Exes With Benefits

“An unconscious decision?” He blinked at me, unconsciously rubbing at the scar cutting through his brow.

  “What? Why are you still living here?”

  He leaned forward in his seat. “For a very purposeful, conscious reason.”

  “That all-important reason being?”

  He leaned closer still, the candlelight dancing in his gold eyes. “I’m sitting across from that reason now.”

  I picked at my pea salad. “You stayed because you thought I’d come back here one day?”

  “I stayed here because I knew you’d come back here one day.”

  My shoulders dropped. “Canaan, I didn’t even know I’d come back. How could you be so certain of what someone else was going to do? How could you just stake your life on it?”

  His hands thrust across the table at me. “I was right.”

  I grumbled under my breath and took my first bite of pea salad.

  “Don’t live your life one unconscious decision to another. Don’t become another empty shell moving down the sidewalk, living every damn day on repeat. Don’t settle for good enough. Chase great, Maggie.”

  Kicking my leg up beneath me, I looked across the table at him. “Kind of how you chased me the night I left?”

  “You are my great. I’ll never stop chasing you.”

  After that, a nice long drink of tea was in order. He was throwing so much at me, saying all the right things at what felt like the wrong time. Years had passed. I’d come with divorce papers in hand. My boyfriend of two years had just said, “Sayonara, I’m moving to San Francisco.” My grandma’s funeral was in a few days. I had shows booked in Chicago this fall. This was the definition of the wrong time to rekindle a flame that had been snuffed out forever ago.

  “Have you ever been to Chicago?” I picked up my chicken and took another bite, if for nothing more than a distraction.

  “Once.”

  “When was that?”

  His neck rolled before answering. “A few months after you left.”

  “And this trip to the same city I’d moved to was a random coincidence?” I said.

  Another neck roll. “I might have seen a letter you’d mailed your grandma sitting on the kitchen table one day. I also might have written down the return address before she came back into the room.” Half of his face pulled up when he noticed the look I was giving him.

  “You stalked me to Chicago?”

  “Stalk is a bit of an overstatement—”

  Lifting my index finger, I picked up my phone from the table and punched something into a search engine. “‘To pursue or approach stealthily.’”

  “I never approached you,” he answered instantly.

  My eyes moved from my phone to him.

  An exhale rose from deep in his chest. “I never approached you . . . that you knew of.” Another exhale when I rolled my hand. “Fine. I stalked you.”

  “My life’s a soap opera in the making,” I muttered.

  “And I’m just the married guy who went without sex for five years waiting for the love of his life to return to him with open arms. Instead I got divorce papers.” His knee bumped mine beneath the table. “Tell me about it.”

  When I topped off our drinks, my forehead creased. “If you came all the way there, why didn’t you come up to me? Why didn’t you say whatever it was you wanted to?” I’d never known Canaan to swallow words instead of spew them. He said and did what came to him. It wasn’t in his nature to hold back.

  His eyes lost focus, like he was seeing something else. “You seemed happy. And after how unhappy I knew you’d been with me, I left so you could live your life while I worked on mine.”

  When I went to swallow, I found I couldn’t. I hadn’t been expecting that kind of an answer. The boy had become a man, learning that sometimes the best way to show one’s love was from afar.

  “I ran into Danny McDonald a couple of days ago, in the craft store of all places. We talked about you.”

  Across the table, Canaan came back to the present. “All lies.”

  “He pretty much swore on the life of his born and unborn children that you were never with another girl when we were together. Or after.” My foot moved beneath the table, sliding up his legs. I didn’t miss the way his skin raised where I touched it or the tremor that ran down his chest. “He said you’re his sponsor. That you saved him.”

  Canaan’s hand knotted around my foot when I started to pull away. He planted my foot on the edge of his chair, his powerful legs trapping it between them. “He speaks the truth. Never said an untrue word in his life.”

  His answer drew a smile. “I’m not his biggest fan, you might remember.”

  He nodded, one of his hands rubbing small circles into the plane of my foot. “We were both a couple of pissed off kids who had more anger than we could keep bottled inside. We found the most constructive outlet we could to vent it. The ring.” His shoulders lifted as he raised his free hand. “Using your fists on someone who volunteered for it and is using their fists on you is a hell of a lot better than what an angry hothead could do.”

  The skin between his brows folded into a deep canyon as his eyes darkened. We hadn’t talked much about why he’d been so angry, mainly because we didn’t need to. He knew why. And so did I.

  “Asher dying wasn’t your fault,” I whispered.

  Canaan didn’t agree or disagree with that. He didn’t say anything. Neither did his expression. After a moment, the void cleared. “Are you ready? For the funeral?” His voice was a few notes deeper than usual, his eyes roaming.

  “Yeah, I am. As ready as anyone really could be.”

  He nodded absently. “What’s your plan for after?”

  I wasn’t sure if he was asking about after the funeral or after our month was up. I didn’t want to know actually. “Isn’t that the point of this month-long experiment? So we don’t have to talk about any of that?”

  His fingers stopped moving along my foot. “You still haven’t decided?”

  “On what?”

