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“But if you want, when we talk about him, I’ll try to do it when you don’t have to hear it.”
“I would never do that,” I say, standing in front of him now, his hands coming to my hips and pulling me closer. “There is something I need to tell you.” I take a step back and out of his reach, knowing if he touches me, I’ll forget what I have to say. “And I know that it can be shocking, but I figured that this thing between us is getting a little serious.”
“You can say that, baby.” His voice is soft. “I don’t know what you call a little serious, but we’ll discuss that after you say what you have to say.”
I try not to get too wrapped up in what he’s saying and how he’s saying it. I also try to focus on the words I want to say. “When Benji died, I found out a lot of things,” I say nervously. “Things that were not easy to come to terms with.” I look at him but then look down at my fingers, wringing them. “Some things I knew before.” I can’t stop the tears from pouring out of my eyes, but it’s not because I’m angry about what I discovered. It’s because I’m not sure if he’ll look at me the same way after this. “Three weeks after he died,” I say and look at him, “there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and there was a man I had never seen before. I had no idea who he even was.” I take a deep breath. “He informed me that he was Benji’s friend.”
“His friend?” Christopher asks, his eyebrows pinched together.
“His friend,” I repeat. “But in reality, it was his drug dealer.” My hands shake when I see his eyes go big. “He was there to collect on his debt.”
Christopher shoots to his feet. “Excuse me?” His voice is thick with rage.
“It seemed that he fronted him with some stuff.” I hold up my hands and shake my head at the same time. “And now he wanted to be paid for said stuff.”
“What is his name?” His voice fills with venom, but I ignore it, continuing with the story.
“Benji owed him close to two hundred thousand dollars,” I whisper, “and now that debt was mine. Ours. Mine and the girls.”
“Dakota,” he growls through clenched teeth.
“So I called Eddie up when he left. I was a fucking mess and had no idea what to do. Obviously, I had money in the account, but I wasn’t going to go to the bank and ask them to give me two hundred thousand dollars in a bag.” He takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand, shaking my head. “Eddie came over and tried to calm me down. Told me not to worry about it and he would take care of it. I didn’t know what he meant until I found out that Benji has always struggled with substance abuse.” I see more shock fill his face. “Started when he was sixteen. They got a ‘handle on it’”—I use air quotes with my fingers—“as Eddie said, when he was nineteen. I have no idea if he was ever not fucking high. It was also the day I let Eddie know I never wanted to see him again. He could see the girls, but for me, I would never sit down at a table with him again. I would never share the same space as him. Instead of helping me when he saw a problem, he pushed it under the rug. I could forgive a lot of things, and maybe in time, I’ll change my mind, but for now, I don’t want to talk to him. He calls every Sunday to talk to the kids, but that’s where it ends.” I tremble. “I paid off the debt. I wrote a check and told him that was all he was getting from me.” I put my hand in front of my mouth to stop the sob. “That is who I think of when I think of Benji.”
“Baby.” Christopher cups my face in his hands. “How could you do that?” I wait for the anger to come in his voice. “How could you put yourself in danger like that?” His head shakes side to side. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“And tell you what?” I ask. “There was nothing to say. You would have probably gone apeshit over it, paid the debt off, and lied to me about it.”
I can see in his eyes that what I just said is what he would have done. “I was coming back,” he says, “and I was staging an intervention.” Now his words are the ones that shock me. “I didn’t give a shit what he said or what he did. I was taking him to get help.” I see the tears escape his eyes. “I never got that chance.”
My hands come to his sides, bunching his shirt in my hands. “I’ll never forgive myself for not doing it sooner.”
“Even if you did it sooner,” I tell him, “he was the one who had to hit rock bottom.”
“There are days when I hate him,” he admits softly, “but then there are days, like tonight, when I think of the good times.”
“You’re a good man,” I tell him.
“I don’t know about that.” He kisses my lips softly. “Because I wouldn’t trade you and the girls for him.” I see the anguish. “The girls are his, but you—” His voice is tight. “You’re mine. I’m not sorry you’re mine. I might be sorry about how it happened, but no way in fuck am I sorry for that. So I’m not sure I’m a good man.”
“The girls, they’re mine,” I correct him, “and you have to know with the way they worship you that they think the world of you.”
“I love you.” Three words I’ve been saying to him silently every single time I look at him. Three words I say to him while I look at him right before he takes me in his arms to fall asleep. Three words I say every single time he slides into me. “I love the girls.”
“I said it first,” I counter quickly. “Every single time you hang up the phone, I tell you I love you.” His smirk makes me smile.
“I don’t think that counts.” He steps closer to me. “Now, is that all you got?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“This last secret,” he says. “Is it all you’ve got?”
“It’s a pretty big one.” I gawk at him.
“So was mine,” he counters, and he’s not wrong. “You forgive me?”
“For what?” I jump back, his hands falling from my face.
“For not doing anything sooner. For not being the stand-up guy you think I am.”
