Five Ways to Fall (40 page)

“I should have just called him. I don’t know how you talked me into this,” Ben mutters, pulling into Jack’s driveway that night.

“I told you. He already knows I was with you and what happened. He’ll want to pay his respects in person.”

Ben heaves a resigned sigh.

“He’s not going to fire you!”

“Well, doing it today would be in poor taste, I guess.” Ben slides out of the driver’s side reluctantly and trails me inside.

Both Mason and Jack are waiting for us in the kitchen. Jack’s on his feet instantly, walking forward with a morose expression and his arms out to offer a confused-looking Ben a manly hug. Mason is close behind. “How can we help?”

“Well, I think Reese already mentioned me needing a week off. My brothers and sister are trying to get flights in, but I’m not sure when they’ll make it. I can’t leave my mother alone.”

“Done,” Jack states simply.

Ben swallows. “Thanks, Jack. That’s a relief. I just drove back to drop Reese off and get some clothes and I’m heading back up tonight.”

There’s an awkward pause as three sets of eyes flash to me—Mason’s filled with curiosity, Jack’s with reluctance, and Ben’s baby blues with . . . I don’t know what that look is, but I’ve been getting it a lot today.

“My mama sent you her meatloaf as a small token of thanks,” Ben adds, handing Mason the box of food that Wilma packed up. News in the small community spread quickly. By the time I made it back to the house, the fridge and freezer were brimming with food from friends, and Wilma was still cooking.

“Well, tell her that was unnecessary, but it’ll go to the same good spot it went last time.” Jack’s soft chuckle fills the kitchen as he pats his belly.

“Well, I should get going.” There’s another awkward pause as Ben glances at me. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably the same thing I’m thinking: What’s the standard protocol for saying goodbye here? Because I know what
I
want.

I want him to kiss me.

Clearing his throat, Ben finally offers, “Thanks for all your help today, Reese. Mama sure appreciated it. You’ve got to be tired.”

Exhausted, actually. I don’t know how she does that day in and day out. I simply nod and watch his retreating back as he disappears out the front door.

And it hits me. I’m not going to see him for an entire week. At least! Is he feeling any of what I’m feeling right now? Or is Wilma wrong? Is this just his regular friendship, with a bit of a personal tragedy kicker thrown in to wreak emotional havoc? And what if he
is
feeling it and he doesn’t like it? Wilma’s been introducing me as Ben’s girlfriend to anyone who will listen, including the priest from her parish who stopped by as we were packing the car up to drive back to Miami. There’s a really good chance that Ben is looking to hightail it out of here.

Maybe into someone else’s bed.

Shit
. Am I developing
real
feelings for Ben Morris?

“I forgot something in the car.” It’s comes out sounding stilted and obviously untrue. I glance at Jack as I pass by. He’s just staring at me. I try not to rush out the door, but I’m pretty sure I’ve failed at hiding my hurry.

Ben’s tall frame is just about to fold into his driver’s side as the front door clicks behind me. He stops and watches as I take tentative, stiff-bodied steps toward him, my stomach a mix of butterflies and dread, not sure what’s going on in his head. This “thing” between us was easier when I didn’t care. Now . . . I’m pretty sure that I do. God, I don’t want to be another Mercy, another “friend” that he’ll need to gently turn down.

“I just . . .” My voice drifts off as I reach him. What the hell do I say now that I’m here? “I’m really sorry about your dad. About all of it. Not just today.”

His head cocks to the side as he regards me. “Reese, are you falling in love with me?”

“No!” I yell with a touch too much vigor. I feel my face burst into flames as he starts chuckling. “Shut up, you asshole.”

“Dude! My dad just killed himself today and you’re calling me names?” His terrible attempt at humor makes me cringe. “All right already, come here.” An arm hooks around my back and he pulls me into a tight hug, my face pressing up against the softness of his T-shirt. All of his shirts are soft and comfortable and worthy of melting into. I inhale deeply, catching that soapy clean smell that I’ve already missed.

“Are you going to survive a week without me or do you need to keep one of my shirts to tide you over?” he murmurs, his mouth pressed up again my hair. I hear the smile in his voice.

I turn my face away as another burst of heat touches my cheeks. “Maybe just one.”

