Like Old Lovers

Being in Bentley’s presence gave me a feeling I had never felt before. So, I agreed to one last drink if he agreed to tell me what he knew about Ivy. He insisted he didn't know anything about her, but I knew different. I knew that his company had asked to buy her plant shop a week before she was killed. What I didn't know was why he wanted to hide it.

“Tell me about this job of yours,” he said as he refilled our glasses. “Are you on the news or documentaries? Or are you just the information mule?”

“Eh,” I wavered. “A little of both. My goal is to become an anchor and eventually start hosting my very own true crime special.”

“Ahh, so that’s why you’re working on this story.”

“Not entirely. Ivy was an old friend of mine, and we look out for our own around here.”

My tone was stern. I wanted to make a statement without having to spell it out to him, and he caught my drift. The police in Westlake weren’t always reliable, and he knew why. His family knew why. We all knew why.

“Do you really think I had something to do with this? I mean, that’s why you’re spending time with me, right? To get the scoop—see if I have anything to hide?”

Bentley was offended by my motives, but he didn’t lash out. Instead, he asked for clarity and reason. He wanted to know why I felt like he was involved, other than his background and his family’s ties to the mob, and honestly, I didn't have an answer.

“It’s my job, Bentley.” I spoke softly. “I’m sorry for my approach, but this is what we do, you know? We ask questions. We pry. We pretend. Anything to get the story.”

I mocked my mom. That’s how she felt. She was a good woman at heart, but her passion for story-chasing took ahold of her and made her lose sight of her humanity. I didn’t want to be like that, but over the years, I felt like I had.

“I get it,” he said, downing the last of his drink. “No need to be sorry. We all have jobs that need to be done. If the anchor position is what you really want, do what you have to do to get it. You don’t wanna wake up every day regretting not taking the opportunity.”

He poured himself another glass and chugged. It was as if he was angry with the world, and my statement was a trigger for him. I’m no psychologist or head doctor, but I know pain when I see it. He was in pain.

“Did you miss out on something?”

I stepped closer to close the gap between us. His eyes fell upon mine and pulled me in to his pain. It was deep, a burden to his heart, and in that moment, I wanted to fix it.

“I’ve had a crazy life,” he said. “I missed out on a lot of things before I became the man I am today. Most of all, I missed out on freedom.”

Strangely, I knew what he meant. I felt like I had missed out on freedom too. Career wise, I was fine. It was my personal life and the love of my family that I missed. My parents had gotten older and drifted apart, so our foundation felt broken. Even though we came together for special occasions, it just wasn’t the same. There was an invisible cage around us that kept us bound.

“I really should get going before the champagne takes me out.”

I went for my keys and headed for the elevator. Bentley was a step behind me, watching over me as I made my exit. When I nearly tripped into the steel cage with fancy buttons and soft music, it was then that I realized I wasn't okay to drive.

“Whoa, you okay?” Bentley laughed as he held onto me. “I don’t think you should be driving anywhere. Let me grab a shirt, and I'll have my driver take us to your place.”

He helped me onto a chair near the elevator and ran off to grab a shirt. I sat there feeling embarrassed. Good and bubbly, but embarrassed nonetheless.

When he returned, he was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a white shirt. Very casual and comforting. I love a man who can wear a simple jean/T-shirt combo and pull it off flawlessly.

“You really don’t have to take me home,” I said. “I can call an Uber tonight and come back to get my car in the morning.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind the ride.”

He helped me onto the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby floor. There was already a car waiting for us as we exited. Even though it wasn’t my doing, it made me feel powerful and recognized. Like I was Queen of the Night, and anything I wanted was at my fingertips.

“Your chariot, my lady.”

“Why thank you. You’re such a gentleman.” I teased.

My expectations of Bentley outran me again. I thought being in such a tight space with him would be awkward, but it was everything outside of that. We laughed and joked. We talked about our jobs and how demanding life was. He hinted at being the outcast of his family, but before I could ask why he felt that way, he changed the subject.

“Ivy’s parents are supposed to let me know when the funeral is. Do you think it’s smart for me to go, or should I keep my distance?”

“That’s for you to decide,” I shrugged. “If you really are innocent, I don't see a problem with you going to pay your respect. But if you aren’t, don’t put on a front. Her family is already going through a hard enough time.”

He shifted in his seat and rested his head against the headrest. His eyes closed, and he let out a deep breath. I braced myself, thinking he would confess or tell me he knew more than he said he did. But there was nothing. He sat in silence.