Benji (The Wylde Street Boys #1)

12. Benji

TWELVE

BENJI

When Nolan had said it wouldn’t be easy, he wasn’t kidding.

It started with police reports and interviews. But not with normal cops. These were some high-ranking badges, and as intimidating as it was, Nolan was with me the whole time.

And Dominic.

I had a newfound respect for Dominic. He was a hard-arse, but he took no bullshit and he protected me from the wrong kind of questions, helping me understand when and what to answer.

Nolan just protected me from everything else.

He held my hand the entire time, and he was my shield against the curious looks and whispers. He even reminded one lady—who decided to question the legality and moral integrity of my job—that I was on their side, there to help them despite the obvious threat to my own life .

I loved that Nolan had defended me, ripping into her like he did. I’d expected Dominic to tell Nolan to be quiet, but he didn’t. He stared at the woman until she apologised to me.

And I knew then that what Fitch had said before was true. I would never be this protected, never be this prepared to take on my father than I would be with these guys on my team.

Now that I was no longer in hiding, I cleaned out my old bank account. That money had sat untouched for years, and it seemed surreal to call it mine now, after all those times in the last few years I’d been lucky to scrape together a few bucks.

I also had my Medicare card back and my school certificates, which meant maybe I could truly begin to think about my future.

My actual future.

After all the police interviews and after I’d handed over the evidence, all the names and details, we could do nothing but wait.

It was going to take time, Nolan explained, to make sure everything was done to the absolute letter of the law.

He was taken off my father’s case.

He said it was fine. It was procedure and protocol, and he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise the rest of the trial. He’d said his department wasn’t even mad because the new evidence was, as they’d said, hopefully, the metaphorical nail in the coffin of my father’s freedom.

And possibly my brother’s.

While I hated that Nolan’s work was affected, that he’d had to hand over all the work he’d done in the last year, I was also kinda glad.

I didn’t want him involved.

I didn’t want his name to ever come across my father’s ears.

Then came the discussions about my safety and the likelihood of changing my name. I wasn’t sure about that.

I hadn’t been Benecio Barbieri for a long time. I also hadn’t any documentation, which had proved difficult these last few years. No Medicare card meant no hospitals or doctor appointments. Not having access to a bank account meant living cash-only. No proof of who I was.

That I even existed.

But I had those back now. I had myself back now.

Even if I was to become someone else.

But, like I’d told Nolan when we were eating dinner four days later, changing my name won’t stop my father from finding me.

“So do it anyway,” he’d said. “Take back some control. Don’t let your father’s name be a dark cloud hanging over you.”

“What name would I choose?”

“You told me your name was Benji Smith. That’s a good a name as any.”

“Or,” I hedged, “I could call myself Benji O’Brien.”

Nolan dropped his fork.

It made me laugh. “You own me anyway, so it’d just be making it easier.”

He cleared his throat, cheeks pink. “I don’t own you.”

I snorted and leaned in closer. “You own me in every sense of the word, Nolan. I belong to you. I have your DNA in me, and that makes me yours.” I wiggled in my seat to remind him of how exactly he’d put his DNA in me. “I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.”

He made a face, embarrassed. “I don’t think that’s how it works at all.” He pushed his plate away. “But thanks for the visual.”

I chuckled, but my smile faded. “That wasn’t a no,” I said. “It also wasn’t a yes.”

“About what? Changing your surname to match mine?” His eyes met mine. “Were you serious?”

I nodded. “I was, yes. But if you don’t want me to, I won’t. I’ll pick something else. What’s Dominic’s surname again? Maybe he’ll adopt me.”

Nolan growled at me. “No.” Then he moved his seat out so he could face me properly. He took my hands. “Benji, baby, listen. If you want to change your name to O’Brien, I can’t stop you. I wouldn’t stop you.”

I pouted. “But? There’s a but coming, isn’t there?”

He narrowed his brows and touched his thumb to my lips. “No pouting.”

