Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang Us, Daddy (Murder Daddy #3)

6. Bennet

W hen we pull into the driveway, Nate motions for me to stay put. I feel too shitty to argue, so I just sit here, watching as he rushes around his truck and opens my door. Benji’s still on the phone, but he’s staring down at his coloring book, fast at work. For reasons I’ll never understand, Nate has a jacked-up pickup truck that’s at least three feet off the ground, and each time we get to ride in it, he has to help us down. Expecting more of the same, I hold my arms out, readying myself for his tug, then to be placed on the ground. Instead, he holds me against his chest and balances me by placing an arm under my ass. Fuck. His hand is literally cupping the cheek. It’s right fucking there. Aside from Benji, it’s been months since anyone’s paid attention to my backside. Nate probably doesn’t mean it to be an erotic moment between us, but that’s exactly how it feels. Like pin pricks and stardust and the inklings of an erection. Even an unrequested erection isn’t enough to lift my spirits. I pull back, feeling absolutely miserable. He’s got the same pained expression on his face, and I hate to see him like this.

“It’s okay. I can walk,” I say, but it comes out as a whisper.

Nate quickly shakes his head as he fiddles with his key fob. Behind me, the truck honks as he locks it, and I jolt, my heart racing at the unexpected sound . . . or maybe it’s racing because of the look he’s giving me right now. The concern on his face is palpable.

“Let’s get you inside, little guy.” He carries me through the garage and into the kitchen. Pausing at the trash can, Nate glares at the now-warm Powerade Meadows gave me before mumbling something that sounds a lot like “Pompous son of a bitch,” but it must be the fever because Nate never curses. He opens the fridge and grabs a bottle of water. After handing me the water, he sets his sights on the freezer, pulling out a Pedialyte popsicle and placing it in my hand. Making a stop at the sink, he grabs a bottle of red medicine from the cabinet and pours it in the plastic cup. Holding it out for me, he orders me to drink. Trusting him implicitly, I guzzle it, but I quickly realize the trust I have for him must be unwarranted, because it tastes like medicinal cherries, rotten berries, and an unwashed asshole.

“Nate,” I sob, trying not to gag. “Why? Oh, God, it’s like liquid death!” I bury my face in his neck and wail—probably like a maniac, but I can’t help it—until he grabs the water bottle from me, somehow removes the cap with only one hand, and lifts it to my mouth. It takes half the bottle before my mouth tastes somewhat bearable again. “Why would you make me drink that? I thought I was going to die.” But Nate just chuckles as he kisses my forehead.

“Precious boy,” he praises, sounding more amused than the situation calls for. My heart flutters a bit at the endearment, but I try not to let it show as he carries me through the living room, toward the foyer. When we make it to the staircase, he pauses.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Did you want to go to bed, or were you wanting to rest on the couch?”

A nap sounds divine, if I’m being honest. But what if he takes me to his bed? What if he wants to cuddle when Benji’s not here? I promised I wouldn’t do anything with Nate, and my word is my oath when it comes to Benji. I deliberate my options until Benji’s voice comes through my phone’s speaker. Damn. I forgot we were still on a video call. My head’s all over the place and it feels like time is skipping back and forth, making it hard for me to determine reality from the fever.

“Take him to our room, Dad,” Benji suggests. When we look at my phone screen, he’s staring back at us insistently. “You need to rest, Bennet. If you stay downstairs, you’ll just wind up watching Real Housewives for the rest of the day. Bed, medicine, sleep. In that order.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“It’s just . . .” I dart my eyes to Nate, who is staring down at me like I might die at any moment. “What we talked about earlier. About napping when you’re not here with me.”

Nate clears his throat. “I don’t think that’s very kind, Benjamin.” His voice is soft but firm, like he wants to get the point across, but he doesn’t want to hurt Benji’s feelings. “He’s sick and he needs to rest.”

“No,I never said you couldn’t nap,” Benji corrects me. “I don’t mind if you doze off, if you know what I mean. I just don’t want you to . . .” He stares at the screen, deep in thought, choosing his words wisely. “You can nap, Bennet, I just don’t want you to fall into a deep, REM sleep state. There’s a difference. Nuance, Bennet.”

