The Best You’ve Ever Had

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Layla

The thing about running away from your problems is that they usually still manage to catch up to you. When my father left us high and dry after that winter, I mentally shoved him out of my thoughts. It still was never enough to not leave its mark though. In relationships, I always managed to put up a barrier. I still had trust problems, and overreactions because I knew we’d end up exactly like my parents.

Even at the age of eighteen, I couldn’t have run away from Havenbrook any faster. I had never been more ready to put this town in my rearview mirror. It’s exactly what I did. And I never returned, until now.

My mother was well aware of the fact that stepping foot into my hometown was an awful lot like mentally stepping onto thin ice—too much pressure, and the whole fucking thing would splinter under my feet, dragging me under with it.

But being back here now, I can see that leaving didn’t change a thing. It still holds the same good memories, and the same shitty ones. It’s just that time has lessened the hurt of the bad, and contrasted the airy feeling of the good.

Ben is behind the wheel, and I’m settled in the passenger seat as a popular song from our middle school days blasts from the radio.

He reaches over and turns the volume all the way down, clearly disliking what was playing. Encroaching on my right as a polite passenger, I crank the volume back up. It’s one of those early two-thousands boy band songs that I was obsessed with and had memorized every word of the lyrics to.

I hum along, half because I still think it’s catchy as hell, and half because I know it will irk him.

Gripping the steering wheel, he glances over. “I think you like to torture me.”

“And why would you think that? I’m just enjoying listening to some great music.”

As he switches lanes, I take the opportunity to stare at him. He’s always been attractive, but now he’s more than that. It’s confidence, and a quiet undercutting humor. He could easily have any woman he wants, yet he’s not boring like the rest of the men back in the city that rely solely on their looks.

“Do you remember when you used to say you were going to marry the lead singer of this band?” he asks.

“I may slightly remember having a tiny crush on him.”

“Tiny crush is putting it lightly. You had multiple posters of him in your room. I think I even saw lipstick on one from where you apparently tried to kiss it.”

“Have I told you lately that I hate you?” I deadpan.

“Have I told you lately that I think you don’t mean that?” He turns and smiles at me before turning back to the road. “Plus, I have a confession about your past rockstar infatuation that will make you feel better.”

“What is it? You were in love with him too? Honestly, who wasn’t.”

“No, not that. I was jealous.”

I furrow my brows. “Jealous of who exactly?”

“Of him. The singer.”

“ Why? ” I ask, incredulously.

“Because I wanted you to pay attention to me instead. I saw how much you wanted him, and how much you definitely didn’t want me. I guess my young teenage self was envious of that.”

“Oh. Huh. I thought you hated me right back.”

“I’ve never hated you, Layla.”

The sound of my heart thrums in my ears at his honesty. If it hasn’t been hate this entire time, then what has it been? It’s a question I’m too terrified to ask, because the answer could forever alter this frenemies storyline I’ve had in my head for decades.

I try to change the subject to not bury myself in deeper shit. “How’d you end up with your cat Hank?”

“We got a call one day about a cat stuck up in a tree. Even though it was another slow day, the chief refused to take the call since he said it wasn’t a real emergency. According to him, you never see any cat skeletons in trees, and he figured the cat would come down on its own. But my friend and coworker, Cody, used to work for animal control and mentioned that he had seen a deceased cat in a tree before.”

“Your chief’s a dick then.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” he chuckles. “Anyways, after work the next day, I swung by the park to see if the cat was still there. He was. And he was tiny and looking at me with those round green eyes. I couldn’t get to him on my own, so I called up a tree-trimming company, and convinced them to let me use their ladder in exchange for a hundred bucks. Then the rest is history.”

“So, you saved him? Did Hank walk right up to you and you carried him down like some big brave hero?”

“Hell no. He scratched the shit out of me, and I was nearly crying in pain. He warmed up to me eventually though.”

“That story makes you extremely likable, and I’m not sure how to process these new emotions.”

From the driver’s seat, he winks. “I’m sure we could think of a few ways to process them.”

I flick up the sun visor and groan. “If the world only had half of your confidence, I swear.”

We turn into Havenbrook’s newest shopping center, which is still older than my parents. Its faded brick facade and dimly lit signage an indication of its age. He parks the car and tells me he’ll be back in five minutes. I insist on going in, not wanting to wait in the freezing car and curious to see if the interior of the building matches my memories from eleven years ago. Everything feels familiar, but time has subtly changed the details, leaving it both recognizable and different from what I remember.

