“Shut it, Frankie.”

“I lost your brother and it broke me. If I ever lost you, I wouldn’t be able to go on.”

I heard Benny’s coffee mug hit the counter before he lifted his other hand, put it to my neck, and slid both back and into my hair as he tilted his forehead to rest on mine, his eyes now scorching with a depth of feeling he let me read.

Then he said, “Francesca, do not say that shit.”

I ignored him and kept going. “I’d breathe. I’d eat. I might one day laugh again. But I wouldn’t be living. There is no life for me without you.”

He was done telling me to shut it and I knew this when his head slanted, his fingers dug into my scalp, and his mouth landed hard on mine. His lips opened, mine did the same, his tongue thrust inside, and I wrapped my arms tight around him, pressing close, tipping my head back to give him more. To give him everything. To use that kiss to show him every word I said was true. To make him feel it. Believe it. All in a way he’d never forget it.

Because he deserved that too.

It took a long time for me to do this, which meant we made out in my kitchen until Gus attacked the wraparound tie strap dangling from my high-heeled sandals. Unfortunately, he did this in a way I couldn’t ignore, mostly because his puppy teeth started digging into the flesh of my ankle.

I still held on after I broke the kiss and looked down at our dog. The cute puppy Benny gave me for my birthday, who would grow up to be a sweet dog we would walk and pet and cuddle, who would give us love, and who would probably let our kids play with him, even if it drove him crazy.

That was when I felt the tears start to wet my eyes.

The promise of Benny. Every day. Everywhere. It was always with me.

I lifted and shook my foot, saying softly, “No, baby.”

Gus didn’t give up until I bent my leg back to get my strap out of reach. At that, he collapsed on his ass, and panting, looked up at me.

“Shoes are off-limits,” I told him, and as I did, Ben’s hands slid out of my hair and down my back so he could wrap his arms around me.

Gus panted some more, then got up and waddled toward the rug I had in front of the sink. He latched on with his teeth, and jerking his head side to side, growling at it, he dragged it out of the kitchen.

“Babe,” Ben called. I took in a deep breath to control the tears and looked up at him.

God, he was beautiful.

My Benny.

He took one arm from around me so he could cup my jaw in his hand.

“I’ll save the rug,” he offered. “You call Chrissy.”

I nodded.

He didn’t move.

Neither did I.

“You good?” he finally asked.

“I’m the best I’ve ever been,” I answered.

His fingers curled deeper into my skin before he demanded, “Stop bein’ so sweet. You don’t, I’ll have to fuck you on the kitchen floor and then we’ll have to go out and buy a new rug.”

“I’m done with that rug,” I told him. Then to take us out of the sweet and heavy because we both needed that, I kept the information flowing, “I’m also done with your kitchen rug. When I move in, we’re gettin’ all new kitchen stuff—towels, rugs, potholders. That is, after you paint it butter yellow and put in new tile. Backsplashes and floor.”

His hand relaxed, as did his expression, and his lips tipped up. “I’m doin’ all that?”

“You have linoleum,” I reminded him.

“You got a problem with linoleum?”

Was he crazy?

“Uh…yeah.”

His lip tip turned into a grin. “Then my baby gets new tile. But even if that rug is bein’ retired, Gus doesn’t need to do that by eatin’ it.”

I nodded my head and remarked, “We have enough on our plate that a trip to the vet would tip us over the edge.”

“Yeah,” Benny agreed.

I gave him a squeeze. “Okay, you get Gus. I’ll call Chrissy.”

He nodded before he dipped his head, and I held my breath at the exquisite feeling of Benny skimming the tip of my nose with his before he returned my squeeze and let me go.

I decided to take a fortifying sip of coffee before calling Chrissy. This also afforded me the opportunity to watch Ben walk out of the kitchen. Then I leaned over the counter to watch him get in a tug-of-war with Gus over the rug.

Ben won.

Although not surprising, Gus felt the consolation prize was attacking the hems of Benny’s jeans as he walked back into the kitchen with my rug. This was cute. It was cuter when Ben bent over, grabbed Gus, brought him up, and held him, doggie nose to hot guy nose.

“No rugs. No jeans. You got chew toys, bud,” he told the dog, then finished with, “Let’s go get one.”