“You don’t even know what ‘nuance’ means,” I counter.

“Does anyone really know what it means? I mean, really.”

“I do,” Nate pipes in. “And I don’t think Bennet has any control of which sleep stages he goes through once he’s unconscious. It sounds to me like you’re setting him up for failure before he’s even said his bedtime prayers.”

“I don’t pray, sir,” I admit. “I’m an atheist.” I sniffle, because I really don’t want this to come between us. “Please don’t disown me.”

“Oh, buddy,” Nate soothes. “I don’t mind. I’m Presbyterian by birth, but I think I teeter more on the agnostic side these days.”

Benji throws his hands in the air in frustration, accidentally knocking over his drink in the process. “Son of a motherfu?—”

“Language,” Nate scolds him, making Benji’s cheeks burn.

“Sorry.” Benji’s got his eyes on me again, and the sassiness, though not gone entirely, seems to have lightened. “You look so sick.” He sniffles. “I don’t like to see you sick, so I want you to go upstairs and get some rest, okay? Because when I get home, I’m going to want to cuddle, and you’re a terrible cuddler when you’re tired and cranky.”

“Yes, Mom,” I groan. Nate chuckles as he carries me up the stairs, his fingers tickling my thighs. Before I can stop myself, I slap his shoulder and glare at him. “Quit it!”

My eyes bulge when realization hits. I don’t talk to Nate like this. I don’t let him see my sassy side, because Benji and I don’t have anywhere else to go. If he sees me for who I really am and not just the parts of me I don’t keep hidden, he’ll kick us out. No one could ever know the real me and still choose to stay. It’s been proven time and time again.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, rubbing my hand against his shoulder like it might somehow undo what I’ve just done. “I don’t know what that was about. Please don’t be mad. I promise, I didn’t?—”

Nate’s finger touches my lip, silencing me. He’s got his usual carefree grin locked in place, but nothing about what I’ve just done warrants a smile. I deserve to be punished, however he sees fit.

“I ought to put you in time-out for that.”

“Uh-oh,” Benji sing-songs. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Someone’s going to get a dirty sock shoved in their mouth while they sleep if they don’t zip it,” I snap back at him.

Nate arches an accusatory eyebrow at me, but Benji’s got a wide grin on his face. He looks beautiful this way. Carefree. Overstuffed with affection. I’m seeing shadows of the man he used to be, before Benito took that man and crushed him down to dust.

“Son?” Nate says, and the disciplinary tone in his voice sends a chill down my spine. When I pry my eyes away from Benji to meet Nate’s, his face is a picture of seriousness. “I’m going to let that outburst slide because there’s a chance we’re both heading toward a near-death experience, but if you speak to Benji like that again, there will be consequences.”

Okay, so, full disclosure? I kind of want to see what sort of punishments he might have in mind. Will there be spankings? Will Nate make Benji watch as he yanks down my underwear and beats my ass until it’s blistered, muttering over and over that I’ve been a bad boy? Yes. Please and thank you.

When we reach our room, Nate places me on the bed and pulls the blanket over my chest. In the background, Meadows calls Benji’s name, and my best friend huffs and puffs when he stands up. His dress shoes click and clack against the floor as he mutters, “Wish the whole damn building would burn down. Sick of this stupid job.” He’s out of frame, the phone now displaying the wall behind our stupid desk. Benji must have needed to talk to Meadows about something, because, in the background, the door leading to the lower levels buzzes as its locks disengage. Now it’s just me and Nate and the butterflies in my stomach every time I look at him.

“He adores you,” Nate says. The bed dips as he scoots in next to me, and panic hits me like a brick. I promised Benji I wouldn’t do anything with Nate, and I’m worried he might see Nate lying next to me and get the wrong idea. Thankfully, that fear proves false when Benji steps back into my phone’s screen. He’s holding a stack of papers, and he’s giving them a death glare.

“He’s making me work. I blame you for this, Bennet.”

I groan. “What did I do?”