He groans, his arms tightening around me. “So you can use it for some weird exorcism-voodoo shit when I piss you off? Hell no! I’ll end up with a nasty rash, won’t I? Oh, wait. You called
me
a rash, didn’t you?”

I find myself giggling against him as movement in the blinds at the front window catches my eye.
Great. Jack
. I’ll have that to deal with when I go inside.

Ben must have seen it too. “What’re you going to tell Jack?”

“I don’t know.” I pull away and tilt my head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “What
should
I tell him?”

His chest presses against mine with his deep breath. With another quick glance back at the window, he leads me ahead of his car and into the cover of the garage doors, set far enough out that no window has a view. He looks down at me, roaming my features and settling on my mouth. “That we’re good friends.” And then, so contrary to his words, and in a manner so different from the Ben that has kissed me in the past, he dips down and settles a soft, lingering kiss on my mouth, his thumbs rubbing against my cheeks. “I’ve gotta head out now. It’s a long drive back and I’m beat,” he murmurs against my mouth, his voice crackling with its low cadence. I feel his lips curve against mine. “I didn’t sleep well with all that babbling you were doing last night.”

“What?” I feel my brow furrow. “I don’t talk in my sleep.”

There’s just enough light from the corner of the house that I see his dimples. “You do. I just didn’t have a chance to make fun of you for it earlier.”

Curiosity overcomes my embarrassment. “What did I say?”

He pauses, as if deciding whether to tell me. And then he shrugs. “Hard to tell, with that ass of yours going all night, too. What did you eat, because . . . Jeez!”

“What!” I shriek, pulling away from him to smack his broad chest hard as he bursts out in laughter. “I do not
fart
in my sleep!” I hiss. This may be worse than the puke and the crawling.

“I was the one pressed right up against you all night. I think I’d know.”

“Oh my God.” I close my eyes as I wince. Of all the guys to do that in front of—if it’s even true; Jared
never
said anything—it had to be a guy like Ben? Who will torment me! Does this kind of stuff happen to other women, too? Or is it just me? I shift away from him and start moving backward. “Well, you’d better get going. It’s a long drive.”

Two strong hands shoot out to grab onto me and pull me back until my back is pressing against the garage door. “Don’t worry. I still think you’re hot.” With an infuriating smile, he dips down and levels me with one of his overpowering kisses, this one much more familiar and “Ben,” buckling my knees as he crushes his body against mine. My eyes finally open to deep dimples as he lifts a hand and kisses my knuckles. “Okay, seriously, I need to go or I’m liable to take you on the hood of Jack’s truck.” Slipping a hand on the small of my back, he leads me toward the walkway as he heads back to his car. “Do you think you can stay out of trouble this week?”

“Depends. What kind of trouble?”

He rests an arm on his open door as he smirks at me, explaining in a wry tone, “The kind that involves douchebag ex-husbands.”

I open my mouth to speak but I stall on the words as I process this. Is he referring to catfights with Caroline and violent outbursts? Or was that his way of saying he doesn’t want me messing around with anyone? I settle on, “Depends. Do you think you can stay away from Twinkies?”

He winks. “I knew you were jealous.” And then he climbs into his car without giving me a proper answer. I watch him pull away, feeling irritated and suddenly empty.

With a deep breath, I walk inside.

Jack and Mason are still in the kitchen, Jack carving a sizeable piece of meatloaf and loading it onto a plate. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, Wilma wouldn’t let us leave until we ate,” I explain, reaching into the fridge for the jug of chocolate milk. I screw the top off and am about to lift it to my lips to chug it back when I catch Mason staring at me, his mouth open and trying really hard not to scold me. My arms drops. I reach out and get a glass, making a point of watching him with a “See? I can be considerate!” glare.

“Well, the woman sure can cook,” Jack muses, opening the microwave to slide his plate in. “I’m not even hungry and I have to eat this.”

I pat his belly affectionately. “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to get too plump for Ms. Sexton.”

Mason starts snickering from his seat on the bar stool.

“Mason . . .” The kitchen fills with loud beeps as Jack punches instructions into the microwave. “Why don’t you go to your room and talk to that lovely girlfriend of yours.”

Mason’s laughter cuts off short. “You’re sending me to my room? I’m twenty-five years old!”