He then tucked the puppy under his arm and sauntered out. I watched Ben’s ass move, alternately watching Gus’s booty swaying with his wagging tail, and I watched this until they disappeared down the hall.

It was a good show and a nice reprieve.

But I was me.

I could delay no further. I had loved ones to sort out.

So I put my cup down, grabbed my phone, and found Chrissy’s number.

***

“Thought I was dead to you.”

This was Nat’s greeting.

Obviously, I was on my second call.

Shockingly, the first one went great.

Dad was done with Chrissy probably only because Chrissy was done with Dad.

And during the call, she had declared, “He’ll sell this house before I move out and get situated over my dead body.”

I took this to mean he’d sell it over his dead body, because if he tried that shit, she’d kill him.

I was learning that Chrissy was no pushover. She was smart, and even if she fell in love with the wrong guy, she was a new mom who doted on her baby, thus, she had her priorities straight.

“Anyway, Frankie, I do hair. It’s not hard to find a job doin’ hair,” she’d told me. “And my clients are all dyin’ to have me back. I mean, I didn’t wanna go back to work so soon but…whatever. And my mom will watch Eva. Mom wasn’t a big fan of Enzo’s, but she adores Eva. It’s cool you called to check in, but it’ll all be okay.”

Eva, by the way, was Domino. Dad had gotten to the birth certificate first and named her the name he wanted. A name Chrissy had told him, in a way she told me could not be misconstrued, that there was no way in hell she was naming her daughter Domino.

This was not the beginning of the end of them, but it definitely (and not surprisingly) was a factor.

My baby sister’s middle name was Eva, which was what Chrissy called her and wanted everyone else to call her.

Eva was very pretty, but weirdly, I’d become partial to Minnie.

I didn’t tell Chrissy this.

I just silently marveled at her togetherness as I told her I was there for her as best I could be while I lived in the ’burg, but I’d be around more to help out when I was back in Chicago.

She’d thanked me, told me to come around and meet Eva when I was home again, and promised to send me pictures of my new sister. After we hung up, she made good on that promise in about a nanosecond by texting me fifteen of them.

Fifteen.

Eva was adorable.

Even Benny thought so.

The easy one down, the hard one to go.

And at my sister’s greeting, I realized I should have fortified myself with another donut (or two) before I got to the hard stuff.

“Nat—” I began but was cut off.

“Got enough shit swirlin’ around me, don’t need yours.”

“Please, listen to me.”

“He hit me,” she snapped.

I had to admit, I didn’t like this, even as I had to admit in knowing Nat that she probably gave him no choice.

Needing a dose of him, I looked across the counter to where Benny was lounging on the couch, feet up on my coffee table, TV on, and tuned to a game, but his eyes were on me.

And this time, I felt soothed.

“Cat told me you clocked him with a plate,” I said to Nat.

“It wasn’t a plate. It was a vase. And he deserved that shit.”

God. My sister.

I shook my head and looked down to the counter, asking, “He deserved that because you cheated on him and he’s finally done with you?”

“Okay, which part of me not needin’ your shit did you not understand?” she asked sharply.

“Has it occurred to you you’re cuttin’ me off from discussin’ this with you because you don’t want me holdin’ that mirror up to your face?”

“And what is it, oh wise Frankie, that you think you’re gonna make me see?” she returned snottily.

I was used to Nat’s snotty and I’d learned to ignore it, give it back, or get in there another way.

This was important enough for me to find another way.

So when I replied, I did it quietly.

“The image of a woman who’s in love with a man she’s done wrong.”

Nat said nothing.

I kept going.

“Davey’s a good man and he loves you. He does not deserve this, Nat. And as fucked up as it was how we were brought up, I know deep down somewhere inside you, you know at least that.”

“So he can hit me?” she asked.

“Did he haul off and do that to hurt you, or did he do it because he had no choice?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, if you live in black-and-white, no. It doesn’t matter. But if you hit him in the head with a vase and gave him a concussion, then didn’t let up on him and you’d lost it like I know you can lose it so he did it in self-defense, that’s pretty gray. So, no. He can’t hit you. But if you’re whalin’ on him and he’s got no choice but to take it and further damage or get physical to get you off him, it sucks to say it, but he can.”

My sister had no reply.