Chapter Thirty-Five

Tessa

We have the reception at our house after the burial. Watching my father’s body being placed under ground for all eternity was excruciating. I wished Ben were there, and a small part of me wished for faith—that belief that Da is still with us, enjoying eternal life with our Father in Heaven.

But my faith is gone. Obliterated, beginning with an altar boy at my first communion.

Aunt Lily and the church put together a feast for us. Mostly Mexican food. Even though Da wasn’t Mexican, that was the food he loved the most.

Braden and Skye are here, of course, along with Betsy and several of my friends from my old job. I haven’t been with Black Inc. long enough to make new friends. In fact, I haven’t been back to work since before Jamaica. Luke was great about giving me time off for bereavement.

Of course, that’s no doubt due in part to the fact that I was a special hire by the Black brothers themselves.

I sigh.

One good thing has come out of all this.

I haven’t given Garrett Ramirez a thought.

Until this moment.

Ben is here, talking in the corner of the living room with Betsy, Braden, and Skye, but every now and then, he looks over at me. I haven’t seen him smile, though.

Of course not. A funeral reception is hardly the place for a smile.

Mom, Eva, and I are sitting on the couch together, and people are lined up to talk to us and pay their respects.

My eyes have been watery all day, but I’ve kept my composure.

“Daniel was such a wonderful man,” a young woman I sort of recognize says to me.

“Thank you. Yes, he was.”

“I hope you have a lot of good memories to get you through this trying time.”

I force a smile. “We do. He was a great father.”

She takes my hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

I repeat that conversation—or a variation thereof—so many times I lose count.

In the meantime, parishioners, guests, friends, and relatives nosh on the feast my aunt prepared. I love my aunt’s cooking—she makes the best enchiladas—but my stomach is a void.

I’ve been forcing myself to eat bland things all week—oatmeal, rice with a sprinkle of salt, plain pasta with butter.

Even my staples of bacon and Ben Jerry’s haven’t sounded good to me since Da died.

I didn’t get to say goodbye.

I didn’t get to hold his hand and tell him I love him.

“He knew,” Mom has assured me.

I know he knew, and I know he’s been worried about me since the Garrett situation.

He never approved of my leaving the church, of course, but still he loved me, was devoted to me.

I’ve tried looking up to the heavens to talk to him—to tell him that I’m okay—but it feels all wrong.

We were a traditional Catholic household, and my father was definitely the head of the family. My mother never worked outside the home except to volunteer for school and church activities.

Will she have to get a job now?

So many unanswered questions that we haven’t even allowed ourselves to think about because we’re mourning.

I haven’t brought these issues up with my mother, but I’m wondering… Will I have to move back in with her? Help her make ends meet?

I’ll do it if I have to.

The old Tessa? Man, would she have balked at that.

This Tessa, though… This Tessa will do her duty. Do what she has to do to take care of her mother. It will be my penance for not being here to say goodbye to my father.

I know better than to think that way, of course. I was in Jamaica with Braden and Skye, celebrating their impending nuptials. I’m Skye’s best friend, and that is where I was supposed to be. Plus, my father had no history of heart issues. We had no idea he might have a massive coronary and not make it.

He was strong and fit, though my mother’s Mexican fare was filled with dairy and meat fat.

All these thoughts go through my head as the same words come out of my mouth again and again.

Thank you for being here. I appreciate you being here. Yes, he was a wonderful father.

When the receiving line has finally dwindled down, I rise and turn to my mother. “I’ve got to get out of here for a minute.”

My mother nods. “Go ahead, Tessa. You too, Eva. Uncle Josh and I have got this.”

My mother is so strong. Her husband—her life mate—was taken from her, but she’s concerned about me.

My mother and father had their share of knock-down drag-outs over the years, but they had one rule. Never go to bed angry. Not once in the entire time I lived with them do I remember them not sleeping together in the same bed.

And they never did go to bed angry.

Even when they were up until the wee hours of the morning—as Da used to say—they would find some common ground, and then they would go to bed.

I look around my house. Remnants of Nana are still here, her figurines of the Blessed Mother and her crucifix.

All I could think about—especially after Nana passed away a few years after my first communion—was getting the hell out of this house so I could live a life. Not be bound by my mother and father’s strict rules.

I wasn’t even allowed to date until I was seventeen. And then, I had to parade my dates into the living room where they were subject to interrogation from both my mother and my father.

It almost wasn’t worth it.

So when I got to college, I went a little wild.

I lost my virginity the first week, and I never looked back. When Skye and I got close, and I found out we were exact opposites, I was always the one who made her go out, forced her to dress less conservatively.

And what do you know?

She was the one who snagged a sexy billionaire.

I smile at the thought.

It was ridiculous that I felt so envious of Skye’s relationship with Braden. She’s checked in with me every day since Garrett, twice a day since my father died.

All this, when she should be focusing on her upcoming wedding.

It’s four weeks from today, at a posh hotel in downtown Boston.

No expense has been spared for the future Mrs. Braden Black, of course.

I walk to the kitchen and then outside in the backyard. The skies were gray during the burial, and now it’s raining, so I’m alone, which is what I’m after.

I don’t care about the rain. It feels good—kind of reminds me of the cold plunge.

Ben and I were supposed to do another cold plunge Sunday morning last week, but of course that didn’t happen. We ended up flying home in the middle of the night.

My black dress is getting drenched, but again, I don’t care.

I relish the pelting of the drops as I look to the gray sky, trying to feel my father.

But I don’t feel Da.

I feel…Ben.

He’s texted me a few times since Da died, but other than that, he’s left me alone. Given me space.

It’s not like we’re in a relationship or anything.