“Yes, that’s right, you are. And yet you got caught lying to your father this weekend.” Jack stands in front of the microwave, a small smile on his face.

“Good luck, Reese,” Mason mutters, grabbing whatever magazine he was reading and his glass of chocolate milk.

“So . . .” Jack takes a moment rifling through the forks in the cutlery drawer, as if there’s a “good fork” versus a “bad fork” in there. It’s a matching set. “How is Ben’s mother taking it?”

“Hard to tell. She kept herself really busy today. Ben thinks she’s going to have a hard time once the dust settles.”

Jack pulls the heated plate of food out of the microwave and heads toward the breakfast bar. “I can’t imagine losing her husband like that is easy.”

“It was bad, but it could have been worse.” I’d imagine a bottle of pills and some puke is definitely easier to deal with than a shotgun or a rope. If Wilma had walked in on that . . . My stomach tightens with the thought. She’s such a sweet woman and she deserves to be happy.

She’s also a fascinating woman. Perhaps it’s because of the vast difference between her and Annabelle. All I knew growing up was a woman who kept trading up for power and prestige. Wilma is completely opposite, standing by a wretched man for thirty-three years, holding onto the few years of bliss she remembers. Did either of these women make good choices?

“How is Ben taking it? Should he be driving back alone?” Jack asks.

I think back to what I just left in the driveway. Ben being . . . Ben. “I think he’s okay,” I say tentatively, adding, “He didn’t have the closest relationship with his father.”

Jack nods as he sits down. “And what about his relationship with you? How close is that?” He shovels a mouthful of meatloaf in and chews slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.

“We’re good friends,” I parrot Ben’s earlier words. It’s not a lie. We have formed a close friendship. It may not be entirely platonic. Or not platonic at all but, as long as Jack doesn’t ask for specifics, it’s a solid answer. Plus, if I admit to nothing, then I’m not putting Jack in an awkward position, where he’s forced to do anything about it at work.

My logic is sound.

I watch Jack process that as he swallows and fills his mouth again. I always know when Jack is thinking because his eyes remain downcast and trained on a specific spot. Finally, he places his fork down. “I think you two both have very bright futures, and I’d hate for something to jeopardize that.”

“Nothing’s going to,” I promise, though inside I know I’m not as confident as I sound. What’s going to happen
when
Ben sleeps with someone else? Curls up in bed with her? Makes her laugh and feel special?

The very thought of it has me clenching my teeth.

Jack makes a soft grunt, as if he can read my mind, see my doubts.

I finish my glass of milk and rinse it out. “I’m heading to bed, Jack. It’s been a long day.”

“Okay. A package arrived for you yesterday, from Annabelle. I left it in your room.”

“Great.” What could that be?

“Reese?” Jack calls out after me as I pass him.

I slow reluctantly. I can convince myself of whatever logic I want; deceiving Jack still feels wrong. “Yeah?”

“You understand why I’m worried, right?”

“Because I’m an emotional mess who may accidently repaint the interior of Warner in a fit of rage?”

A crooked smirk touches his lips as he pauses. “Ben seems like a good guy, but . . . I don’t want you ending up bitter like Annabelle.” I bite the inside of my mouth to keep quiet, recalling his own son’s similar words only days ago. “Just . . .” Jack picks up the glass of red wine he has barely touched since I arrived home. “Keep it out of the office, Reese. I don’t want anyone asking questions. It’ll look like I’m favoring you.” He takes a sip. “More than I already do.”

I offer him a tiny, imperceptible nod as I take off up the stairs and to the privacy of my room, to find the giant white box resting on my bed. Tossing my knapsack to the floor, I peel off the tape securing the top. A pile of amethyst-colored satin nestled among tissue paper stares back at me. Unfolding the note card on top, I read:

For this Saturday’s charity ball. I hope you haven’t gained weight.

I sigh. This event must be really important for her image for her to be going to all the trouble of getting her daughter there. I pick the box up and toss it into the corner without even pulling the dress out.

Because I’m not going.

It’s eleven by the time I’m crawling into bed when my cell phone rings. My stomach does a flip when I see Ben’s name appear.

Oh God, I’m so screwed
.

I answer with his line. “You missed me that much already?”