Page 139 of Every Good Thing
“Forgive me, Lena,” I beg, my desperation puddling at her feet. “Forgive me for being so fucking scared.”
I expect her to recoil at my weakness. I am exposed. Vulnerable.
But her smile is instantaneous. Soft and reassuring. “I’m scared, too, but let’s be scared together. What scares you?”
“Everything. Everything is changing—I’m changing. I’m scared you’ll lose that fucking adoring look on your face, like when I collared that perp—I can’t do that shit anymore, Lena. I want you, need you, to be proud of me. What if you can’t be? I’m fucking terrified that one day I’ll lose your love and adoration because I’m no longer the man you married. My bullshit will chisel away at you, and I’ll feel worthless because I can’t be what you need. I’m petrified that I won’t hear your voice one day. Or Ruthie’s. Or know when you need me. That I’ll be a burden—”
“Never, Ben.” Her serene expression leaves me breathless. “Even what’s bad will be better with us together, remember? I forgive you, just come home.”
“I am home.”
I bury my face in her stomach, sobbing with relief and holding on to her midsection like a life preserver.
My shields dissolve into the dirt, joining my stupid pride and anger. I’ve never felt more vulnerable or more alive. Her delicate fingers trace my cheek and rake into my hair. The rain baptizes us, renewing us, and she holds me there, understanding everything. Fear is something I’ve always hidden—as a kid with reading problems, as a high schooler figuring myself out, as a soldier, as a husband and father, as someone nearing deafness.
I don’t have to hide anything from Lena. I’ve always known that, but now my oneness with her snakes through my body like blood. She’s here, no matter what I am.
“Enough already,” she cries and chuckles at once. “We’re soaked, and you’re ruining your suit.”
“I don’t care.” I stand at her request but refuse to release her. My large hands wrap around her like a gift I long to open.
“Promise me one more thing,” she says before I can kiss her.
“Anything.” I kiss her anyway, soft and quick.
“That you tell me what’s going on with you as we go. No matter where I am or what I’m doing. Please don’t wait until it’s too much. You always know when I’m anxious and never let me deal with it alone. I need a learning curve with you—it’s hard to tell when something’s wrong. So, if you’re angry or depressed or—”
“Right now, I’m happy. No. Better than happy. Overjoyed,” I say, taking her bottom lip into mine. “I promise—no holding back.”
She grins and sighs softly. “No holding back.”
Then, I show her I mean it.
Forty-Four
LENA
He holds nothing back. Nothing.
Right there at the Jeep, in the rain, soaked and starving, he lavishes me with overdue kisses and touches, melding into me like we’re one.
We are one. But Ben needed to fight through his shitstorm to believe that again. He needed to see that this is where he belongs, not just here with Ruthie and me but, here, at Saddletree, with this community and our extended family. Miraculously, the funeral gave him that.
And it gave me another beautiful insight into him. He astounded me today—showing up for us and standing up for Dot and Mrs. Moore. If you would’ve asked me this morning for a list of things Ben Wright would never, ever do, delivering an impromptu speech for a crowd would’ve ranked high. Showing up at the funeral at all was risky—for all he knew, I could’ve told everyone about his final push and turned them all against him. But he came anyway. It proves what I’ve always known—this man would do anything for us. Even leaving was his misguided way of saving me. Aw, Ben.
I’m breathless with relief and desperation. I’ve fallen in love with him all over again, only stronger, if that’s even possible.
I’ve been with Ben hundreds, maybe thousands of times. Gosh, I wish I could go back and keep a sex journal like people do for food they’ve eaten or books they’ve read. I’d call it Sexy Encounters of the Ben Kind, and there’d be many volumes with notes and crude drawings with lots of exclamation points and smiley faces. Today’s entry would take many detailed pages, and I’d never get it right.
But that’s okay. It’s a cornerstone memory burned into us like fireworks, our wedding, Ruthie’s birth, and now, our toe-curling reconciliation.
The first time we made out in this barn, I couldn’t break from my anxiety long enough to enjoy him how I wanted and ended up crying in his arms.
This morning, I felt even sadder without him.
Now, it’s all joy, overflowing and spilling onto him.
The rain picks up, and somehow, he drags us inside. His deep kisses and roaming hands press me to the nearest wall. Thunder crashes through the driving rain outside, giving a fitting soundtrack to the storm of his affection. He is all over me. His mouth is all over me. I cry out like it’s new—it is, in a strange way. It’s been too long without him.
