Kristen Ashley - The Promise

“You gotta have it in you to try,” he returned.

I shook my head. “Don’t you get it, Ben? I don’t have anything in me.”

His look turned cautious when he said quietly, “I don’t get that, honey.”

“If you don’t, you haven’t been paying very close attention.”

His back shot straight. “There’s a lot to you, Francesca.”

“There’s nothing to me, Benny.”

He held my eyes, a firmness entering his jaw that was more than a little scary, and he said slowly, “You are very wrong.”

“Yeah?” I fired back. “You think that? Okay, then what happens when the day comes you find out I’m right?”

He continued to hold my eyes, staring into them with a focus that felt like he was unraveling me. Then he took a visible breath, lifted his hand, schooled his features, and urged, “We need to calm down and talk about this somewhere not in the bathroom.”

“I need to go.”

“That’s the last thing you need.”

On his words, it happened, so I guess he did unravel me.

Tears hit my eyes so fast, I had no hope of choking them back.

But they were the silent ones. The ones that said it all without a lot of sobbing and moaning. The ones that came from that well you held deep and only came out when the something you were crying about meant everything.

“I want you always to think the way you think about me now, Benny,” I told him quietly.

“Why would you ever think I’d think differently, honey?” he asked me, also quietly.

“Because I’m me.”

“Baby, we need to get outta this fuckin’ bathroom and—”

He shut up when I begged, “Please let me go.”

“You cannot seriously be askin’ me to do that.”

“Please, Ben, let me go.”

“And you cannot seriously think I’m gonna say yes.”

The tears kept coming, but I said nothing.

Ben did. “Come here, Frankie.”

God.

Benny.

The tears came faster.

“Baby, come here.”

“I want you to have the woman who deserves this bathroom, Benny.”

At my words, something hit him. His look turned ravaged and it was difficult to witness as he whispered, “Jesus, come here.”

“I want you to have what you deserve, honey, and it’s not me.”

“Fuck it, I’m—” he gritted out as he made a move to me.

I took another step back, jerked my hand at him, and shook my head. “I’m leaving, Benny. And, honest to God, I’ll fight you if you don’t let me.”

He stopped dead and looked into my eyes.

I felt the last tear fall as I held his gaze.

We stared at each other a long time.

Benny broke it.

“Don’t do this to us.”

“I do, don’t hate me.”

“Don’t do this, Frankie.”

“If I do, be pissed. Then come back. I need you to come back to me, Benny.”

“You do this to us, not gonna be able to get to that place, Frankie.”

I felt saliva fill my mouth at that possibility, but I swallowed it down and nodded.

“You okay with that?” he asked, his face a mask of wounded incredulity.

I was not. I was absolutely not okay with that.

But it was better to take the cut, make it surgical, move on, and carry on living without Benny and his family as I’d learned to be able to do before but do it far away, where people’s talk and my own memories couldn’t make it torture for me.

“I’m guessin’ I’m gonna have to be,” I answered.

I watched in horror and an extraordinary amount of pain as his body went rigid, along with every muscle in his face.

Then he came at me so fast, I didn’t have a chance to move a muscle and found my head held in his hands, his face an inch from mine.

“You need this, I’ll give it to you. You need to come back, this is a promise I can keep, Frankie: I will not make you work for it.” He moved in even closer and whispered, “But please, fuck, take this time to dig out whatever is fucked to shit inside you. And if you find you can’t, I don’t give a fuck. I’ll do the diggin’. Just come back to me.”

He finished that, pulled me up, slammed his mouth down on mine, and kissed me hard and closed mouthed.

A kiss that was like a brand.

A kiss that was definitely a promise.

A kiss that hurt because of the feelings it beat into me.

And a kiss that lasted not nearly long enough before Ben let me go, turned, and walked away from me.

Benny came in his back door, shook the cold off, as well as the snow, and dumped his workout bag on the kitchen table, tossing his keys there next.

He had to get showered, dressed, and to the restaurant. He turned on his way to do that when his cell in his bag rang.

He turned back, zipped open his bag, dug it out, and looked at the screen.

He took the call and put it to his ear, moving back to the door, greeting, “Hey, Ma.”