But feelings are growing within me—feelings I never thought I’d have again, despite Garrett and my recently resurfaced memories of the altar boy.

Feelings that—if I allow them to take hold—I’m not sure how to deal with.

What happened with Garrett is still so much a part of me, and now, dealing with the loss of my father plus the recovered memories of my first communion, I’m not sure I’ll be ready to have these feelings for a long time.

But the feelings don’t seem to care about any of that, because they’re here. They’re here every time I think about Ben. Every time I look at him.

Every time I remember the feel of his lips on my cheek.

Every time I think about the conversation we had about how he wanted to kiss me, but it wasn’t the right time.

Was he right?

More likely his brother told him to stay away from me. Although from what I know about Ben Black, he wouldn’t let anything—including his powerful older brother—keep him from something he wants.

And what about me?

Why am I thinking about Ben Black kissing me when I’m trying to talk to my father in the pouring rain?

Ben was right to refuse to kiss me that day at his house, right after Da died. I can’t fall into the pit of proving I’m alive by having hot monkey sex. I had enough of that in college and afterward—all the way up until Garrett.

The rain helps me, and soon I’m dripping wet. A chill runs through me, so I turn and—

I gasp.

Ben stands there, clad in his black suit and gray tie, which probably cost a fortune, and he’s getting pelted as well.

“I saw you out here,” he says. “When the rain got stronger, I figured I’d better check. You okay?”

“I think that’s a loaded question, and we both know it.”

He frowns. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course you’re not okay. You just lost your father.”

“At least I’ve had something to keep my mind on,” I say with a sigh.

He takes a step closer. “You want to talk?”

“Not especially. I’m so over talking right now. If I have to say, ‘Thank you so much for coming. Yes, he was a wonderful father,’ once more, I may explode.”

He glances back to the house. “People are starting to disperse. Let’s get you inside.”

I look up to the sky, letting the drops pummel my face. Then I turn and look at Ben. “I don’t I want to go inside.”

He touches my cheek. “You’re soaking wet, Tessa.”

I hold my hands out, look up to the sky once more. “So what? Since when does being soaking wet matter? I kind of feel like I need to be rained on right now.”

“Do you want to tell me why?”

I smile to the clouds. “I’ve had an amazing life.”

“Had? You’re twenty-five years old, Tessa. The majority of your life is still ahead of you.”

“I don’t mean it that way.” I put my arms down and turn to him. “I mean I had the best dad in the world. He was strict for sure. Both my parents were. But they loved me unconditionally. When I fucked up—and I fucked up a lot—they always forgave me. Of course, they punished me, but they did everything because they loved me. And then what did I do? The minute I could leave their house, I threw away all of the good values they taught me. I threw my faith to the wind, gave my virginity to the first guy who asked.”

“Tessa, everyone rebels a little bit when they leave home.”

I turn back to face him. “Did you?”

He shakes his head. “I did it before I left home, and my God, you have no idea.”

I look down. “I didn’t appreciate what I had.”

“Of course you did.” He moves another step closer. “You kept a good relationship with your mom and dad, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You had to find your own way. Everyone does. There’s nothing saying you can’t go back to your religion if you want to.”

“Except I don’t really want to.”

“And that’s okay, too.”

“Mommy and Da were so disappointed when I left the church.”

“But you’re you, Tessa, and they both still loved you.”

I smile weakly. “Yes, they did.”

“See?”

I close my eyes, images appearing in my mind. Of my brown-haired and sparkling-eyed father hoisting me up and playing rocket ship when I was a little girl. Helping me decorate Christmas cookies when Mommy and Nana made them. Holding me and letting me cry into his shoulder when Nana passed away, telling me, “Da will always be here for you, Tessa. Always.”

And when I spent my first weekend at home after college. His face lit up when he saw me, and he captured me in a huge bear hug. And then he asked me the dreaded question. I inhale a deep breath. “I remember one time when I was home for the weekend, I went to Mass with Eva and my parents. My father asked me if I’d been going to Mass at school, and I lied to him. I told him yes.”

Ben chuckles lightly. “I don’t know of any kid who hasn’t lied to his parents.”

I open my eyes. “But that’s not the thing. He looked at me, looked me directly in the eye, and said, ‘Don’t you ever lie to me again, Teresa.’”

“So he knew.”

“He did. He had some sort of sixth sense when it came to me lying. And he didn’t berate me about not going to Mass. What was more important to him was the lie.”

“It sounds like he was an amazing father.”

“He was.” I sniffle, holding back a light sob. “He really, really was. I was closer to him than to my mother, to be honest. I was probably closest to Nana, my mother’s mother, but when she passed away, my father became my rock.”

“Tessa…”

I meet his gaze.

“Please, let’s go inside.”

I shake my head.

Tilt my chin upward. Do you think you’ll ever kiss me?

But the words don’t make it out of my mouth.

Ben moves toward me, closer, as if in slow motion.

And Ben—strong, handsome, wonderful Ben—touches his lips to mine like a gentle stroke of a watercolor brush.

I part my lips, and fireworks shoot through me.

I’ve never waited so long for a kiss, never wanted a kiss so badly, and this kiss lives up to every expectation I had.

He slides his tongue between my lips, slowly at first, but then he deepens the kiss. Our lips cling together, and my breath catches my throat.

He cups both my cheeks.

A face holder.

I love a face holder.

The kiss lingers, and my nipples harden, my pussy pulses.

Feelings I never thought I’d have again, and I’m having them from a mere kiss.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve anticipated it for so long.

It’s perfection.

Such perfection.

Just the kiss…

Nothing else matters.

Not anything.

As the rain falls, the drops tumbling over us, for the first time in a long time—maybe since that last time I scrambled off Nana’s lap before my first communion—all is right with the world.