  His eyes closed for a moment. When they reopened, they were empty. “Nothing.” He let my foot go before rising out of his chair. “I should get going.”

  His plate was still full. There were hours until morning. “You could stay.”

  Without my giving it permission, my hand reached for his as he was passing. It was too late. He’d already moved on by the time I got there.

  “I’d rather not get used to falling asleep with you again, Maggie.” Behind me, I heard him pulling on his jeans, his shirt being thrown over his head.

  My teeth worked at my bottom lip. “Why not?”

  He must have had his boots on, because his footsteps were louder as they moved for the door. “Because I don’t want to get used to falling asleep without you again if you leave.”

  The door had closed behind him, his footsteps drumming down the porch steps, when I replied to the empty seat across from me. “I don’t want to either.”

  At last, the day had arrived. The one where my grandma would be laid in the ground. This was the first funeral I’d been to without her at my side. The first one when I wouldn’t feel her comforting hand squeeze my shoulder or hear her words offer some consoling message.

  I’d be alone, and maybe that was the most daunting part of the whole day. Confronting death was one thing, but doing it alone was something else entirely. Having the reassurance that there was still life surrounding you eased the blow of accepting we were finite beings.

  Life eased the bitter pill that was death.

  Love eased it.

  This death, however, I’d be confronting on my own. Friends would be there, of course. No lack of acquaintances and distant relatives would be packing the pews of the Baptist church, but I’d learned from Chicago that a person could be surrounded by swarms of people and still feel utterly alone.

  Canaan didn’t do funerals. Even if he did, I didn’t really have a right to ask him to stay with me, at my side, as the world said goodbye to the woma
n who’d raised me. On paper, I might have still carried his last name, but I’d made it clear what I thought about that. I couldn’t just lay claim to some rushed nuptials when I needed support on a day like this; that was the epitome of taking advantage of a person.

  I’d been stalling in front of the mirror attached to the back of my door, staring at my reflection. I’d never again wear the charcoal dress I was wearing, just like I’d never again worn the dresses I’d worn to my parents’ and Asher’s funerals. Those events had marked each dress—defined it. There was no way to ever zip back into it without thinking about death and goodbye.

  At the end of the day, I’d toss it into the garbage or fire.

  Knowing I was out of minutes to stall if I was going to make it to the church on time, I forced myself from my room and down the stairs. In my head, I was calculating how many hours this would take. The service in the church, the burial at the cemetery, and the reception after. It wasn’t because I was in a hurry to get the day over with; I wanted to know how long I had to be brave. So I could ration my bouts of strength so I didn’t run out before the end.

  I was almost to the porch steps when I noticed a shadow lingering in one of the chairs on the porch. A check over my shoulder confirmed it was the shadow I thought it was. The shadow whose shape I’d memorized so long ago, I supposed I’d carry its memory into my next life too.

  He rose from the chair that seemed too small to hold him, adjusting his dark jacket and tie like he was as uncomfortable in them as I was in my dress. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.” He pulled at the sleeves of his jacket. “Is this okay?”

  My eyes stung, but not from the kind of tears I’d been prepared to shed today. “You did great.” Turning around, I let myself admire the man sitting outside my front door, waiting for me. He shined up nicely, but that wasn’t what I was admiring. It was his loyalty that made it hard to breathe. “I didn’t think you were coming. I know how you are about these kinds of things, and really, I understand.”

  He took a few steps toward me, his polished black dress shoes making an entirely different sound that the boots he usually wore. “I want to be with you.”

  My tongue worked inside my cheek. “I’ll be okay.”

  His warm hand enveloped mine a few steps later, giving it that same squeeze of comfort I’d believed I’d go without today. “I know.”

  Saying nothing more, he started down the stairs, leading me toward his truck. He didn’t say anything as he helped me inside, and I was just as content with the silence. He was here. Without realizing that was what I needed, having him beside me as we drove to the church filled that cavernous gap.

  Rolling down the window, I let my hand hang out, feeling the air glide through my fingers. Canaan rolled down his and glanced at me every few seconds, like he was making sure I was okay.

  Ever since that night we’d had an all-too-serious conversation over cold fried chicken, a mountain of the unsaid had rested between us. Our bodies still came together without reservation, his arms still held me like they didn’t know the meaning of restraint, but a distance had settled between us. Instead of seeming to lessen with each visit, it only seemed to grow.

  “I never thought I’d see the day where you put on a full suit, Canaan Ford.” I angled in my seat toward him, still unable to believe what I was seeing was real. “You should give it a try more often. You look better in a suit than the guys who actually wear them everyday.”

  His mouth turned up a little at the corners. “The day I start using my head instead of my hands to make money is the day I’ll be unemployed.”

  The requisite smile formed on my mouth, even as I hated that we were being so conventional with each other. Even when Canaan and I had been fighting like crazy, we’d never done distant and impersonal.

  I knew it had something to do with that night—I just wasn’t sure it was because of something I’d said or something he’d realized.

  “Thank you for coming.” My other hand reached across the seat to find his. I didn’t realize, until my fingers braided through his, that this was the first time my hand had reached for his and found it. That knowledge was not lost on him either, from the look on his face.

  “You’re welcome.” His hand seemed to relax in mine.

