The Promise Read online

  “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.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Birds Had a Merry Christmas

  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.

  She had a game going where she phoned when she knew he wouldn’t answer, primarily when he was at the restaurant, and her voicemail would say, “Just checkin’ in. Oh, it’s Frankie,” like he didn’t have caller ID or wouldn’t know her voice in the dark with a dozen other voices yammering at him, this happening fifteen years from now.

  Or she’d say, “Just callin’ to let you know things are good. Like my job. Thinkin’ of gettin’ a dog. Hope you’re good. If you want, call me.”

  Or she’d say, “Hey, Ben. Thought of you, had a minute, thought I’d call. You wanna chat, you know my number.”

  He didn’t fucking call.

  Nearly three months ago, he’d walked out of his bathroom, put on a tee, jeans, and boots, and walked out of his house. When he came home, it was empty.

  No Frankie.

  She didn’t come back.

  She phoned.

  But s
he left his house, left town…and she didn’t come back.

  She wanted him in her life.

  She wanted to be friends.

  She wanted to stay in her fucked-up world with her fucked-up head making fucked-up decisions and living a fucked-up life.

  And she could stay there.

  He didn’t need that shit.

  He stared at the cookies, thinking he also sure as fuck didn’t need her cookies.

  But he kept staring at them.

  I’m falling in love with you.

  Those words assaulted his brain one more time, in a line of way too much remembering, and it was one time too many.

  Twisting his torso, with a brutal arm slice, he sent the tin sailing across the room. It slammed with a loud metallic sound against the wall and cookies flew everywhere, landing and exploding in powdered-sugar puffs, the dough breaking and crumbling, exposing chocolate kisses.

  Ben didn’t look at it.

  He shrugged on his jacket, nabbed his keys, and his boots crunched into the cookies as he walked out the door.

  The next day, he swept that shit out his back door, sending it flying down the stoop and into his yard.

  He threw the tin right in his bin at the back of the house, along with the card.

  And the birds had a Merry Christmas.

  Chapter Twelve

  Healing the Breach

  I paced my hotel room, phone in hand, biting my lip, freaking out, not knowing what to do.

  I knew what I wanted to do.

  But I didn’t know what I should do.

  It was early March and I was in Chicago on a business trip.

  My business done, I was in my hotel room, pre-going out to dinner by myself, but it was the dinner hour.

  Benny would be working.

  I’d quit phoning him in January. I did this because he’d never called back.

  I tried to keep him. He just wouldn’t let me.

  That was his play and I had no choice but to give it to him. I’d burned him badly. I did it because I was fucked up and had no idea how to get unfucked up. I just knew I didn’t want Benny to put up with my fucked-upped-ness, even if I couldn’t convince him he didn’t need any part of that.

  I knew I’d made the right decision, but it hurt. It hurt not to have him that way, or any way, and it hurt to hurt him, but it was still right.

  This time, I didn’t lose the rest of them. Theresa phoned and gabbed at me like I was still living with Benny and all was well. She never even mentioned it.

  This was big-time shocking. I thought she was far more of a meddler than that, not to mention I knew from experience she could hold a mean grudge. But she didn’t breathe a word. She did say that Vinnie Senior said hi, or that he told her to tell me I needed to get back to Chicago and come by for dinner. So I knew Vinnie Senior was moving on without holding a grudge too, just doing it through Theresa.

  Manny was a guy so he didn’t expend a lot of effort to keep in touch, but Sela did, thus, I knew Man wasn’t pissed at me. No way Sela would keep in touch if Manny was angry at me. Since she did, I knew that Manny gave her an engagement ring on Valentine’s Day. I also knew she said yes. And direct from Theresa, I knew she (that “she” referring to Sela, as well as Theresa) was ecstatic. It was going to be a full mass, I was going to be invited, and Theresa was planning on wearing a hat to the wedding.

  This seemed weird to me, the rift cracking right back open between Benny and me and his family ignoring the breach.

  But it was working. I loved having them back, so I wasn’t asking, nor was I complaining.

  What I was doing was pacing, doing it knowing I shouldn’t make the call. Ben was pissed. I shouldn’t push him. I should let him stay pissed until he found a good woman, claimed her, built a home and family, and finally came to realize I did him a favor.

  I turned my mind swiftly from that train of thought. Even knowing I was right, I couldn’t go there. When he found her, I’d find it in me to let him back in when he allowed it. I’d find a way to like her, even though I’d hate it. I’d find a way to take him the limited way he could give himself to me.

  I’d find a way.

  Which meant I should leave things be.

  I knew it.

  Still, I stopped pacing, bent my head, and lifted my phone. My thumb flew over the screen fast in order that my brain wouldn’t catch up and stop me.

  I saw his name.

  One last touch and I’d made the call.

  I should disconnect.

  I didn’t.

  I put the phone to my ear.

