Bring Me Back Read online

  “Manners.” His wife, Melinda, smacks him softly in the arm. “You’re worse than our children.”

  Jacob makes a dramatic show of swallowing his food and smiles at her. “Better?”

  She nods, and I can tell she’s trying not to smile.

  “It’s good,” Ben answers him, bringing a bite of turkey to his mouth.

  “I don’t know how you do it.” Jacob shakes his head.

  Ben shrugs. “It’s my passion. I like helping people.”

  Jacob grins and shakes his head. “You’re something else, Ben.”

  “Hey, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer, look who’s talking.”

  Jacob chuckles. “True.”

  Melinda turns to me. “One of my friends has a baby shower coming up, I told her you’re the best party planner around, so I’m sure she’ll contact you soon.”

  “That would be great.” I nod. “I can give you some of my business cards too.”

  “Oh, that would be perfect,” she replies.

  Bella and Jackson begin to argue over a roll and Melinda sighs before interjecting and breaking up their fight.

  I smile despite their bickering. I’m happy here, with Ben and his family. It feels like home.

  The house grows quiet without Jacob and his family there.

  Thanksgiving was a raging success, even if the pie was from Wal-Mart.

  Loraine flicks off the hall light, and Ben and I look up from where we rest on the couch.

  “I’m going to bed,” she says, her hand on the railing of the steps. “I’m exhausted.”

  Ben yawns and rubs my shoulder. “I think we’re going to head up soon, too, Mom. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” I echo.

  “Night,” she says and we watch as she goes upstairs.

  I lean into Ben and he wraps his arm around me. The light from the TV screen flickers across us. An antique Corvette appears on the screen and a bunch of old guys begin bidding. My eyes widen with the increasing price. When the car is sold for over seventy-five thousand, my mouth drops open.

  “For a car,” I cry incredulously. “That’s practically a down payment on a house.”

  Ben chuckles and his thumb rubs soothing circles against my arm. “It’s a collector’s item, babe.”

  I wrinkle my nose. Collector’s item or not, I would never spend that much on a car.

  Another car is brought out and with it my lids begin to lower. Ben might be fascinated by this, but it’s one big snooze fest for me. I stretch out on the couch and rest my head on his leg. He rubs his fingers through my hair and then rests them against my neck where he begins to massage it. I’m pretty sure I start to purr like a cat.

  Before I completely fall asleep, he turns off the TV and I sit up.

  “You look tired,” he comments.

  “Thanks,” I reply sarcastically.

  He chuckles. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way.”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s no way to say that and have it sound good.”

  He ducks his head. “Okay, you’re right. I take it back.”

  “Nope, too late now.” I stand and frown at him. I’m not upset about the comment at all, but this is how we are. Always messing with each other.

  He takes my hand, and with puppy dog eyes, says, “Tell me how I can make it up to you.”

  I shake my head. “You can’t make this better, Benjamin Carter.”

  He winces. “The whole name. That hurts. Gunshot straight to the chest.”

  I press my lips together to suppress my laugh. “You deserve it.”

  He dives at me suddenly, and I squeal when he picks me up and I land over his shoulder. “And you deserve this.” He slaps my ass and jogs up the steps carrying me.

  I laugh so hard that tears fall from my eyes. “Ben, put me down!” I plead.

  “Shhh—” he smacks my ass again “—my mom’s sleeping.”

  I slam a hand over my mouth, mortified that I forgot about his mom.

  Ben opens the door to his childhood bedroom and drops me onto the bed.

  His room is painted a shade of blue that almost looks gray and the walls are littered with posters of sports figures and trophies. His old helmet from high school football sits on a shelf along with other memorabilia from that time period. Basically, his room is a time travel to the decade before.

  His bedspread is a navy blue, but the best part is his sheets covered in footballs. They make me laugh every time I see them.

  Ben stares down at me and there’s a glint in his eyes. One that tells me I’m in trouble in the best possible way. He lowers, covering my body with his, and I shiver.

  “You’re a bad girl.”