“I’ll tell you what you did, you big jer—” He stares at the screen, his mouth open, but nothing comes out. It takes him a second to find his voice, and when he speaks, he’s got this really soft, pretty tone that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “You look precious together.”

“We’re resting,” I assure him. “And you’re going to be on the phone the whole time. You’re with us Benji.” I lift my hand and tap my heart.

Benji shakes his head, his smile refusing to fade. “No, that’s not what I—I just mean, you look really adorable right now.” He chews his bottom lip, studying Nate and me on his phone. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“When we were little, I used to rub his tummy when he wasn’t feeling well. It might help.”

My breath hitches. “You don’t have to.” I’m saying it to Benji, but Nate must think I meant him, because he stares at Benji, then at me, his eyes a picture of conflict. It’s like he can sense my apprehension, but he’s unsure of the cause. I give Benji a questioning expression, silently asking him if he’s sure about this.

As usual, he reads me like a book, nodding as he says, “It’s okay, Bennet. I just want you to feel better.” He kisses the tip of his finger before flicking it at the screen like a child flicking a booger. It’s equal parts vile and adorable. “Let him make you feel better, okay?”

I watch his face as Nate’s palm gently presses down against my stomach. He works his hand in a circle, slow and steady. Through it all, Benji’s eyes pour out their approval. Their appreciation. The endless level of love he’s kept inside.

“Any better?” Benji asks. I’ve been so focused on my best friend’s reaction that I haven’t even taken the time to enjoy the soothing effect Nate’s hand has on my body. His touch is soft, but it’s not enough. Too many clothes, not enough contact. Benji must know what has me antsy, because a soft chuckle escapes him. “It works better if it’s skin on skin. Just slide your hand under his shirt and rub his tummy.” Nate looks down at me as if seeking approval. My body’s still too achy to move very much, but I manage to lift my shirt up to my chest, giving him free rein. “You look so handsome, Bennet.”

My cheeks burn as I lift my eyes to meet his, unable to hide my appreciative smile. “I do?”

“You always do. Doesn’t he, Dad?”

Nate’s hand stops moving. He’s not rubbing me anymore; instead, he’s caressing me like one might caress their lover. It makes me tingly inside, but the expression on his face has me worried. He looks torn, over what, I’m not entirely sure.

“Yeah,” Nate finally answers, sounding a little breathless. “Yeah, Bennet. You’re about as handsome as they come.”

Even though it makes my head hurt a little, I still give him an ear-to-ear grin. “You really think so?”

Nate leans in and kisses me on the tip of the nose, sending the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I wish Benji was here. If Benji was in bed, maybe we could pick up where we left off last night—not that I’d be very good at it in my current physical state, but I’m nothing if not a trooper.

I know Benji said this is okay, but it doesn’t feel okay to me. I don’t want to risk hurting my Benji, and I don’t want him to feel like he isn’t a part of this thing with us, because he is. The biggest part. The best part. I reach for the phone, but thanks to Nate’s unnecessarily wide shoulders, I can’t make it past him.

“Can you hand me the phone, please?”

He pauses for a second before turning on his back to grab the phone. I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, he changed into pajama bottoms. My favorite pajama bottoms. They’re the pair Benji and I bought for him a few weeks after moving in. We didn’t have much money, but Nate insisted on giving us an allowance, so we were able to scrimp and save to get them special, just for him. The letter B is sprinkled across the fabric because Benji thought it was as close to claiming the man as we were going to get, but now, I’m not so sure. The gray fabric is practically sheer which was another selling point for us, when we spotted it. When he’s wearing boxers—or in the rare instance he goes commando—Nate’s daddy-dick flops here, there, and everywhere. All for our viewing pleasure.

Once I’ve got the phone, I smile at Benji’s forlorn face. He’s staring at me with eyes that are trying to be supportive. Ah, hell. He’s trying so hard, I can tell. He wants to be my big, strong, Benji, but the hurt’s seeping out through the cracks Nito left behind. I want to see a smile return to his face, and the only way I can think of making that happen is indulging his delulu side.

I glance at Nate, then back at the phone. “Hey, Benji-babes?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you take that picture yet?”