I browse the aisles as he picks up the multiple medications that will keep his grandfather comfortable. Everything in here is exactly the same: the beige, scuffed-up paint, the same products on the same aisles. It brings back a sense of nostalgia, reminding me of stopping here after a doctor’s appointment to pick up a prescription or tissues, begging Mom to let me buy one of the brightly colored lollipops near the register.

As I round the corner towards the nail polish selection, I come face-to-face with the last person I ever wanted to see again—my father. The one who left us like a captain abandoning a sinking ship. The one who didn’t even try to reach out after everything fell apart.

All the general details of him are the same—tall, blond, and bright blue eyes. But now there are more frown lines on his face, more white wisps throughout his short-cut hair. He’s just like this store—exactly how I remember him, but different. Older, yet unchanged. A sense of wistfulness clings to the good memories, a conflicting feeling of wanting to be happy to see him. Unfortunately, nothing can override what he did and his actions that followed the moment he pulled off his mask and revealed who he truly was.

We both stop dead in our tracks, frozen as the past crashes into the present. As if we had thought the other dead, only to find them alive and well.

Neither of us make a move to turn away. God knows I’m not giving him that kind of power. If someone is going to cower, it won’t be me.

His mouth hangs open like he forgot how to use his jaw. “Layla?”

“I’m surprised you remember my name.” My tone is sharp and unapologetically bitchy. And I don’t care. Not even a little bit.

“Of course, I remember. You’re my daughter.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “If I’m your daughter, then that would make you my father. But as far as I’m concerned, you lost that title the day you left and never looked back.”

He sighs like he’s fed up. “Look, I can explain.”

“I’d love to hear it. In fact, I’ve wondered for the last fifteen years.”

It’s not the response he expected. The last time he saw me I was a teenager. I was also more timid, respectful, and kind. Now I’m a grown-ass adult. One that doesn’t back down and gets paid to argue for a living. He has no idea what shit storm he’s walked into.

After a brief silence as he fumbles to find the right words, I clear my throat, impatient. “I’m waiting for this dazzling explanation you say you have.”

“Marriage is harder than you think.” He looks at my hand for any evidence of a wedding band, and sees my hand bare. “You don’t have any clue how hard it can be.”

“And fatherhood? Was that so hard you had to walk away from it too?”

“I didn’t want to. I just…I had to.”

“You mean, wanted to. My mother never kept me from you. That was all you.”

“Look kid, I’m sorry. I know I messed up. I wish I could turn back the clock and be there. But you turned out okay. You look like you’re well. Right? You’re doing well?”

All I have are words to use as weapons. “You leaving is the best thing that could have ever happened to me. Now I get to help people with deadbeat partners exactly like you. So, thanks for that.”

A woman walks around the corner, holding a box of supplements and placing them in my father’s cart. She has silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun and wears a vibrant, patterned scarf over her green puffy jacket.

I immediately spot the rings. Wedding rings. I wonder if she knows the truth. I wonder if she knows about his previous life, and about me. I shake off the surprise as I stare him down. A fire of molten lava rage grows hotter every second longer I look at him.

She must sense she’s walked into the middle of something, as she glances between my father and me, her eyes darting back and forth between us. “Do you two know each other?”

Silence stretches on, my father at a clear loss for words, and my anger closing in on me. His lack of an answer says it all. He can’t even admit that I’m his daughter. Years ago he claimed I was his world, and now all I’ve become is his dirty little secret.

As I stare him down, the practical stranger in slacks and a combover, my ears begin to ring. I’m torn between tearing his world apart by telling his new wife the truth, and running back to the safety of the car.

Internally battling what to do, an arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me into a hug. It’s Ben, grounding me while silently offering his support. We’ve been frenemies for as long as I can remember, but if anyone’s going to mess with either of us, it’s going to be the other. And his urgency to protect me makes it clear he feels the same way.

I swallow down my anger as I finally reply to the woman. “We used to know each other. But not anymore.” The woman stares back at me, confused and innocent to the destructive man beside her. So as I turn to leave, suddenly done with the conversation, I throw back a warning to her. “Just make sure he doesn’t leave you high and dry too.”

Walking away, with Ben practically holding up my body, we head straight to his car. I can hear my name called out from behind, but I don’t bother to even look back. My future is straight ahead, and I don’t need to be dragged down by the past behind me. If my father wanted to reach out to me, he could have at any moment during the last 5,475 days since he’s been gone. Instead he chose silence, so that’s my course of action for today too.

