. Like this shirt. It’s not ironed. And I bet no one makes you oatmeal raisin cookies. Or can pick out a good watermelon. Or make the shower the perfect temperature after your morning runs.”
Benton smiled. “All good things, but I’m not that shallow. I don’t miss my assistant. I miss my wife.”
Jess shook her head. “It’s too late.”
“Don’t say that. Just say you’ll think about it. You’re coming home from Pensacola in a month or two, right? This is our town. It’s where you belong. And I know you don’t belong with Reyes. I don’t care how fucking tight his abs are. He’s a toy, nothing more.”
Something inside Jess tightened at his words. Benton had laid out what she suspected everyone was saying. That Ryan was her boy toy, her bit of wildness after being dumped by Benton. They thought she was pathetic.
Or maybe even worse … what if she’d let them think that because it inflated her own ego?
She’d tried to convince herself that Ryan being her rebound fling was a perfect indulgence. Getting over the hurt was best done by chasing it away. Plenty of other divorcées had provided a cautionary tale when they jumped into something too soon and ended up divorced again in less than a year. Jess had watched many of her college friends lose weight or get a little work done. Then they hit the bars, drinking martinis and practicing their rusty flirting skills while wearing dresses too short for them. She looked down at her hem.
Right.
But had she marginalized what she felt for Ryan because she’d watched others fall on their faces when they tried to make a rebound work? After all, real love didn’t happen that fast, and it certainly didn’t happen for a sensible woman like herself. Yet what she’d had with Benton, something she thought was everlasting, had gone bad like pork in the August sun. Rosemary’s words from that afternoon floated past her. Love doesn’t find you when you want it to. Nope, it slams into you and holds you hostage. Stop trying to put rules into place.
But she wasn’t falling in love with Ryan. And love couldn’t hold her hostage if she didn’t want it to. She had a say-so in her own life.
She turned from Benton and caught Ryan standing beside a pool table, cue stick clasped in his hand, alarm etched on his face. Her heart swelled at the worried body language. Then she looked back to her ex-husband, who looked so certain of himself. Some of what Benton had said made sense. She would be coming back to Morning Glory. Ryan would not. And, yeah, she’d played the part every newly divorced woman played. That knowledge made her feel so small. And to make it worse, she’d coerced Ryan back to a place he despised so she could feel better about herself. Shame burned inside her.
“I have to go,” she said to Benton, pushing away from him.
“I understand. This is a lot to comprehend, but please think about it, Jess. We’ve always been a team. We could be an even better one. Stronger and better prepared for a future, for kids, because we now know who we both are. Just say you’ll think about it.”
Jess didn’t say anything. Her words were caught in her throat, her heart clenched hard at the sudden onslaught of shame, doubt, and, oddly enough, tenderness. And she didn’t know why that particular emotion was present, but it felt hard to swallow, hard to think with the music pounding and everyone looking at her. She shook her head and walked away from her ex-husband.
“Hey,” Ryan said, taking her elbow. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not oka
y. I need to get outside. I need some air.”
“Okay,” he said, following her.
“No, stay here. Finish your game. I want to be alone for a few minutes.”
His green eyes widened. “You sure?”
“Yeah, that’s the one thing I’m sure about at the moment.”
Chapter Fifteen
They hadn’t made love last night.
It was the first thing that occurred to Ryan when he woke from troubled dreams, his body tense and his head achy. Jess lay beside him, still as a rock, curled away from him, her hand fisted beneath her chin. She looked so young, but her brow furrowed as if even in slumber she couldn’t find peace.
Carefully, he slipped from the small bed and stretched, working out the kink in his neck. He stooped over and picked up the trousers he’d kicked off last night, exhausted from pretending to be just another good ol’ boy out on the town. He’d shot pool, danced with Jess’s friends, and bought drinks for a few other pretty girls who kept sending beers his way. He’d smiled, even flirted a bit, as he tried like hell to erase the geek he’d been from everyone’s memory. For the most part, he’d succeeded. But it hadn’t been a good night.
Damn Benton Mason.
He’d gotten a hold of Jess and said something that had caused her to pull away from Ryan. Oh, Jess had tried to play it off, but he could feel the ties they’d bound themselves with snapping one by one. When he’d questioned her about her need to take in some fresh air, she’d shrugged her cryptic response to his trying to accompany her, suggesting she was merely tired. She’d added she hadn’t wanted to see Benton that night. She’d hated being coerced into dancing with him. And that was as forthcoming as she’d been.
When they arrived back at his parents’ house, she’d claimed a headache and slipped into her pajamas. He’d tried to hold her, but she’d pulled away, saying she was hot. She’d given him an almost chaste kiss and then rolled over. He could feel her lying awake, feel her thoughts tumbling over and over, getting bigger and bigger. Conflicted and helpless, he’d not pressed her.
Because he was scared of the answer.
Thing was, even though he didn’t want to admit it, he knew he’d probably fallen in love. Or maybe he’d never stopped loving her … even if that sounded implausible. Years ago, he’d been a kid, incapable of true romantic love. But still, something about her always pulled him like a magnet to a pole. He was helpless to resist the attraction because deep down, beneath his geeky T-shirts and plaid cargo shorts, the self-assured cheerleader had his heart in her hand. For the past month, he’d been so full of joy to have her back in his life again. Being with her, despite the unwritten rules he’d established for himself, had been the best idea he’d ever had … outside of the makeup of the polymer scaffolding he’d sold for a couple of million. And maybe even better than that. Because Jess didn’t care that he liked dorky TV shows and read books about cell biology. She liked watching him play his online games, even trading insults with his online buddies. Jess liked him just the way he was. Or at least she had until Benton had twirled her onto the dance floor and filled her ear with what was no doubt a pile of bullshit.