He stares at me like I’m stupid. “What picture?”

“Of the mole. On your . . .” I dart my eyes down, hoping he’ll get the point. Not the case. Instead, he just blinks. “On your penis,” I whisper.

“Wait, where’s it at?” Nate asks. I ignore him though, because Benji’s eyes are bulging, and he looks absolutely scandalized.

“I do not have a mole, and how dare you? Honest to God, Bennet. Is this what our friendship’s come to? Telling lies just to get a rise out of me because you’re sick and sexy and bored out of your mind?”

“Sexy?” My heart fucking flutters, because the ease with which he let the word slip out was effortless. Like the word has only ever existed to be directed at me. “You think I’m sexy?”

Benji’s cheeks are burning red. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I could put a wax melt on his face and he’d have the whole room smelling like pumpkin spice in no time. “You’re the sexiest man I know.”

“You’re sexy too,” I whisper. I’m not trying to keep the words from Nate—I know he’s heard them—but it feels like if I say it any louder, I might be testing fate. My heart’s racing faster now, and whether it’s down to the fever or the fact my best friend thinks I’m sexy, I’m not sure. I mean, he wasn’t lying—I’ve always known he thinks I’m pretty, but after what we did last night, every word he says has new meaning. It’s like looking at a work of art from a whole new angle. Like if that guy with the cut-off ear repainted the picture of the starry sky, but he drew it during daylight instead. There’s sunshine and warmth coating each of his words now, and I think I kind of want to stand in his light.

These new feelings—this new, potential version of us—scares the hell out of me. I’ve never (and I do mean NEVER) thought about Benji as anything more than what he’s always been. As my best friend. My brother. My fucking everything. I’m the man who promised to take care of him forever; I want to sweep all of these icky feelings under the rug, out of sight, out of mind. The easiest way I can think of doing so is by making him the shining star of this conversation.

“So, about your mole—” I begin, but I’m cut off by a hiss. An actual hiss. He’s just hissed at me.

“I don’t have a dang mole. Stop lying to make me look bad.”

“Benjamin,” I say, my voice sterner than it’s been in a while. It immediately stops him in his tracks before he can fall into a meltdown. “This morning, you said you wanted to show Nate the mole, because Nate knows everything.” I peek up at Nate and smile. “You really do.” Nate’s too busy staring at us like a proud, supportive father to be of any use to me right now, so I focus on Benji. “You wanted to show him the mole, remember? Nate’s probably going to have to look at it for a while to figure out what’s wrong with it. He’ll have to study it. It could take up to ten minutes if you take enough pictures. Ten minutes. Staring right at it.” I blink at him. “At the mole. On your bare penis. Don’t you want that, babe?”

Benji’s eyes bulge, and any trace of worry or upset he may have just been feeling vanishes. “Yes!” he shouts, though there’s no need to yell so loud, especially when my head is throbbing as bad as it is. “My mole. That’s right! Sorry, I don’t know where my head is right now. I must not have slept right last night.”

“You’re not used to sleeping away from your own bed,” Nate agrees. “Maybe our slumber party was a bad idea.” He sighs softly, looking like a guilty dog that was caught pissing on the Christmas tree. “I’m really sorry if you’re tired because of me.” He’s giving Benji an apologetic smile, but before he can get another word out, Benji ends the call. I know what he’s doing—probably running to the employee restroom for a photo shoot to showcase his lower level.

“I have no idea what just happened,” Nate muses, dumbfounded.

I inch closer to him, just wanting to feel a little more of his warmth. We’re knee to knee, almost forehead to forehead, and he’s staring at me with a look I’ve never seen before.

“Bennet,” he whispers, feathering his fingers through my hair. “I’m so sorry you feel bad, and I’m worried that this is my fault. I can’t stand the thought of being the reason you’re sick.”

I quickly shake my head, which is a mistake, because it feels like it might explode. “Don’t care whose fault it is, just don’t leave me. Okay?”

“I won’t.” He uses his thumb to brush the hair out of my eyes, but when it’s done, he lets the touch linger, right on my brow. “I just don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?” I ask.

“How that monster could hurt you the way he did. How anyone could ever want to hurt you.”

