The Best You’ve Ever Had

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Layla

When I wake up the next morning, Ben’s arm is draped around my waist. He’s blissfully unaware that I’m watching him sleep—or that I heard his confession last night. I had stayed awake in his arms long after he drifted off, turning over the idea that terrifies me. The idea of us—together. How we’d make it work, how we’d make it fall apart, and everything in between.

While it seemed scary, it also sparked something else. Something unexpected. Something that felt a lot like excitement and the hope of potential. Now that spark lies in my chest. A tiny kindling that’s thawing me from the inside out.

As soon as he flips onto his back, his brow furrowed but peaceful, I slip out of bed. Hank’s at the end of the mattress, giving me a major case of side eye and clearly judging me for getting up at such a god awful hour.

I tiptoe down the hall, cringing every time I step on a creaky floorboard. I don’t know what I’m doing. This isn’t like other hookups I’ve had in the past, where I’ve casually slipped away before they woke up, in a desperate effort to keep my distance. What do normal people do the morning after? Running from him after last night not only feels wrong, it feels unforgivable.

However, lying there under the weight of his arm felt like it held the potential to make me spiral into my own thoughts. So here I am, peeking into the kitchen cabinets and thinking about trying my hand at cooking. I settle on scrambled eggs and toast since it seems easy enough.

Pulling up a video tutorial on how to prepare eggs, I follow the directions as if it’s a life or death situation, which it kind of is, because I don’t want to burn down his house. I crack eggs into the ceramic bowl, whisking them up, with a bit of milk and cheese, before pouring the mixture into a hot pan. My toast turns out a little burnt, and the eggs a little runny, but at least I can say I tried.

With my brain running rampant, I decide to call Hazel, the only genuine friend I have back in the city, because she’s normally awake at an hour far more evil.

She answers on the first ring. “What’s up, girl? How’s everyone after last night?”

“Everything…was a lot,” I admit. “Ben’s grandpa went into cardiac arrest while Ben and I were at his work’s holiday party. He passed away.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, it’s been tough.” I sigh. “Also, something else happened. With Ben. After the hospital…” I push little melted shreds of cheese around on my plate. “We had sex.”

“I knew it!” she practically yells into the phone. “I saw this coming. But how did that happen? I mean, after the hospital and everything?”

“I think we were both in a really emotionally raw place after the hospital. Especially Ben. And then…I don’t know, it just happened.”

“Makes sense. So, is it casual? Or what’s going on between you two?”

“I have absolute no idea. We haven’t talked about it yet.”

“Ooh,” she coos. “Just been doing more talking with your bodies than anything else. I see how it is.”

“You’re the worst,” I laugh.

“I know. That’s why you love me. So what do you want to happen with him? I thought you two were sworn frenemies.”

“We were. Now, maybe not so much.”

“There’s a thin line between love and hate, you know.”

I take a bite out of my dry toast. “Okay, rein it in. No one is talking about love here.” It’s a complete lie. While I don’t know a thing about love, this feels a lot like the beginning of something .

“Mhm, yeah, sure,” she says, disbelieving. “This is the first guy you haven’t instantly run away from. That must tell you something. Like maybe he’s worth sticking around for.”

I roll my eyes, but know she’s absolutely right. “We’ll see. You can’t really run when you’re stuck in a town as small as Havenbrook though.”

“Keep telling yourself that, girl.”

I don’t catch much else of what she’s saying, because right at that moment Ben walks in. He’s sleepy-eyed, shirtless, and stunningly gorgeous. He runs his hand through his dark hair, his long fingers threading through the strands. Walking right toward me, he mouths good morning, as he leans down to kiss the top of my head—acting completely normal, as if he didn’t just have his dick inside of me eight hours ago. Meanwhile, a flutter stirs low in my stomach. Even through the mess of emotions, my body is making it clear—it’s more than ready for round two with him.

“Hey, I’ll call you back,” I tell Hazel absentmindedly, half-dazed by the indents of muscle that travel down Ben’s abdomen.

She laughs into the phone. “Have fun getting banged.”

Hanging up, he grabs the white plate I had set out for him on the counter, bringing it to sit next to me at the small table. “Everything okay?” he asks, taking a bite of toast.

“Yeah, just my friend giving me a hard time. Nothing new.”

