Chapter forty-two
Antonia
Sitting in the half-dark, I’m holding the now-empty beer that I plucked out of the fridge an hour ago. I tip the bottle back again, as if some dregs will magically appear. They don’t. It’s still empty. I consider getting another one; it might help me sleep easier if I do.
I’m rising from the sofa when the knock comes at the door. Quickly, I check the door camera on my phone. Ben. I consider not opening it. A minute passes, then it comes again.
“Antonia.” Ben’s voice filters through the wood. I could pretend not to hear him. “Antonia, please open the door. It’s Ben.”
I give in and go to open the door.
“We need to have a conversation.” He looks ten years older than when I left him just over an hour ago. A man drained, tired, eyes dark, exhausted even.
“You should be with your family,” I tell him. “They need you today.”
“They told me to come here.”
I block the doorway, keeping him outside, placing my hand on the frame. “You should be with your family,” I say again.
He shakes his head. “It’s not the time to be stubborn.”
“Stubborn? Better stubborn than stupid,” I snap.
He winces. He knows I’m right. Today’s on him. Bad decisions led to hurt feelings and my broken heart.
“Today is a day for your family, not to be with me,” I continue, not wanting to let it go, not wanting to stop telling him why he was so wrong. The urge to cram words between us surges. If I keep speaking, he can’t. “Go home.”
“Amy and Liam told me to come. You’re here.” He pauses, taking a breath. “Bex isn’t.”
My eyes pop. I can’t believe he said that. It wasn’t nasty, just a fact. The truth. But it still feels harsh, cutting to the bone of the issue.
He swallows. “Bex had the biggest heart. She wouldn’t want you in pain or alone when you’re dealing with this. You have to trust me on that. I knew her for a long time. I knew who she was. I may not have gone about things the right way, but you didn’t need to be alone today. And neither did I.”
My shoulders straighten, ready for another argument, then suddenly I don’t have the energy. Every bone of contention fades. We’re both human. No one makes the perfect choice every time. I step to the side.
“Come in then. I suppose we should talk.” He walks past me into the hallway, shrugging out of his jacket. “Don’t be so sure. You might not be here long enough to take that off.”
He bites his lip, badly hiding a chuckle. “Really? After today, you want to argue about my jacket?”
“I’m not arguing,” I say. “I’m stating a fact.”
He laughs properly then, but puts the jacket back on. It feels like a win.
“You knew what day today was,” I tell him. “You knew why I shouldn’t be there.”
“And you didn’t need to be alone.” He looks straight at me, through me almost. “I prioritized in the moment. I got it wrong. I’m sorry.”
Somehow, we’re in the middle of the living room. I’m not sure how we got there, both moving subconsciously. Neither of us sits. We just stand looking at each other across the coffee table.
“How can I trust you when you let me walk into that tonight?”
He runs his hand through his hair, closing his eyes, exasperated. They land back on me, honest but frustrated.
“I don’t know,” he says, “but I invited you because I wanted you to be with me.” He reaches for my hand, but I pull it out of his way, the table a barrier.
“I can’t cope with this right now.”
“Just because something’s difficult,” he says, “doesn’t mean you have to run from it. Trust me, you only lose out in the end.”