  I raise a brow. “Am I?”

  “The worst.” He grins and kisses me. I melt into the kiss, but just as quickly as he started it, he ends it. He stands and declares, “Bedtime.”

  Jerk.

  I pout. “But—”

  He shakes his head and grins at me.

  I stand and shrug. Fine. Two can play at this game.

  I kick off my shoes and remove my sweater. I then wiggle out of my jeans, purposely swaying my hips. His eyes follow my movements and the hunger in his eyes grows.

  Gotcha, I think to myself.

  His Adam’s apple bobs and he stares at me as I stand in only a tiny pair of black lace panties and matching bra. It isn’t my normal sleeping attire since I hadn’t planned on us staying the night, but it is certainly doing its job in tantalizing Ben.

  “Goodnight,” I say with a grin and pull back the covers on his bed, slipping beneath them. I purposely pull them all the way up, hiding my body.

  Ben’s eyes darken and a second later he pulls back the covers. I lie almost completely exposed on his bed and blink up at him.

  “Ben?” I say, fighting a winning grin.

  He jumps onto the bed over me and I giggle but quickly quiet my sounds. The bed bounces and he holds himself above me.

  “I love you even if you drive me crazy,” he growls, pressing his lips to my neck.

  “Love is crazy.”

  He kisses me. “That’s true.”

  He presses his lips together, almost nervously.

  “Ben?” I prompt after a moment when he says nothing.

  “I want to talk to you about something.” He rolls off of me and settles onto the bed beside me.

  “Okay?” I question, his nerves making me nervous.

  He smooth’s his fingers over my cheek and his eyes flicker to mine. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  “Ben,” I plead, “you’re killing me here.”

  My mind is running through a million different scenarios.

  He’s being transferred to another hospital and we need to move.

  He wants to postpone the wedding.

  He doesn’t want to marry me at all.

  He—

  “I want to have a baby.”

  My mind stops—completely shuts down.

  “What?” I gasp. A baby? I couldn’t have possibly heard him right. We’ve talked about kids, but always said we’d have our first child a few years after we were married.

  “I know, I know,” he says, almost like he’s reading my thoughts, “this isn’t what we talked about. But it feels right, don’t you think?” Before I can respond, he continues, “We’re going to be married soon, and people say it usually takes a few tries to actually get pregnant, so I think we should start.”

  He looks at me with big, earnest, blue eyes. “B-But our plan. My business. Your residency. Nothing is complete yet.”

  “But it will be,” he says, toying with a piece of my hair. “I want us to have a family. Don’t you want that? What if it takes a while? What if we’re one of those couples that has to go an alternate route? Wouldn’t you rather know now and not when we’re in our thirties?”

  I sit up and press my fingers to my temples. “You’re freaking me out,” I tell him.

  It’s not that having a baby is a bad thing. I want kids, but I’ve al
ways been someone that’s terrified of the unknown.

  “Blaire.” He takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. “Breathe. Just breathe. If you want to wait, we will.” His tongue slips out to moisten his lips. “Just think about it, okay?”

  I nod. “I will.”

  As I settle back on the bed in his arms, the idea of a baby lying between us doesn’t seem so bad. Ben will be an amazing dad; it’s me as a mom that scares me.

  We arrive home a little after ten in the morning the next day and Ben immediately has to leave for the hospital. After a quick peck on my lips, he’s gone for a twenty-four shift. It sucks that he has to leave so soon, but I can’t be too glum since he had the holiday off; I know we won’t always be that lucky.

  Which brings me back to the topic of a baby.

  Can I handle raising a baby right now with Ben gone most of the time? I think I can, but thinking and knowing are two different things. What scares me the most isn’t that, though—I’m more afraid of losing everything I’ve worked so hard to build the last few years. My business is only beginning to take off and a baby might halt that—if it did, would I resent Ben or the child? I don’t think so.

  All my jumbling of thoughts keeps circling back to the same thing: I think we can do this.