Ben gently helps me into the car and briskly walks to the other side. Without a word, he drives a minute down the road to put distance between my nightmare in slacks and me. When we finally park, he looks at me, with worry creasing his brows. “I didn’t even know he came into town anymore. Are you okay?”

“I’m great. Perfectly fine.” I try to put on my big girl voice, but my throat feels tight, and my clothes too warm. This encounter has pierced me like an arrow, finding a weak point in my defenses. My feelings are trickling out from the wound, even if I swear up and down that I’m okay.

Ben knows it. I know it. But I’m not ready to admit it.

“You don’t have to act tough with me. That would rattle anyone, even you.”

I stare at him, head held high, but with tears beginning to well in the corners of my eyes. If they fall, it will be the first time I’ve cried since that bastard left. I don’t want to give him that power. I don’t want to have daddy issues, even though I am all sorts of fucked up.

He undoes his seatbelt, then unclicks mine, pulling me into his chest. “You deserve better than him.”

I release a shuddery exhale, trying to hold it together. Trying to focus on the warmth and smell of Ben, instead of the cold memory of my father. “I hate him. I hate him so fucking much.”

“I know. Me too.”

While I do hate him to my very core, he’s exactly where I got my temperament from. My mom is an angel, and my father is the devil. It’s why I don’t do relationships—I fear that the part of him I inherited will just crush another person, exactly as he crushed my mother and me. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces of our shattered lives and glue them back together when my mother was too distraught. I’ve seen firsthand the damage. I know the long term effects. It’s too risky for that dark speck of myself to continue the pattern of destruction.

But the feel of Ben’s arms still holding me tight, his hand tangled into my hair to cradle my head, makes me want so much more than casual hookups. If this is what it could be like 365 days a year, then maybe I would want it. Maybe I’d want someone to hold me on the rare days that my strength fades. Maybe I’d want to feel a love that surpasses everything else. To where it feels like it’s you and them against the world.

Pulling back, he gently swipes at the tears that have yet to fall, as if he could somehow take away the hurt. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Are you sure you’re okay?” His eyes dip to my mouth. He wants to kiss me. He wants to soothe my frenzied thoughts and console me. But we don’t do that. At least we shouldn’t.

“I’m just like him, Ben.”

Defensiveness flares within him. Those dark eyes grow even darker. “You’re not. You’re absolutely not.”

“I am. It’s why I don’t do relationships. I’m exactly like him. Cold. Detached. An absolute asshole.”

“You’re not those things at all. Okay, well, maybe you are a little bit of an asshole sometimes, but usually for good reason.”

I laugh, my voice rough with emotion, as he smirks and continues. “You face things head-on; you don’t run away from your problems like he did. You’re always there for the people you care about. Just because he left doesn’t mean you have that same capacity for abandoning others. Your self-awareness alone sets you apart from him. You’re not him. You’re unapologetically your own person.”

His thumb gently traces soothing circles on the delicate skin of my wrist as we stare at each other.

“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Let me have it. Tell me the ‘but.’”

“There is no ‘but.’ Unless you count your sexy ass sitting in the seat of my car.” He winks at me, making me simultaneously love and hate him with his cringey one liners. “I know you like to act like you’re heartless. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’ve heard of all the good things you do—all the pro-bono cases, keeping the food pantry near your house stocked, the innate concern you have for those you love. I think you’ve just built a wall of armor around your heart so that it doesn’t get broken again. Someday, with the right person, you’ll let them in. And they’ll be the luckiest bastard in the world because you’re the best thing that could ever happen to anyone.”

Without even realizing it, he has reassured every single worry I’ve harbored for the last fifteen years. I’ve tried to tell myself the same things, convincing myself that I’m not my father. Hearing it from someone else, especially from someone I grew up constantly fighting with, makes it real. If anyone was ever going to set me straight, it would be Ben. We’ve always fought because neither of us ever held back with the other. Blunt honesty and constant competitiveness defined our childhood. Now, that unfiltered truth is my anchor.

I smack his chest, needing to break the emotional tension. “Look at us all grown up and getting along.”

“We’ve come a long way from the headlocks and penis-face drawings, haven’t we?”

“Yes. Even though both of those things still sound extremely fun.”

We hold each other’s gaze. An unspeakable thread of trust and tension hanging in the air like a web.

Neither of us will admit it, but we can both feel it. We both know there’s something between us. Undeniable and warm and different than anything else we’ve ever felt.

It’s the exact reason why I slip my seat belt back on, the click of the metal jolting us back to reality. Because he is breaking down that wall around my heart like it’s his sole mission, and it scares me.

It scares me because I want him to.