Now was my time and I wasn’t going to waste it. “I’m not gonna fight it, Ben, ’cause I can’t. We’ll fight tomorrow. But I need some prescriptions filled, and quick.”

“Ma’s comin’ over. She’ll get you fed and I’ll go out and get your meds.”

My head whipped around at the word “over” and I stared at him in scared-as-shit disbelief. “Theresa’s comin’ over?”

He glanced at me, then back at the road. “Yeah, babe. She didn’t fall for your sleep fake either, but she gave you that play. Now she wants to kick in. Make sure you’re all right.”

“I can’t face Theresa.”

Ben’s eyes came to me again and stayed on me a shade longer than they should have, seeing as he was driving. Then he looked back at the road. “Frankie, cara, she wants—”

“I can’t face Theresa.”

His hand came out and folded around mine. “Cara—”

I didn’t fight his hand holding mine. I had another fight I needed to focus on. “I can’t, Ben. Call her. Tell her not to come.”

He squeezed my hand. “Baby, it’s—”

I squeezed his hand. “Ben.” I leaned his way. “Please.”

He did another longer-than-safe glance at me, then he gave me another squeeze before he let me go. He shifted forward in his seat, dug his cell out of his back pocket, and I held my breath.

His thumb moved on the screen and he put it to his ear.

I took a breath, because it was needed for survival, and I held it again.

“Ma, yeah. Listen, Frankie’s with me. She’s good. She’s cool. She’s comin’ home with me, but she needs ’til tomorrow for you. Can you give that to her?”

Tomorrow. I’d bought time. I was golden.

“Thanks, Ma.”

Yes, I was golden.

I did not grin. I heaved a sigh of relief. This was not a victory. I was genuinely freaked about seeing Theresa. I loved her. I missed her. And there was something about the loss of her that cut deeper than any of the Bianchis, save Benny, but I was not going to go there. And, of course, Vinnie, who had no choice but to leave me, except the one he should have made before he hooked his star to Sal.

My ma was the shit. She was hilarious. She was the best wingman a girl could have, be it at a bar or a church. No joke, even at fifty-three, she could rack ’em up and pin ’em down for you, and I knew this because she not only picked Vinnie for me, she scored both my sisters’ husbands for them, not to mention four of her own. She drank like a sailor, cursed like a sailor, and I wasn’t certain, but evidence pointed to the fact that she’d entertained most of the boys who’d been through the Naval Station for the last three decades (plus). I knew this because my father was one of them.

She was any girl’s best friend.

The problem with that was that she’d been my “best friend” since I was two.

A girl needed a mother.

And Theresa Bianchi was that for me.

And then she wasn’t.

I’d waited for twenty-one years to get that for me.

And then it was gone.

“You got a day, darlin’,” Benny said quietly. “A day to prepare. You gotta face her, but more, Francesca, you gotta let her face you.”

“Fine,” I told the window.

“Fine?” Ben repeated on a question.

“Yeah.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “No lip. You are tired.”

“I’ll have my strength back after a nap and we’ll fight about it then,” I lied, because we wouldn’t. I’d be at The Drake while Ben was losing his mind in his empty house.

“You’re on.” He was still muttering, but he had humor in his deep and easy voice now.

Humor from Benny was a killer. He had a great smile. He had a better laugh. And I’d already mentioned how fabulous his eyes were when they were dancing with humor.

He also had a great face. It was more than just drop-dead handsome. It was expressive. Benny Bianchi was not a man who held back emotion. He let it hang out. And there was no time it didn’t look good.

But when he was in a good mood, smiling and laughing, that was the best. I used to go for it—his smiles, his laughter. I used to work for it. Even when Vinnie was alive.

That was how great Benny was when he was laughing.

It was worth the work.

Suddenly, I decided a nap at that precise moment was the way to go. The problem was, when I rested my head on the window, it kept bumping against the glass, which was not conducive to sleep.

So I sat back in the seat and closed my eyes.

Two seconds into this, Benny whispered, “Shoot that fucker again for takin’ the fight outta you.”

At the low rumble of his words, which said he really meant them, I closed my eyes tighter.

He’d shot the man who shot me. His shot was not the kill shot. But he’d shot him.

“Can we not talk about that?” I whispered back.