His thoughts from the day before when Eden had asked if people ever really changed came tumbling back, smacking mockingly into him.
Softly opening the door, he stepped out and then pulled it closed again. Then he shrugged into a T-shirt he held in his hand before padding barefoot into the breakfast room. The table and chairs in the center of the nook were the same ugly brown they’d always been. Nothing changed here at his parents’ much—the cutlery had been purchased at an outlet mall and the yellow coffee mugs were a grocery store promotional. He grabbed one, filled it with black coffee, and joined his father at the table. The headlines of the Wall Street Journal warned of dire economic times and bottomed-out gas prices. “Morning.”
His father looked over the paper. “Oh, Ryan.”
As if he’d forgotten his only child was in residence. “Still here.”
“I know. I didn’t expect you up so early. You went carousing last night.”
Carousing? “Just a few drinks to celebrate the upcoming nuptials. No actual carousing involved.” Ryan sipped the bitter brew. His father made it strong. Maxwell House. Good to the last drop.
“Ah, and today is the wedding, huh? We weren’t invited, but I’m not surprised. We don’t travel in those circles, thank God.”
Ryan smiled at this. His parents didn’t really have a social circle. They were too square. “Yes, I wish I didn’t have to truss myself up like a Christmas goose, either.”
“Do you?” His father sat the paper down. “Then why do it?”
“Because of Jess,” Ryan said.
“You love this girl?”
Ryan shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m going because she asked me to. She wanted me there.”
“I never liked her first husband. That Mason boy. He once threw eggs at our house, remember? And rolled our trees in toilet paper.”
“I remember.” But he’d tried to forget. If people truly never changed, did that mean Benton Mason had never left his bullying ways behind? Ryan had tried to chalk up Benton and his moronic friends’ behavior to their age. Teens weren’t fully developed cognitively, often making decisions based on obtaining power. But Ryan was a firm believer that people did change, or maybe they merely conformed to society’s standards. After all, he’d changed. Sorta.
“And his father’s not very nice, either. But you, you’re a nice boy.” His father picked up the paper and started reading again.
“Dad?”
“Yes?” Emilio lowered the paper again.
“When did you know you loved Mom?” The question had flown from his mouth before he could think better of asking. He’d never broached something so personal with his father. He knew next to nothing about his mother and father’s courtship. He knew only that they’d met at Columbia when his father was on a lecture circuit and his mother was working on her master’s. They’d tried to eschew the conventions of marriage, but Martha had been raised in a strict Catholic family and her father wouldn’t pay for the remainder of her schooling if she “shacked up” with some Massachusetts weirdo. So they’d gotten married and had a nontraditional red-velvet wedding cake, rebels that they were.
“When she refused to change her thesis to reflect my belief that physical activity improves spatial perception and attention in adolescents. She said I hadn’t proven it with hard evidence. I admired that about her, along with the fact she was willing to change her mind after we collected enough data. Your mother can’t be moved when she believes in something, so I knew she was perfect for me. Oh, and her bottom looked incredible in the slacks she wore. That was persuasive, too.”
Ryan laughed. “That’s a good combo.”
“Indeed it is. She still has a nice can. That’s why I don’t complain about the money she spends on yoga. So are you asking these questions because of Jessica?”
“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to know. “You haven’t said anything about my career. Usually you have something to say. Why?”
“Because it’s like beating a dead fish.”
“Horse.”
“Fish, horse, whatever. Still ugly when beaten. I don’t understand you, but then again, you don’t understand me. That is the human condition at times. I believe you were given a gift, something so rare and powerful. You believe you were cursed. Impasse.” Emilio lifted the paper once again. “I cannot change the way you feel. I’ve learned to accept it. You’re my son.”
His father went back to reading.
Ryan stared at him for a few moments, grappling with this final words. You’re my son. What power in three words. Inside he warmed, the flag of resentment he’d folded tightly years ago loosening. His father was correct—sometimes one had to learn to accept others exactly as they were.
Thinking to beat a dead fish, Ryan opened his mouth to ask his father exactly what he meant, but a knock on the door tore him fr
om his intentions. “I’ll get it. Probably someone delivering Jess’s dress.”
Ryan walked through the dim living room and unlocked the door. Pulling it open, he found Benton Mason standing on the front porch.
“Benton,” he said, trying to cover his confusion with a cool demeanor.
“What’s up, Brain? Solve any equations today?”
Ryan lifted one eyebrow, ignoring the dumb crack. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and needed to talk to Jess. Can you get her for me?” Benton looked totally untroubled about standing on his ex-wife’s boyfriend’s parents’ house’s porch. Entitled jackass.
“She’s asleep.”
Benton ran a hand through his shaggy hair and tried on a smile. “She does like to sleep in.”
“If you’re trying to remind me of the intimacy you once shared with her, you can stop. It won’t work.” Ryan didn’t want to feel prickly, but he did. Everything felt so unsettled, and now here was Slick Willie on his porch with his greasy smile and his mean pig eyes.
Benton’s grin dissolved. “Oh, I get it. You think you’re somebody now. Coming back here with your pretty boy shine and your new muscles. Like people didn’t forget you wet your pants in the twelfth grade.”
Ryan smiled a not-so-nice smile of his own. “You like to remind me of your glory days, don’t you? Fine. I pissed myself, but only after spending five hours in the PE closet. I have claustrophobia, and I could hardly move, but you wouldn’t have cared, would you? You shoved me in there and hid the key. You’re a mean man, Benton. Just like your father.” Ryan knew he shouldn’t sink to the man’s level, but damn if he couldn’t help himself. The rage he’d tied down all those years ago broke loose, aided by Jess’s withdrawal the night before. This man needed to come down a peg or two. Maybe three or four.
