I looked out the side window.
“Frankie?” Benny called.
“I’m tired,” I said to the window. That wasn’t entirely true, but luckily my voice sounded like it was.
“Babe,” he replied softly.
Damn. Now his voice was deep and easy and soft.
God so totally hated me.
I felt his finger slide along the outside of my thigh and I closed my eyes tight.
Totally. Hated. Me.
“We’ll get you home, get you to bed, get some decent food in you, turn on the TV, and you can rest.”
Now was my time and I wasn’t going to waste it. “I’m not gonna fight it, Ben, ’cause I can’t. We’ll fight tomorrow. But I need some prescriptions filled, and quick.”
“Ma’s comin’ over. She’ll get you fed and I’ll go out and get your meds.”
My head whipped around at the word “over” and I stared at him in scared-as-shit disbelief. “Theresa’s comin’ over?”
He glanced at me, then back at the road. “Yeah, babe. She didn’t fall for your sleep fake either, but she gave you that play. Now she wants to kick in. Make sure you’re all right.”
“I can’t face Theresa.”
Ben’s eyes came to me again and stayed on me a shade longer than they should have, seeing as he was driving. Then he looked back at the road. “Frankie, cara, she wants—”
“I can’t face Theresa.”
His hand came out and folded around mine. “Cara—”
I didn’t fight his hand holding mine. I had another fight I needed to focus on. “I can’t, Ben. Call her. Tell her not to come.”
He squeezed my hand. “Baby, it’s—”
I squeezed his hand. “Ben.” I leaned his way. “Please.”
He did another longer-than-safe glance at me, then he gave me another squeeze before he let me go. He shifted forward in his seat, dug his cell out of his back pocket, and I held my breath.
His thumb moved on the screen and he put it to his ear.
I took a breath, because it was needed for survival, and I held it again.
“Ma, yeah. Listen, Frankie’s with me. She’s good. She’s cool. She’s comin’ home with me, but she needs ’til tomorrow for you. Can you give that to her?”
Tomorrow. I’d bought time. I was golden.
“Thanks, Ma.”
Yes, I was golden.
I did not grin. I heaved a sigh of relief. This was not a victory. I was genuinely freaked about seeing Theresa. I loved her. I missed her. And there was something about the loss of her that cut deeper than any of the Bianchis, save Benny, but I was not going to go there. And, of course, Vinnie, who had no choice but to leave me, except the one he should have made before he hooked his star to Sal.
My ma was the shit. She was hilarious. She was the best wingman a girl could have, be it at a bar or a church. No joke, even at fifty-three, she could rack ’em up and pin ’em down for you, and I knew this because she not only picked Vinnie for me, she scored both my sisters’ husbands for them, not to mention four of her own. She drank like a sailor, cursed like a sailor, and I wasn’t certain, but evidence pointed to the fact that she’d entertained most of the boys who’d been through the Naval Station for the last three decades (plus). I knew this because my father was one of them.
She was any girl’s best friend.
The problem with that was that she’d been my “best friend” since I was two.
A girl needed a mother.
And Theresa Bianchi was that for me.
And then she wasn’t.
I’d waited for twenty-one years to get that for me.
And then it was gone.
“You got a day, darlin’,” Benny said quietly. “A day to prepare. You gotta face her, but more, Francesca, you gotta let her face you.”
“Fine,” I told the window.
“Fine?” Ben repeated on a question.
“Yeah.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “No lip. You are tired.”
“I’ll have my strength back after a nap and we’ll fight about it then,” I lied, because we wouldn’t. I’d be at The Drake while Ben was losing his mind in his empty house.
“You’re on.” He was still muttering, but he had humor in his deep and easy voice now.
Humor from Benny was a killer. He had a great smile. He had a better laugh. And I’d already mentioned how fabulous his eyes were when they were dancing with humor.
He also had a great face. It was more than just drop-dead handsome. It was expressive. Benny Bianchi was not a man who held back emotion. He let it hang out. And there was no time it didn’t look good.
But when he was in a good mood, smiling and laughing, that was the best. I used to go for it—his smiles, his laughter. I used to work for it. Even when Vinnie was alive.
That was how great Benny was when he was laughing.
It was worth the work.
Suddenly, I decided a nap at that precise moment was the way to go. The problem was, when I rested my head on the window, it kept bumping against the glass, which was not conducive to sleep.
So I sat back in the seat and closed my eyes.
Two seconds into this, Benny whispered, “Shoot that f**ker again for takin’ the fight outta you.”
At the low rumble of his words, which said he really meant them, I closed my eyes tighter.
He’d shot the man who shot me. His shot was not the kill shot. But he’d shot him.
“Can we not talk about that?” I whispered back.
“Drill him full of holes for takin’ the fight outta you.”
I felt the wet behind my eyes and said nothing.
He took my hand again and I didn’t pull away again. In my effort at holding back the tears, I just didn’t have it in me.
“We’ll get you fightin’ fit again, baby,” he promised me, deep and easy.
We would, but that being the royal “we.”
I didn’t share that.
I took in a deep breath and let it out.
Benny held my hand and he did this a long time. In fact, he did it until he had to let it go to hit the garage door opener on his visor. I opened my eyes when he let me go and I watched him do it. Then I watched him pull into his garage.
Time to instigate Operation Drake.
I did well, even allowing Ben to lift me out of the vehicle and carry me into his house and up the stairs.
My plan fell apart when he carried me into his bedroom.
It went up in smoke when he bent to lay me on his bed.
As he was removing his arms, I caught hold of his wrist.