“Glad I’m not the only one in your life who likes giving you a hard time,” he says with an effortless smile. His knee brushes mine under the table, and his hand slips down, grazing my inner thigh before finally coming to rest there.

“Have you heard from your parents today?” I ask.

His smile fades. “My mom texted me this morning. They’re running on fumes. Mick’s funeral will be sometime after the new year. They’re expecting a big turn out, so they want to give people plenty of time to make arrangements to get here.”

I lay my head on his shoulder. Mick was well-loved by many people throughout the community. He’ll have the building packed, while I can count the total turnout for my own future funeral on two hands. “He was a good man, wasn’t he?” I remark.

“One of the best.” His head turns to breathe me in, his lips grazing my hair. “I’m glad you’re here.”

We sit in comfortable silence as I turn his simple statement over in my mind— I’m glad you’re here . I weigh it, mull it over, trying to decide if he’s merely being polite or if he actually means it. After all, I’ve bullshitted plenty of people at work to keep things pleasant, and this might be one of those moments for him too. I decide to skip the mirage of questions spiraling in my head, and soak in this feeling instead: sitting at a worn kitchen table with a failed, but edible, breakfast in front of us. His hand on my thigh and his lips on my head. The feeling in my chest like I’m soaring a hundred feet in the air, high off the way I feel when I’m with him.

He clears his throat. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?” The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Whenever someone wants permission to ask a question, it’s usually never good. Or perhaps it’s the pessimistic lawyer tendency in me—always expect bad, because it’s probably even worse than you even imagined.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard you on the phone.”

Racking my brain, I try to think of what he may have heard. I’m drawing a blank however, and blame it entirely on the fact that my mind veered off track the second he walked into the room shirtless.

“Do you feel stuck here?” he continues.

My stomach drops because I know how it must’ve sounded when I said that. Like I want to get out of here, but I’m trapped in this small town out of obligation to spend the holiday with our families. And in a way, that’s true. At first, the only reason I came back to this place—a constant reminder of my shitty father—was for my mother and Ben’s grandpa. But now that I’m here, everything feels different. I’ve seen that I’ve let my dad win because I stayed away. I let him have power over me, because I chose to only see the bad when there is so much good to focus on instead. But the main reason I’ve enjoyed my time here is all because of Ben. I’ve found out that someone can light up those frozen parts of me that I kept locked away. The ones that had lay dormant all those years, untouchable and prickly to anyone that even tried to come near.

“I know how it sounded…”

“Lay, you don’t have to explain.”

When I turn to look at him, he appears his normal easygoing self, but worry traces the corners of his eyes. He’d never admit it, but he’s nervous. Maybe even a little hurt. And I did that to him. We spent years trying to damage each other. Now, hurting him is the last thing I’d ever want. In fact, I’d hunt down anyone who even thought about hurting a single hair on his unfairly perfect head.

With an overwhelming need to ease his worries, I climb into his lap, nestling my head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. “Because of you , I don’t feel stuck here. I actually don’t want to leave because that means leaving you too.”

He pulls back, looking into my eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, Ben. I want you.”

In the same breath, his mouth finds mine. This time, it’s different. Slow and lazy, filled with trust that feels warm and steady, melting away years of insecurity. It’s genuine, untouched by the mess of our fake dating attempt. And it’s not holding back anymore, revealing our most vulnerable selves.

He pulls away, holding me by the chin, kissing me between words. “In case I didn’t make it perfectly clear, I want you too. Not just now, but always.” Then he dives back in, picking up where we left off. Time moves both fast and slow as we get completely lost in each other, sitting in this rickety kitchen chair.

But now, instead of arguing, he tells me to get on my knees. And instead of resisting, I tell him to do whatever he wants with me.

When we’re all said and done, I surprise myself by suggesting we set up the forgotten Christmas tree that still resides in his garage. He agrees, and before I know it, I’m decorating a tree for the first time in over a decade.

Another layer is peeled away, and another hurt begins to heal.

“All of your ornaments are horrifically adorable,” I say, holding up a crushed can covered in glitter with googly eyes. “I have no idea what I’m even looking at here. Is this just fancy garbage disguised as an ornament?”

He snatches it from my hands and places it at the highest point of the tree, out of my reach. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult. But I’ll pretend it’s a compliment.”

I squint, inspecting its hideous charm as it hangs on the pre-lit branch. “What is it even supposed to be?”

