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“Nothing there—or anywhere near my mother. She’s moving up by my aunt once she sells. And that gives me even more encouragement to sign the damn papers. Besides, I have what I really wanted from my dad. And thankfully, it’s something that she doesn’t care about so there wasn’t any argument there.”
A smile crosses my face when I picture my dad sitting across the table from me, the quiet mornings before all hell broke loose. They were few and far between, but those were the moments where life seemed right.
“His coffee mug. It’s not the one you drink from, but it’s nearly identical to it.”
Okay. There’s only one explanation. “Sarah told you.”
“Nope.” His declaration is a little too happy as he continues, “You did.”
“I did? Okay.”
He rubs his hand across his mouth, and I don’t think he’s going to explain since he remains quiet. He has hardly shut up the entire road trip, but now I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear this explanation. Because even though he was there comforting me when I lost my dad, I don’t recall saying anything to him about that. I only remember crying. A lot. And feeling like I’d never be able to catch my breath again.
“Well, not in so many words. You were in a frenzy, frantically searching for it when we gathered back at your house after his service. You didn’t stop until you found it tucked away in one of the cabinets. Sarah and I both sat with you at the table in silence, but your eyes never left the cup.”
It’s too much. All of it. Him, the memory, and most of all, the feeling I’d had that day—it came flooding back and I remembered the exact moment he’s speaking of. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?”
I should keep my mouth shut. Just remain tight-lipped. Not speak another word to him. Forget everything said on this disastrous road trip, but I can’t. Not when the person I detest is making me want to bury my head against his chest, desperate for the momentary comfort his arms would provide. That’s not me. Not anymore. That version of my teenage self is far behind me.
“Everything. Just stop. My dad is off-limits. He has to be.” Because that is what will break me. And Ben knows it. If he uses those memories to push me, hurt me, or worse, feel something for him, I’ll never forgive him or myself. Recovering from the heartbreak the first time had been hard enough as a lovesick teen. I don’t want to know the damage adult Ben could do to me, but my estimate would be complete destruction. He’d level me, no question.