  I listened to it ring and closed my eyes.

  I kept them closed when I heard his deep, easy voice saying the only words I’d heard him say the last five months: “Ben’s voicemail, leave a message.”

  I heard the beep, opened my eyes, and starting blathering.

  “Ben? Frankie. Listen, I know it’s been a while since I’ve called, but I’m in Chicago. Staying at The Belvedere. Business. But, uh…business is done for the day and I’m about to go out to dinner.” I sucked in breath and kept rambling. “I thought, maybe…well, I don’t think you would, but I still thought I’d call…see if you wanted to meet for a drink. We can talk. I don’t know, maybe work things out. I know you’re at work but after. I’ll wait. I’ll be in the bar at the hotel. If you wanna drop by, drinks are on me.”

  Drinks are on me?

  Oh God, I shouldn’t have made the call.

  It was time to wind it up.

  “That’s, well…it.” I closed my eyes and stupidly whispered, “I hope you come, Benny.”

  I hit the button to disconnect and wished I’d never connected. I also wished I could erase the message. I further wished I could rewind my life back to high school and put out so at least I’d have a week or two of dating Benny.

  But I couldn’t do any of that so I did what I could do.

  I went to dinner alone.

  Then I went to the bar at the hotel and had a drink. One drink turned into two, then three. Closing in on midnight, plenty of time after the pizzeria shut down for Ben to get to me, I left the circling men who’d either tried to come onto me or who’d drank and tried to get up the courage to come onto me—easy target, lone woman in a hotel bar, drinking.

  I went up to my room and kept my phone close.

  An hour slid by before I gave up.

  I put on my nightie, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized, slid into bed, and turned out the lights.

  I rolled to my side and settled in.

  When I felt the single tear hit the side of the bridge of my nose and slide down, falling off and salting my lip, I touched my tongue to it. Then I reached out, hugged the unused pillow to me, and closed my eyes. It took a while, a long while, longer than normal, but I guessed you eventually got used to your heart perpetually breaking.

  So eventually I found sleep.

  * * * * *

  I jolted awake when I heard a loud knock on the door.

  I lifted up to a forearm in the dark, blinked away residual sleep, and the knocking stopped.

  I listened.

  Nothing.

  Did I dream it?

  The answer came when the knocking resumed—three firm, loud pounds.

  I twisted, switched on the bedside lamp, and threw off the covers. I got to my feet and moved quickly to the door.

  I looked out the peephole and stopped breathing.

  Ben, head bent, and from what I could tell, both hands up. He was leaning into them, resting on the door.

  This killed me. The man could be hot just leaning.

  As I watched, he pulled back, then I jumped back when three more pounds came at the door.

  Without thinking, not knowing what time it was, not considering the fact I was wearing nothing but a lilac nightie that was made of near-sheer, stretchy material in the body, had cups made of delicate, rosy-pink lace, the same lace skimming the just-over-the-booty hem, I unlatched the door and threw it open.

 
Ben’s head jerked when I did and I remembered to breathe, only to suck in more and stop doing it again.

  We stared at each other.

  It was me who pulled it together first, and this was only enough to say, “Benny.”

  That unlocked his frame and he pushed in, through me, forcing me back two steps. I took two more when he grabbed the door, threw it closed, and flipped the security latch closed.

  Oh God, I wasn’t sure how to take that.

  On a new kind of rocky ground with Benny, tentatively I greeted, “Hey.”

  His eyes narrowed in a scary way when he asked, “Seriously?”

  I pressed my lips together.

  I unpressed them when his entire face went scary, this being when his eyes did a slow scan of me in my nightie.

  “How did you know my room number?”

  His eyes cut back to mine. “Brett Rizzoli is night shift maintenance. I called him. He got it for me.”

  I was surprised Brett Rizzoli had a job, seeing as he spent his high school years, and a number after them, on a mission of scoring the best weed in order to smoke it.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Late,” Ben answered.

  “Ben—”

  He cut me off with, “Serious as fuck, Frankie…cookies?”

  I snapped my mouth shut because I knew what he was talking about and my what-I’d-hoped-would-be-thoughtful gesture didn’t seem so thoughtful anymore. It seemed stupid, even callous.

  “You’re pissed,” I noted inanely.

  “Uh, yeah,” he agreed sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  “You didn’t come back to me,” he clipped.

  I clenched my teeth.

  “Waited, Francesca. You didn’t fuckin’ come back to me. Then you send me fuckin’ cookies?”

  I felt my heart hammering in my chest as I stared at Benny.

  Pissed off, small drops of wet in his hair, which told me it was raining or snowing, more wet on his leather jacket, tall, built…beautiful.

  Benny.

  Taking in all that was him, feeling his angry vibe filling the air and pressing into me, there was no thought. There was nothing.

  There was only action.

  And that action was me rushing the four feet that separated us and throwing myself in Benny’s arms.