“Hey there, Benny. You remember Carm, Ken, and the kids are flyin’ in tomorrow?”

He jogged up the stairs, saying, “I remember, Ma.”

“Dinner tomorrow night at the pizzeria. Manny knows to have the table ready.”

“Yeah.”

“Be sure to find time to come out and say hi, yes?”

He gritted his teeth as he walked down the hall, wondering why his mother would think in a million years he’d forget his sister, who he hadn’t seen in over a year, was flying in with her entire family to be there for a week over Christmas and he wouldn’t come out when they were at the restaurant and say hi.

But he didn’t ask her that question.

He said, “I’ll be sure.”

“You sure you won’t sleep on the couch Christmas Eve?”

He walked into the bathroom and straight to the shower to turn it on and get it hot, so when he was done with this ridiculous call, he could waste no time getting ready.

“I live ten minutes away from you,” he reminded her. “I can come first thing in the morning and not have to sleep on your couch.”

“Kids get up early on Christmas Day,” she snapped.

“Then I’ll get up and come over early,” he returned.

“They get up really early.”

“Then I’ll come over really early.”

“Benny—”

“Ma,” he cut her off. “We’ve had this conversation.” He paused for emphasis. “Twice. I’m not sleepin’ on the couch. I don’t get there at the crack of dawn when Carm’s kids get up and go ballistic, I’ll be there five minutes after the crack of dawn, yeah?”

He heard her sigh before she said, “All right, Benny.”

“Now, I just got back from the gym. Gotta shower and get to the restaurant.”

“Okay, caro, see you tomorrow night.”

“Right.”

“’Bye, Benny.”

“Later, Ma.”

He disconnected, tossed the phone on the sink, took off his clothes, dropped them to the floor, and stepped in the shower.

Ten minutes later, hair wet, tee, jeans, and boots on, he was downstairs at his hall closet, reaching in to yank out his leather jacket, when the doorbell rang.

He took in an annoyed breath and moved to the door, seeing his neighbor Tony standing outside.

He unlocked it, opened it, and saw Tony had a brown paper-wrapped box.

“Postman came, bud. Left this with me,” Tony said, holding the box out to Benny.

Ben took it and muttered, “Thanks, man.”

“Not a problem,” Tony replied, then lifted a hand and mumbled, “Later,” before he jogged down the steps and made his way next door to his own house.

Benny closed the door, locked it, turned, and was moving back down the hall when he looked at the box, saw the postmark, and stopped dead.

Indianapolis.

“Fuck,” he whispered, forcing himself to come unstuck and move back to the closet.

Juggling the box, he grabbed his coat, closed the door, and headed to the kitchen, thinking whatever it was could be from Vi. She, Cal, and the kids were in Florida, but she could have sent it before she left. And it was something a woman like Vi would do, sending a Christmas gift to a guy who would not send any in return, even a card.

But if it was from Vi, it would not be postmarked Indy unless she was in the city doing errands and happened by a post office, which was unlikely.

So he knew who it was from.

And he knew he should at the very least set it aside, but the better choice was dump it in the trash.

He did not do either.

He should have picked one, most definitely the last one.

Instead, he opened the fucker and pulled out a square tin decorated in a red, green, and gold Christmas plaid. It had a small card attached to the top with a circular gold foil sticker.

It said, Benny.

He set the tin down, ripped the card off, and opened it, sliding out a Christmas card with a snowman on it, decorated in way too much fucking glitter, with the words Happy Holidays! printed on it.

He opened it.

Inside it said, Merry Christmas, Benny. Enjoy and have a happy one. Love, Frankie.

He clenched his teeth, and that was when he should have taken the tin and card to the trash.

He didn’t.

He opened the tin and the sweet, nutty smell of doughy goodness wafted out as he saw a massive mound of Frankie’s chocolate-filled, powdered-sugar-rolled Christmas cookies sitting in it.

Fuck. The thing came through the mail, and still, there was a hint of condensation on the lid, which meant she’d packed them warm and sent them immediately.

He stared at the cookies, remembering one more time, in a line of way too much remembering, that she was trying.