Page 61 of Loved By The Bad Boy

Five seconds pass. I press the phone to my ear and make kissing sounds. I’m being a little bitch, but I learned from the best. Olivia Beckham. Ben plays along, letting out an exaggerated moan, and I almost choke on my laughter. I don’t know how he ever snagged the role of Romeo.

“Hi. Ben is quite busy, yeah? Call him later.” Or preferably never. “Take care. Bye.”

“I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Olivia sounds defeated. Like the Olivia before her breakup with Hayden. Guilt eats at my chest, but I bury it under my insecurities. Ben raises a brow in question, and I offer him a small smile.

“It’s cool.” I have Ben, and she doesn’t. He loves me, and she’s that friend he is stuck with. This was never a game, but I won. I sober up, and my voice softens. “Take care of yourself, Liv.”

I end the call before she replies, and Ben presses a kiss to my lips. “What was that all about?” he asks. I have no answer because I can’t explain it either. “Babe, I have to go now. I’ll miss you.”

We see daily, but it never seems to be enough. Hugging him, I reply, “I’ll miss you too, babe.”

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you more.”

I feel Ben’s reply coming before he says, “No, you don’t. I love you more.” This is an endless argument, but I’m in a great mood, so I accept defeat with a nod. I open my door to avoid him stepping out. He holds my hand to stop me from leaving. “Don’t forget to ask your mom, okay?”

There’s a new vulnerability in his eyes. I love his openness with me, but I worry I might not handle it so well. Maddie promised to explain the entire process to us on our arrival. I hope it will be fast and easy for Ben because the last time he saw his stepsister, he froze on the spot.

Will she be there? I don’t want her there, but I also want a face to the name. To see the witch who ruined my Benny’s childhood. Maybe I can introduce her to my fist or hire thugs to do that.

Emotions surge through me. Instead of exiting the car, I throw myself at Ben and hug him tight. His arms slowly wrap around me, and the thump of his heart calms me. He has been through so much and still stands strong and happy. He is a hero, and he needs to give himself more credit.

I cup his face, baring my heart on my sleeves and my emotions in my eyes. “I really, really love you, Benny. You are so awesome.” He smirks. He’s still so full of himself. But there’s no other guy I’ll rather be with. “Thank you for coming all the way here for me. Everything will be fine.”

“As long as you’re there, everything will be fine.”

A weight settles on my shoulders. Ben’s words take form, nearly threatening to suffocate me.

What if my presence is not enough for him?

Sometimes, we need to do more for the people we love because our love for them might not be enough to save them. I have been reading books about repressed trauma, rape, pedophiles, and the long-term effects on the survivors, but I don’t think those will be enough to handle the situation when we get to San Francisco. I kiss my Benny again and forcefully tear myself away from him.

I stop in front of the house to wave at him, but he honks before I lift my hand. Me and him, we are connected. I wave at his retreating car until it’s a dot in the distance. My anxieties sweep back in. I take a deep breath and open the door. Dad is home. Mom is too. Perfect timing. They are watching a movie. Mom curls against Dad like the couch isn’t big enough to accommodate them. I hope Ben and I would be sickly sweet and so in love like they are, even after four kids.

“Hey,” they both chorus and turn to their movie. I take tentative steps toward them and grab the remote. Their confusion is evident, but they keep mute until I pause the movie. “Hey, we were watching that, Tessa.”

Again, they spoke in unison like they had planned it. They must realize what they did because they grin at each other. I drop the remote on the coffee table, and their curious gazes lower to me.

Backing the TV, I rub my sweaty palms against my hips. It’s now or never.

“I’m pregnant.”

Mom screams and slumps against Dad. “Oh my God.” She jumps to her feet. “Oh my God!”

“I’m kidding.”

She whips to face me. “Theresa Grace Mower.”

“I’m kidding, I swear.” Mom eyes me without a word, but her hand drops to her chest, which rises and falls. “I’m not pregnant. I could have been, but nope, I have been good. I have done—”

“What did you do, Tessa?” Dad cuts in.

“I’m going to San Francisco on Sunday,” I say.

He gulps audibly. I aged him in seconds. “Is that it?”

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