“It’s a can that looks like it’s caroling. Made it in elementary school. It’s a Brooks’ Christmas staple,” he says matter-of-factly, placing another ornament too close to the previous one.

“It has character, that’s for sure,” I reply. As soon as his back is turned, I discreetly move one of the too-close ornaments down a branch to maintain the tree’s symmetry. Although at this point, I’m not sure anything can save this tree’s aesthetic.

As I reach to hang the next ornament—a reindeer made of popsicle sticks—I feel his arms wrap around my waist. He pulls me close, nipping at the cartilage of my ear. “Are my tree-decorating skills making the perfectionist in you regret this?”

“It’s definitely helping me grow as a person.” I smile, turning to face him. “But it’s worth it.”

His forehead rests against mine, and I close my eyes, savoring the way my chest buzzes in response to him.

“So what’s next?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Should we be wild and turn on a Christmas movie?”

“I don’t mean for today. I mean for when you have to go back home. For the future. How do we make this work? Because I really fucking want this to work.”

“We can do long distance. It’s not ideal, but we can give it a try at the very least.”

He hums in thought, the sound vibrating through me with the possibilities. “Don’t freak out at this suggestion, but I have an idea. If you’re open to it.”

“You can’t start a sentence with ‘don’t freak out’ and not expect me to at least freak out a tiny bit.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. Don’t run straight out that door. Freaking out a little is allowed.” He threads his fingers through my hair, tilting my face so I look into his eyes. They’re dark, like the deep night sky, sparkling under the lights of the tree. “How would you feel if I moved to the city?”

My stomach drops as if he’s just thrown me out the window, panic rising at the suggestion. “To San Francisco?”

He nods, his gaze steady, gauging my reaction as his thumb brushes across the plane of my cheek.

“Wouldn’t it be a little too soon? I don’t want you to move only for me. What if you hate it? You’ll resent me for it later.”

“I’ve wanted out of Havenbrook for a long time. Before Mick’s illness, I had been applying to fire departments in almost every major city.” He kisses my cheek and pulls me into his chest. I burrow as close as humanly possible, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against my temple. “You wouldn’t be forcing me, and I would never resent you for anything. I’m an adult, and I’m responsible for all of my decisions at the end of the day.”

Saying yes feels like flinging myself off a cliff. But when he frames it like that, how could I not say no? The thought of solid commitment terrifies me slightly less than I had imagined. And the only reason why is because it’s with him. The one person who knows me through and through. My strengths. My hang-ups. My flaws. The way I can often be too blunt. Or how I’ll fight like hell over the simplest things.

My brain screams at me to say no. It’s not worth the risk. That we’ll end up exactly like my parents—either bitterness or unfaithfulness ripping us apart before we know it.

But my heart, my heart is unquestionably screaming yes.

Take the leap.

Run the risk.

Because the potential is worth it. Because we’re not my parents. Because the magic might be right beyond my comfort zone.

“Let’s do it. Move to the city with me.” His smile widens, as I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Separate apartments for at least a year though, okay?”

“Deal.”

However, the look in his eyes mirrors my own. Both of us are silently aware of how full of shit we are. By spring, we’ll probably be living together under the guise of saving money. He’s like me, overanalyzing every single detail. And once the analysis is done and the venture deemed acceptable, we jump in with both feet, never looking back.

This is single-handedly the craziest, yet easiest, decision I’ve ever made.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach, rolling with excitement for the future, for the first time in years, tells me I won’t regret it.

On Christmas morning, we head straight to his parents’ house for presents and what can only be described as an all-day eating marathon. It’s tradition for them to open gifts with mimosas in hand, while grazing on the Pinterest-worthy charcuterie board Brandy prepares. My mom and Paul arrive right as we pull in, stepping out in perfectly coordinated holiday outfits—his red and green plaid button-up matching the pattern of her dress. If I wasn’t so head over heels in my own relationship, I’d probably roll my eyes at their adorably coordinated getup. They’re disgustingly in love, and honestly, I’m thrilled for my mom to have that kind of cheesy, deep-seated affection. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the heated passenger seat, silently thanking my stars that the only thing Ben and I are matching on today are the orgasms we had in the kitchen right before leaving.

The Brooks’ holiday tradition involves drawing names out of a hat, so you only buy for one person. A few weeks ago, by what was likely no coincidence, we found out Ben and I were each other’s secret Santas. I have a feeling it was some behind-the-scenes joke to see what the two kids, who at the time couldn’t stand each other, would come up with.