I sighed instead.

“But,” he began, “if you wanted to wait, we could possibly, maybe”—he cringed—“change your name the old-fashioned way.”

I laughed . . . until I realised he was serious. Then I gawped at him. “The old-fashioned way . . . Nolan. Are you . . . is that . . . what the fuck?”

He chuckled. “It’s too early right now, I know that. But you need to know where I stand with you. I could so easily spend forever with you. I mean that. The way I feel, the way you make me feel... I’m falling in love with you, Benji.”

Holy fucking shit.

“So, if there’s no immediate rush to change your name, then maybe when the time is right, you can have my surname.”

Emotions I’d been trying to keep in check, the need to be loved and accepted, surged to the surface and I began to cry.

He, of course, looked horrified. He pulled me onto his lap. “No, Benji, it’s okay. It’s fine. If you want to change your name now, that’s fine too. Hell, I’d love you to have my name. Fucking hell yes, I would. Not that it would mean I own you but?—”

“Yes, you would,” I said, still crying, wiping my nose. “You do already. I’m yours, Nolan. Surname or not. And you’re falling in love with me,” I said, crying harder. “I can’t believe that. Why? I mean, god, Nolan. I’m a mess. My life is a mess. My father’s a piece of shit, I’m a hooker. And you love me? What’s wrong with you?”

He laughed, pulling me in for a kiss. “I don’t care about any of that. I just care about you. The past is past. I’m more interested in your future. And mine. Together.” He wiped my face and studied my eyes. “Whatever you decide to do, whatever you want. I’ll support you. If you want to go back to work with Fitch and Ky, then that’s okay with me.”

“What?”

What the hell ?

“If you decide you want to keep working,” he said with a shrug. “I’d maybe have to put down some rules. Like protected sex only. No kissing. That kind of thing.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“No.” I was almost offended. “No one touches me but you. No one. I can’t even think about another man touching me. Why would you want that?”

“I don’t want that. I thought you wanted that.” He shook his head, his eyes imploring. “I would never change you or stop you from being who you are. You once said that you loved your job, so if you wanted to keep working?—”

I put my forehead to his, crying again. Unable to stop the tears. He was just so understanding, so nice. So perfect. “I don’t know what I’ll do. I have some money now and I’ll figure something out, but I can’t go back to that. I don’t want anyone else to touch me. I don’t want to touch anyone but you. I love sex, yes. But Nolan, baby, only with you. You’re all I need.” I kissed him. “I love you,” I whispered. “I love how you love me. I can’t ask for anything more.” Then I pouted. “Except maybe your surname.”

He laughed, cupping my face and bringing me in for another warm, soft kiss. “Then consider it yours.”

I hugged him and laughed, despite the tears. “I love you, Nolan O’Brien,” I said again.

“And I love you, Benji...” He paused, his eyes scanning mine. “Benji O’Brien.”

I laughed, so ridiculously happy and so, so very loved. “We should celebrate, and I know just the thing. ”

He snorted. “What’s that?”

“Me. In my Strawberry Shortcake crop top and not much else. Don’t think I didn’t realise how much you liked me in it.”

He laughed, his smile fading into something serene as he studied my face. “I’m gonna celebrate the hell out of you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Are you talking about tonight? Or waaaay into the future? Because I plan on letting you celebrate me forever, Nolan. No one could ever make me happier.”

He kissed me sweetly. “Forever.”

I was so freaking happy. I booped my finger on the tip of his nose. “You know what would make me happier though?”

“Hmm,” he hummed. “What’s that?”

“If I was face down on your bed right now, wearing nothing but that crop top, and?—”

He stood up, carrying me and making me laugh, and walked us to his bedroom. Oh, I wore the crop top all right, and nothing else.

And he celebrated me for hours.

Reminding me over and over that no matter what the future brought our way, we’d be okay.

I’d be okay.

I was stronger now and safe.

And loved.

And that was the only future I needed.

The end