  It won’t be easy—but it won’t be easy to have a baby on our hands a few years from now—however, since he brought it up, every time I come up with a negative against having a baby right now, I can’t help but see one in my arms and suddenly I want that. I yearn for that little piece of us. It’s crazy, completely nuts, but I think—no, I know—I’m going to tell him I’m ready.

  Since I’m still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, I decide to take a shower and then tackle our ever-growing pile of laundry. Ben and I might be adults, but we’re not always the best at the whole adulting thing—resulting in piles of dirty laundry and dishes. The house wouldn’t even be that clean if we didn’t have someone come in twice a month to vacuum and dust.

  It takes me a while to catch up on the household chores and when I’m done I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.

  It’s quiet in the house—too quiet—so I end up turning on some music. Almost immediately, I begin to sway my hips to the beat. I can’t seem to help myself. Soon, I’m dancing through the house, singing at the top of my lungs.

  Winnie watches me with shrewd blue eyes. She doesn’t approve of my silliness. Most cats are like that, though—so judgmental.

  Even though I don’t have to work today, I find myself in my home office. Most people would probably say their office is their least favorite place to me. Not for me—it’s my happy place.

  Three of the walls are painted white, except for the focal wall, which has white and black stripes. It adds sophistication to the room. My desk sits in the middle of the room and is solid black, made out of some glossy material, and my chair is fluffy and white. There are a few black bookshelves, filled with books, files, and other odds and ends. One of my favorite pieces in the room is the wooden swing hanging from the ceiling. Ben surprised me with it because I was always complaining about how I needed to be moving to think clearly. Whenever I was stumped with how to pull together an event, or I just needed a breather, I would sit on the swing and let all my thoughts disappear.

  Right now, I bypass the swing and took a seat at my desk. I begin answering emails—mostly inquiries about pricing—and then bring up my design board for an event I am currently working on; a birthday party being thrown by a daughter for her mom’s fiftieth birthday. The daughter gave me very strict instructions, stating that her mom is conservative and won’t want anything outlandish. I have a feeling this is going to be one of the harder events to plan. Even though it is the daughter throwing it as a surprise, I’ve already picked up on her opinionated tendencies, and I figure she’ll be one of those clients that likes to change their mind at the last minute. I’m not complaining, though, and I’m up for the challenge. Life is boring if it’s easy.

  I call it quits a few hours later and decide to watch a movie—but not before popping some popcorn, that’s a must. I dump the overly-buttery popcorn into a large mixing bowl and call for Winnie to join me. She hisses from her perch on the dining room table, jumps off, and runs under the couch. I wish I knew what I did to piss her off so badly.

  I sit down on the gray sectional and tug the cream, sweater-material, blanket onto my lap before setting down the popcorn bowl. Winnie hisses again from beneath the couch—I guess because I moved the blanket and blocked her view.

  I turn on the TV and hit the button that starts the DVD player. I already have the movie in there from a previous day where I didn’t get to watch it completely. The movie comes on and I start it over.

  Winnie eases out from beneath the couch—I know because I feel the blanket move.

  “Come on, Winnie. Get up here,” I coax. “I have popcorn.”

  Winnie loves popcorn.

  I get a hiss in response.

  Apparently she only loves popcorn when Ben is feeding it to her.

  My phone chimes on the coffee table so I pause the movie to check it. I stupidly think that it might be Ben, but instead, my best friend’s name appears on the screen.

  Casey: Lnch with the girls 2morrow? And Ben?

  Me: Sure. Ben’s working tho.

  Casey: 2 bad. Bean & Gone at 12?

  Me: Yeah, I’ve been craving their avocado sandwich.

  Casey: Weirdo.

  Me: :P

  I set the phone back on the table and resume the movie. I find my eyes growing heavy, and soon, I fall asleep.

  By the time I wake up, it’s late and I’ve missed dinner.

  I sit up and rub my eyes as my stomach growls angrily. Winnie is nowhere to be seen and the movie is back to the start screen. I sigh. Maybe one day I’ll actually watch the movie the whole way through.