  “It would have been okay if you couldn’t do it though. I understand.”

  He stared through the windshield, the corners of his eyes creasing. “It wouldn’t have been though. Your grandma was an amazing person. Your parents were amazing people. My brother . . .” The rest of his words stuck in his throat as he pulled into the church parking lot. It was already packed to capacity, so we had to swing into a spot in the back. “You have to show the people you love that you care about them. Even if they’re not around to show them anymore. It’s not enough to just say it. You have to show it.”

  As he was pushing his door open, my hand tightened around his. “You show the people you care about how much you love them.” I waited for him to look at me. “Believe me, you do.”

  He nodded toward the church. “We should get going. The reverend’s already pacing out front, looking for us.”

  Scooting out of my seat, I met Canaan around his truck and we wove through the parking lot together, his hand finding mine.

  When Reverend Holloway noticed us coming, Canaan’s hand discreetly slipped away. “Want to keep those rumors at bay, right?”

  My hand found his and held tight. “Let them talk,” I said, lowering my voice as we moved closer. “Most of them would be right anyway.”

  “About what?”

  “About all of it,” I answered before turning my attention to Reverend Holloway.

  He was waiting for us at the top of the church steps, his forehead starting to bead with sweat. “I was worried something had come up. And I knew you wouldn’t want to miss the service.”

  I leaned in for a quick embrace. “Thank you for waiting. I had to teach this guy how to tie a tie.”

  Canaan grunted as he shook hands with Reverend Holloway.

  “Is Canaan Ford really about to enter the doors of my sanctuary?” he asked, waving us inside before following.

  “I hope you’ve got a fire extinguisher close by in case I burst into flames,” Canaan said.

  Reverend Holloway chuckled softly as we moved toward the sanctuary. “I keep one within arm’s reach, Mr. Ford.” As we were about to enter the packed sanctuary, Reverend Holloway paused outside the doors. “I want to thank you again for fixing up my Caddy. She’s running better than when I first bought her.” He gave Canaan’s shoulder a squeeze. “I appreciate the extra effort you put into her.”

  Canaan’s shoulder ever so gently nudged mine. “What can I say? I really wanted to go the extra mile on her.”

  Reverend Holloway shot a final smile our way before shoving open the doors. As we passed through, I muttered, “Really, Canaan? During my grandma’s funeral?”

  He leaned in since people were starting to twist around in their seats as we moved down the aisle. “Oh, please. Betty’s probably getting a kick out of it. She could hang with the filthiest of minds.”

  I sighed. “I’ll be sure to add that to the speech I give in her honor.”

  Canaan’s chest rocked, but his laugh stayed buried. I felt confident the aisles had tripled in length since the last time I’d walked them, though that could have been because of the way it felt like every person in the room was staring at Canaan walking beside me, our hands still joined.

  There were fewer raised brows than I would have guessed, and even fewer whispers to neighbors. Although when I spotted Rachel, she didn’t hide what she was thinking. I caught myself right as I was about to roll my eyes in her direction.

  Funeral. Honoring my grandma’s memory.

  But Canaan was right. Betty Church was the kind of woman who didn’t have a judgmental, serious bone in her body. She would have been happy with a carnival to celebrate her life, and she sure wouldn’t have cared about some lewd comments or inapprop
riate gestures. Knowing her, she probably would have joined right in.

  By the time I settled into the pew up front, that strain I’d felt on my ribs for days was gone. My breaths came full and complete. My mind cleared.

  When Canaan settled beside me, moving so close our legs ran the length of one another’s, he gave me a curious look. “You’re smiling.”

  “I know,” I replied as Reverend Holloway moved behind the altar.

  The urn holding my grandma was in front of me, a couple of enlarged canvas portraits of her at either end. One of her in her youth, and one taken just before her death, I guessed. She was beautiful in both. She was happy in both. She’d lived a great life, and I knew it was time for me to stop tolerating passing and chase my great.

  “I brought you something.” Canaan shifted so he could reach into the pocket of his pants. Whatever he pulled out must have been small because it was hidden in his fist. He held it out for me, waiting for my hand to move beneath his.

  When I saw what he let fall into my hand, my lungs strained.

  He leaned in close, his mouth outside of my ear. “I know you left it behind and all, and maybe you never want anything to do with it again, but I figured today, if any day, you might want it.”

  The gold locket in my hand grew blurry for a moment. Once upon a time, I’d never taken it off—until the night I left him. The locket had belonged to his mom, and I didn’t feel right leaving with it, but now, here it was again.

  My fingers worked to open it, my throat constricting when I saw inside. In one half was the same yellowed scrap of paper the young Canaan had scribbled a picture of my parents on. On the other half he’d added a small picture of my grandma.

  “My drawing skills haven’t improved any since I was five, so I went all out and got a picture printed instead.” He gave a partial wince as he inspected the stick figures of my parents.

  I touched each picture with my thumb before closing the locket back up, then I slid the delicate chain over my head. The locket fell just over my heart.

  Reverend Holloway had started his liturgy, and I guessed my part of the service was coming soon, but all I could hear were the words echoing in my head, needing to be voiced.