Page 28 of Claimed By the Don

Shit, this is getting more and more complicated, and I can’t keep this secret much longer.

18

BENNY

She’s waiting at a table drinking her coffee when I come in. She looks pale and pinched. If there was an entry for the word ‘guilty’ in the dictionary, this would be the face. I sit across from her, fold my hands and wait.

“I’m glad you came,” she says, “Thank you. I know I screwed up, and I’m so sorry. Something just—came up,” she shrugs.

Her lie is a bitter taste in my mouth. She was never any good at making things up.

“That’s it?”

“What’s it?”

“Your excuse. You were just forced to go somewhere all evening and couldn’t let me know.”

“I could have let you know, but it slipped my mind. I got the date wrong for an event I had to go to. I realized my mistake with less than half an hour to go to the house to get there. I was so focused on not being late that I forgot to call you. I’m sorry.”

“Where were you going that was so vital?” I ask.

Daisy shakes her head. I wait while she seems to think it over before pursing her lips.

“Listen, I’ve apologized. I’m a grown woman, and you don’t have any right to track my every move, Benny,” she says.

She’s right, but it still pisses me off. I keep my temper in check, feel my fists clench under the table.

“I show up at your house sweating because I’m nervous to make a good impression on your mom this time. God, I was such an idiot. When you first got back, you said you’d see me while you were here, no strings attached. You say you’re not running away again, but that’s what you’re doing right now. You’ve clammed up, and you’re not gonna tell me a thing because you think I don’t deserve an explanation.”

She won’t look at me. I know the truth already. I can see it in the way she fidgets and avoids my eyes. She lost her nerve. I’m good enough to fuck, not good enough to come to her door with flowers and taker her out on a proper date. I feel sick.

“You know what,” I say before she can get her thoughts together and let me down easy. “This was never gonna work long term, so why drag it out? We make a clean break, say goodbye this time. You cheated me out of that before,” I say. I’m feeling petty as hell now and I don’t stop there. “There’s not a damn thing out there that’s better than what we have. You went all the way across the country looking for something better, and you didn’t find it did you?” I demand.

Her cheeks flush, maybe embarrassed because I have a point or maybe just pissed off at me. I can’t read her--I feel so far from her right now she might as well be across an ocean instead of just a table.

“You want to sit here putting words in my mouth?” she snaps. “I didn’t say we should break up or it wouldn’t work out. I said I’m not going be interrogated like a criminal every time I cancel plans. I can’t go back in time and call you. I’m sorry I left you waiting on me and wondering why I didn’t show up. That sucks but it doesn’t give you the right to—”

“The right to know where the fuck you went. Whatever was so important that you blew me off after months of being together.”

“Look, just because your dad is a controlling asshole doesn’t mean you have to fill his shoes now. I didn’t flake out to get my nails done or get drinks with Sasha or anything. You should know me better than that by now, and if you don’t, that’s not my problem. I’m not a teenager anymore—I have responsibilities, and you’re acting like a little boy with hurt feelings because you weren’t my top and only priority.”

“Comparing me to my dad is fuckin’ bullshit, and you know it This isn’t about being the center of the universe, it’s about you backing out with no explanation as soon as we decide to quit sneaking around and go public that we’re together. Given our history, what am I supposed to think?” I ask. Pulse pounding, I scrub my hands over my face, try to calm down.

“That I’m human and I screwed up. That you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be. You know what? I’m done with this conversation. I’ve apologized. If you can’t accept that, that’s on you. I’m leaving.”

“That is on-brand for you, isn’t it? Run off the second you’re uncomfortable. We might as well be teenagers cause you’re actin’ like a goddamn brat right now. Go ahead and go.”

I shove back my chair and storm out. I know as I walk out the door that I’m leaving her before she can leave me again. Adrenaline pounds through me as I drive off. I let my phone go to voicemail, and I just drive. All I know is I have to keep going, white knuckling the steering wheel and keeping my eyes on the road. Not sure how long I drive, but my truck’s low fuel light glows on the dashboard. When I look for a gas station, I realize I’m looking for an exit off the interstate. Once I fill up the tank and get a bottle of water, I look at my phone. I’ve been gone five hours, and I’m outside Rochester, New York.

I sit in my truck, head tipped back, and try to orient myself. I drove away from my life and I’m as lost as if I’d been sleepwalking. I check in with Willa. My dad’s okay, no worse than usual, and my assistant told everyone I was out sick.

“I hinted it might be food poisoning after a breakfast meeting,” she says.

“You’re a lifesaver. My breakfast meeting didn’t go to plan, and I had to get my head on straight. I’ll be in the office tomorrow.”

“No problem, boss,” she says.

Relieved, I hang up the phone. Logic tells me to eat something and drive straight home. I don’t want to do that. I’ve been to Rochester a couple times but not for years. I scroll my phone for attractions nearby and it clicks. This is where we went for her birthday when she turned twenty. I surprised her with a road trip to the Eastman photography museum. She was crazy about it and bought a big glossy book there about their collection. The book must’ve weighed ten pounds and she looked at it for hours on the drive back, reading me stuff out loud. I wonder if she kept the book when she skipped town, or if she left behind everything that might remind her of us.

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