“Drill him full of holes for takin’ the fight outta you.”

I felt the wet behind my eyes and said nothing.

He took my hand again and I didn’t pull away again. In my effort at holding back the tears, I just didn’t have it in me.

“We’ll get you fightin’ fit again, baby,” he promised me, deep and easy.

We would, but that being the royal “we.”

I didn’t share that.

I took in a deep breath and let it out.

Benny held my hand and he did this a long time. In fact, he did it until he had to let it go to hit the garage door opener on his visor. I opened my eyes when he let me go and I watched him do it. Then I watched him pull into his garage.

Time to instigate Operation Drake.

I did well, even allowing Ben to lift me out of the vehicle and carry me into his house and up the stairs.

My plan fell apart when he carried me into his bedroom.

It went up in smoke when he bent to lay me on his bed.

As he was removing his arms, I caught hold of his wrist.

His eyes came to mine.

He now had his glasses shoved into his hair. No man could shove his glasses up into his hair and look that hot. But Benny could.

God…so…freaking…totally hated me.

“Why am I in your bedroom?” I asked.

“’Cause you need a nap.”

“I can nap in one of the other bedrooms.”

He grinned.

Torture!

“Babe, got shit in my second bedroom,” he shared. “Packed with it. Can barely move, there’s so much shit in there.”

“How do you have so much shit?” I pressed. “You’re a single guy. Single guys don’t accumulate shit.”

“I’m the commissioner of the Little League.”

I stared at him.

Please do not tell me that Benito Bianchi, in a volunteer capacity during the summers, hung on his free time with a bunch of baseball-playing little boys.

But I knew this could be true. First, Vinnie’s Pizzeria sponsored a Little League team every year and had for the last thirty years. Second, Vinnie Junior, Benny, and Manny had all played Little League, then went on to play high school baseball (Vinnie, catcher; Benny, first base; Manny, pitcher). And third, that was something Ben would do because he was a decent guy.

“Season ended, storage space costs when we could use the money for things for the boys, so all their shit is now packed in my second bedroom,” he finished.

“Then put me in your third bedroom.”

“That’s my office.”

This surprised me. “You have an office?”

Another grin. Another indication I was not God’s favorite person. Then, “No. It’s the place where Pop’s old desk is collectin’ dust. Carm’s old computer is collectin’ dust with it. And the rest of the space is packed with the rest of the Little League shit.”

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Then I can nap on your couch.”

His face got hard. “You ain’t sleepin’ on my couch.”

“Ben—”

“You’re recovering from a gunshot wound.”

“I know that.”

“So you’re not sleepin’ on my couch.”

“For God’s sake, it won’t kill me.”

He ended that particular conversation with, “Nonnegotiable.”

It was at that point I wondered why I was fighting him. Sure, lying in Benny’s bed in Benny’s house, which had the unusual but unbelievably appealing scent of his spicy aftershave mixed with pizza dough clinging to the air, was a thrill I wished I did not have. But he was going to the pharmacy soon and that thrill would be short-lived.

So I shut up.

Ben looked at my mouth.

I swallowed.

Then Benny lifted away and moved around the bed.

He took something from the nightstand opposite and tossed it on the bed beside me. “Ma’s already been here fillin’ the fridge and sortin’ shit. She bought you those.”

I stared at the magazines lying beside me on the bed.

There were a bunch of them and Theresa didn’t mess around. They were all the good ones: juicy, like People and Us, and slick, like Vogue and Marie Claire.

Theresa so knew me.

I swallowed again just as a remote bounced on the magazines.

“TV,” Ben stated and I looked up at him. “Got HBO. Got Showtime. It’s a smart TV. Universal remote. Just hit the screen to get to the smart TV and you can get Netflix. Should keep you occupied ’til you nod off while I’m at the drugstore.”

I looked in the direction of the TV and saw it was at least a sixty-incher.

What human being needed a sixty-inch TV in their bedroom?

This made me wonder what size TV he had in his living room.

As I was wondering this, Benny was rounding the bed again. “Like I said, Ma’s stocked the fridge, but while I’m out, you want me to pick up anything?”

If I knew Theresa, there would not be one thing anyone on the block needed that would be lacking in Benny’s fridge.