Page 99 of Enemies with Benefits

“Oh,that’salready happening. I have a way better idea in mind.” I force his back against the mattress and straddle him. “But, for real, are you okay?”

Raw emotion spreads across his face. He sighs deeply, grabbing at my waist. “Yes and no. I need to figure my shit out. I know I’m harboring a lot of resentment toward my mom. And I need to be at peace with my dad’s death.”

“Your feelings are valid. Know that. But all this anger you keep inside. . . you’re the only one holding you back.”

“I know. I’m my own worst enemy sometimes. It’s always been easier to not talk about it. And I had been doing a good job of that until last night when I decided to blubber like an idiot.”

“You were opening up and sharing. I appreciate that.”

“I know I probably don’t have the right to ask this, but do you think you could come to the cemetery with me today?”

I smooth my hands up his chest and lean forward. “Of course. But not before I cash in what you owe me.”

* * *

“Get the hell up.”

“No, it’s almost eleven o’clock. Just go to bed—”

“I said get up! Go get me a six-pack.”

“Anthony, stop. You’re going to wake Makayla—”

“Mommy?” I stir in my sleep. Wiping at my eyes, I see Daddy standing over us.

“Honey, it’s okay. Just go back to sleep.” I look up at her. She has an owie on her cheek.

“Why are you cwying?”

She cradles my face, placing a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m not. I have to go do something for Daddy. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“No, don’t leave me.”

“I won’t be long, I promise. Cuddle Mr. Wiggles. He’ll keep you safe until I get back. I love you, Mackie.”

I was five when my mom died. I remember the dress I wore. The color of the flowers at the funeral home. I even remember the tiny little sandwiches and being excited because nobody was putting a limit on how many cookies I ate. I remember my dad walking me up to her casket. My five-year-old mind struggling to understand. She was just sleeping. Why wouldn’t she open her eyes when I called for her? After the accident, I stayed with my Aunt Karen for weeks because my dad was unfit to take care of me. Looking back at it now, he was just too drunk.

It took me years to get the image of her “sleeping” out of my mind. It consumed my dreams. Standing next to her casket, begging for her to wake up. The visions slowly faded as I grew up, and part of me was glad they became so few and far between. But it also caused me to forget her. I forgot her smile. Her musical laughter. How it felt to be wrapped up in her arms. No matter how hard I fought to keep her memory alive, one day, she was just gone.

I tighten my grip around Ben’s arm as we walk through the cemetery. “Are you doing okay?”

“I am. Thanks for coming with me. You’re also a nice buffer between me and my mom.”

“That sounds like another IOU for me.”

Ben chuckles, pulling me closer to him. “I’ll take your kind of an IOU any day.”

I blush at the memory of this morning. Okay, so maybe I was a little bit too demanding in his repayment, but I didn’t see him complaining. “I’m sorry I broke your lamp.”

“Babe, you can take down my entire building if you do that thing with your tongue again. Not sure how you learned it—actually, I don’t want to know—just keep up the good work.” His sexy smile is a far cry from his expression this morning. “There’s my mom.” I see Mrs. Wallace standing over a large headstone, the ground beneath her feet covered in flowers.

“I see your friends made it before you did. Again,” she says, gesturing to all the flower arrangements resting against the grave. Ben walks up and gives her a hug, allowing her comment to roll off him.

“Hey, Mom.” He presses a kiss to her cheek and pulls back. I lean in and offer her a supportive hug. Ben looks down, inhales a shaky breath, then bends to read the cards on each bouquet. I try to contain my own emotions as he wipes a tear after looking at each card. When he stands, he clears his throat.

“They have nothing better to do.”

I laugh, knowing he’s trying to hide how touched he is that his friends showed up to support him and his mom. “Do you mind if I read them?” I ask. He shakes his head, and I bend down, reading the first one.

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