  I stand and stretch before making my way into the kitchen. I don’t feel like making anything outlandish so I end up grabbing a box of Mini Wheats and pouring a heaping pile into a bowl along with too much milk. I open the utensil drawer, and immediately, I smile. I pluck the paper crane from the drawer and hold it up. My hunger forgotten, I unfold the carefully-crafted origami bird.

  I love your smile.

  I also love your boobs.

  —Ben

  I laugh and shake my head. The things he writes in the notes vary from romantic, to silly, to completely sappy. I love each and every one, though.

  I fold the note back up into the shape of the crane and add it to the large glass vase in the foyer. I don’t know why I started collecting them in the vase, but it makes a pretty display. I also can’t help but feel my heart flood with love and affection whenever I pass it. I’m as much as a love-sick fool as he is, but the fact that we’re still that way gives me hope. We haven’t always had it easy—with school, jobs, and too much of a workload—but we’ve been able to withstand every storm thrown our way, so I have no doubt that we’ll continue to do so.

  I grab a spoon and my bowl, frowning at the now soggy cereal.

  Oh, well.

  I tuck my phone in my pocket and take a bottle of water from the refrigerator before heading upstairs. I don’t normally eat dinner in bed, but since it’s so late I decide to be adventurous. I turn on the TV and change it to a mindless reality show.

  Winnie eventually wanders into the bedroom and when she sees that Ben’s not home she sticks her head up haughtily at me and jumps up on the windowsill that overlooks the front yard.

  “He won’t be home until tomorrow,” I tell her.

  She turns and glares at me with her glowing blue eyes. She acts like I tried to drown her as a kitten or something.

  I get up and clean the bowl in the bathroom sink since I’m too lazy to go back downstairs.

  I change into a pair of sleep shorts—I’m a hot sleeper—and one of Ben’s old school shirts. It’s gray and so worn you can nearly see through it, but I love it. He�
��s tried to throw it away, but I won’t let him.

  I turn off the lights, but leave the TV on for the time being. I’m one of those people; when I’m by myself I start imagining all sorts of creepy things—like some man living under the bed waiting to eat me, or something else equally as silly.

  Winnie moves from the windowsill to the doorway and lies down, making this displeased harrumph of a noise.

  I settle beneath the mountains of blankets, and I drift off to sleep.

  I wake up early, a little after six, and pad downstairs to make myself a cup of coffee. I grab my laptop and sit with it at the kitchen island. I’m all caught up on work emails, but there’s a pile of junk mail waiting for me. Delete. Delete. Delete.

  I hate how quiet it is in the house when it’s only me, so I turn on the TV to a news station and let it play softly in the background.

  I don’t have anything important to do this morning since it’s Saturday, and I still have hours until I meet the girls for lunch, so I end up grabbing a book, one of those historical romances with the woman draped over a guy and her bosom on display. As cheesy as the covers might be, I can’t help but love these books.

  I settle on the couch and begin to read. Ben makes fun of me for my love of historical romances, but there’s just something about them.

  The sun is up now and I make myself a quick breakfast before showering. I don’t feel like doing much with my hair so I end up styling it in a messy bun. A few short pieces of hair fall around my face. Keeping my makeup simple with eyeliner, mascara, and a nude lip., I move to the closet to dress in a pair of black jeans, a loose white top, and my army-green jacket. It’s fairly warm out, so I’m not worried about being too cold.

  I’m slipping my feet into a pair of brown boots when I hear the front door open.

  From the closet, I can see Winnie jump from the windowsill and run from the room.

  Ben’s home.

  I grab my purse and head downstairs to find Ben rummaging through the refrigerator. He grabs the bottle of orange juice, unscrews the cap, and lifts it to his lips.

  “Hey,” he says when he sees me, and smiles bashfully knowing I caught him drinking from the bottle. It’s a pet peeve of mine but I can’t be mad when he’s so exhausted. His eyes boast dark circles beneath, but despite that, he’s grinning.