Page 179

“I do,” I say, because my entire system feels frozen and I can’t think of anything else to say.

He nods, wiping at his eyes. “Good.” Another shaky exhale leaves him. “I don’t know what I did to hurt you, but if you just tell me, I’ll fix it. I can’t—” His voice breaks off. “I can’t stand being so distant from you, Ben. You’re my entire world.”

My chest aches enough that I rub at it, feeling raw and open, but also exhausted from my earlier panic.

“I . . . maybe we can go inside and talk,” I say, quiet and soft. “And I can make food. I’m . . . really hungry.”

There’s a light tilt to his lips before he nods.

• • •

Paloma and Seven are upstairs in my room. I told her to shower and handed her snacks until her arms were full, leaving her with a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth. She hummed and turned on her heel, my dog only following her after nudging at my hand to check on me.

It’s nice to have her in my space again, especially in the house in Beacon Hill. It’s nice to just be so openly in love with her again.

So, at peace with the knowledge that she’s here, showering in my room, relaxing in my clothes, in my bed with my dog—I start cooking.

It’s an uncomfortable thing, to tell your own father that you’re quite sure he’s been in love with his best friend’s wife for years. And that watching him hurt himself that way had grown from sympathy to resentment. Every thought that makes sense in my own head feels ridiculous as I try to explain it, but my dad just listens, sitting at the bar top, never interrupting. Just nodding lightly.

I know it takes some effort. Adam Reiner wears his heart on his sleeve, so I know he’s deliberate in keeping the stoic face, the calm features.

The end of my explanation coincides perfectly with plating our food—lemon Parmesan grilled chicken, roasted potatoes, and vegetables. A side of Italian pasta salad that I made earlier in the week.

I shrug, eyes darting away from his face. “I didn’t mean to cut you out. But I was already struggling and seeing you with them— I don’t know. It was difficult.”

And then my dad laughs, head tilted back before grinning at me broadly.

“Max would kick my ass—maybe kill me—if he thought I wanted Anna for myself, Ben.” He shakes his head. “You have to remember—we were twenty when we met, then only a few years later Max found Anna. We were inseparable. They were . . . mine. My family. And I love them. I always will. And sure, the three of us did some wild shit together back then.” He laughs, eyes glazing with a memory.

“But Max and Anna are soulmates. And I love them together. If you saw me longing for something, it was . . . affection. Love. Adoration. I’d never . . . To be honest, for a long time I just thought it wasn’t for me. That I wouldn’t be good enough for it.”

A stone lodges in my throat.

“But then, Helen had you—my son. My own person to love and care for and who would love me. And god, Bennett, I love you so much.” His voice grows tight with strain. “And that was all I needed, okay?”

“It’s not all you need,” I say. “You can want more. I want you to be happy.”

He nods. “I’m working on it.” His eyes glint, the mischievous, almost goofy aspect of my dad returning through the heaviness. “I’ve always been Boston’s most eligible bachelor anyways. Maybe it’s time to date again.”

“Yeah?” I laugh.

He nods. “If Alessia lets me get within five feet of her ever again, I’m going for it.”

It’s almost self-deprecating, but it’s something other than tears and frustration.

“Sounds good.” I nod, eyes ducking where my fingers draw words on the countertop. “And I promise, I won’t . . . I’m not going to miss therapy again, okay? And maybe we could do our post-therapy dinners again . . . if you wanted to.”

A layer of peace rolls over his features and he closes his eyes.

“Nothing I want more, Ben,” he says. His hand reaches to squeeze my shoulder.

“Now go feed your girlfriend and watch your friends play,” Adam says, ruffling my hair before ducking out of the kitchen. “I’m gonna head out.”

“All right,” I nod, plating the rest of the food on the third plate my dad had already laid out.

“She seems better. Paloma, I mean.” He looks at me, eyes wide. “I hope she knows how much she’s loved by us all.”

My chest squeezes. “Yeah. I think it’ll take some time, but”—I shrug with a brighter, content smile—“I’m willing to wait.”