Placing my perfectly wrapped gift under the colorful tree, it looks like it came straight from a Macy’s department store. His gift to me, however, is a different story. Wrapped in paper barely held together by a piece of utility line rope, it’s the first time I’m laying eyes on it. He was ridiculously secretive about what it could be, but now I’m starting to think the abysmal wrapping job was half the mystery.

“Please tell me that’s not an actual rope,” I laugh.

He scratches the back of his head. “Um, nope. Definitely not.” When I throw him a pointed look, he grins, clearly caught. “Okay, yes. I couldn’t find tape or any ribbon. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s perfect.” I rise on my toes, kissing his cheek.

Dante moves through the room, passing out tall glasses of bubbly mimosas while we share our favorite memories of Mick. The stories flow naturally, each one bittersweet, yet overwhelmingly filled with love. Brandy smiles as she recalls riding in the fire engine with her dad, the excitement of being at his side, while Dante chuckles at the memory of Mick’s attempt to intimidate him when they first met—only to end the night as best friends. My mom’s voice softens as she talks about coming home from a long shift as a newly single mom, only to find Mick in the driveway, quietly changing her oil or fixing the leaky valve on the garden hose, never needing to be asked, just always there, reliable and steady.

That was Mick in a nutshell. Always helping, never expecting anything in return. One of a kind.

After our toast, our parents quickly become distracted by the football game starting on television. Ben hands me his gift. A rectangle wrapped in crumpled red paper with a green braided rope knotted and tied perfectly in the center. His expression is amused as he watches me inspect the gift. Untying the makeshift bow, I gently unfold the paper and find a framed picture of our pre-teen selves. The one our moms forced us to take in our ugly Christmas sweaters years ago. I look annoyed to be there, and he looks distracted. But I had never noticed until now that he looked distracted because of me . And although I’m rolling my eyes, there’s a happiness to us both that I don’t remember.

I clasp a hand over my mouth. “This is amazing. Where did you even find this?”

Standing behind me, he leans over, kissing my shoulder as he looks at the picture too. “Believe it or not, Mick’s house. When he moved into my parents’, we cleaned out his place and found it tucked away in a photo album.”

“Wow. I can’t believe he kept it all those years.”

“I had asked him why he still had it. All he said was that he had a gut feeling. I had no idea what that meant at the time. But now I think I do. I think he knew before we did.”

“Knew what?”

“That despite our bickering, we’d be together one way or another throughout life.”

I turn to face him, unable to stop staring at the photo of us.

“What else do you think he’d see in our future?” I ask.

“Do you want the truth, or the commitment-phobe, non-scary version?”

“Truth. Always the truth.”

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that’s soft yet filled with a hunger full of promise. He pulls back, his eyes locking on mine with clear intent. “He’d see me doing the thing I’ve wanted to do for years…asking you to be my girlfriend. Then he’d see me telling you that I’m falling in love with you. And I know it’s early, but I’ve known you my entire life. You’re like a piece of me, someone I know through and through. And while it might scare you to hear it, this all feels so right. Being with you feels like the only thing that makes sense.”

His eyes search mine, gauging my reaction. And I can’t leave him hanging a second longer. Because he’s restored a part of me I didn’t even know existed until this holiday season—a tender part I’d always been too afraid to show, fearing someone would crush it and leave it destroyed.

With him, there’s trust. A deep, underlying history that, while once filled with conflict, has evolved into something more. Something undeniably real and profoundly unshakeable. With him, I’ve learned that vulnerability isn’t a weakness. In fact, it’s one of the strongest things you can be.

“I’m falling in love with you too,” I admit. “It’s like you’ve reawakened a part of me that had slipped away years ago. Turns out, all I was missing was this—us.” The confession bursts out of me like I’m filled to the brim with it. We’re two halves of the same whole.

He smiles at me like no one has ever smiled at me before. “Merry Christmas, Lay.”

I smile back. “Merry Christmas, Benny.”

Even though we’ve felt like we were on opposite teams for nearly three decades, I think we were always destined to be on the same side. And when I look at my future, all I can see is him in it.

Unwavering. Loyal. And irresistibly exasperating.

Most importantly, he’s mine, and that’s the best part of all.