It’s a question I’ve been asking myself all my life. It started when I was a kid. My mom wasn’t mean like Benji’s parents. She was always really happy, but she had her demons, and she just couldn’t seem to shake them. Not even for me.

“When I was little, my mom was on drugs really bad,” I say, reaching for the top button on his button-down shirt. I’m not really sure why he’s still got it on. He took the time to change out of his slacks and into pajamas. Maybe his fever’s as bad as mine and he forgot. Or, maybe he knows I like the way he looks when he’s all dolled up like this. Something about it makes my tummy tingle. I unhook the first button, then the next two. Tufts of reddish-brown hair poke out the gap, and I twirl a few strands around my finger. “I think she always was, ever since I was a baby.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead, making it feel like my skin’s tingling. “I’m really sorry you had to grow up around that.”

I shrug, because honestly, I’m not. I mean, it’s sad and all, but if I hadn’t grown up where I did, when I did, I never would have met Benji. “Thank you. It wasn’t all bad though. When she was sober, she was really something. She used to dance around our little house, singing old nineties songs.” I twist a tuft of his chest hair and gently tug. “It’s probably why I don’t mind so much when you insist on listening to Hootie and the Blowtorch.” I know I fumbled the band name, but I only did it because I want to see Nate smile again.

“Blowfish,” he corrects, poking me in my hip. “But I think you knew that. Silly boy.”

God, I love when he talks to us like this. I’m not really into age play—Benji probably could be, but it’s nothing we’ve ever explored—but I like when he talks to me like a kid sometimes, because it makes me feel like I don’t have to be in control. I’ve had to take care of people my entire life, and Nate makes it feel like I don’t have to anymore.

“I know,” I say. “I just wanted to make you smile again. You’re really pretty when you smile. You should do it a lot more; it suits you.” I cup his cheek, my fingertips like static, twitching and stinging at the touch, because I know I shouldn’t be touching him like this. Not without Benji. So, with a heavy heart, I pull my hand away and flash a warm smile at him. “There was this one song my mom really liked. Celine Dion, I think. She would sing it sometimes, when she was trying to fill the silence. I like to think back to those times when I start feeling sorry for myself.”

“Do you feel sorry for yourself a lot?”

“A little,” I admit. His eyebrows furrow together, and I’m worried I might seem ungrateful for everything he’s done for me. Well, for Benji and me. “Just a couple of times since we’ve been here. I’m getting better, and I think it’s because of you.” His hand reaches forward, and instinctively, I flinch, remembering the way Nito used to reach for me like that, but his aim was always lower, usually angled toward my throat.

“When you get lonely,” he finally says, touching my cheek. “I want you to come find me, Bennet. You come to find me, and you let me be lonely with you.” He kisses my cheek. It’s such a simple action that barely requires much effort at all, but somehow, Nate’s managed to make me feel like he just caught a shooting star for me and tucked it in my pocket. “You’re not alone anymore. Neither of you.” He takes my hand and guides it over his heart. “You’re both in here now, right where you belong.”

The words are enough to make me tear up, and try as I might, I can’t stop my tears from falling. I feel like absolute death, and I really, really want Benji here beside me. I want my mom back. Desperately, I want to have never met Benito Blankenship. I want a whole lot of things, but there’s something—this new thing—I can take for myself. I can hold Nate’s promise close to my heart and save it for a rainy day. His breath is warm on my face, sending little gusts of cinnamon-scented air right into my nostrils. It’s an intoxicating aroma, and I really want to find out what it tastes like upon exhale.

“Nate,” I rasp, my hand gripping around his wrist.

“I’ve got you, Bennet. You and Benji. For as long as you still need me. I’m not going anywhere.”

I bite my bottom lip and study him. He’s such a beautiful man, I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to realize. Residual trauma from Benito, probably. There’s a smaller part that was scared he’d win over Benji and leave me on my own, because maybe he won’t like me as much. I don’t feel that way anymore. How can I when he keeps staring at me like I’m God’s gift to him?

“What if we need you for forever?” I finally ask.

The corner of his lip curls up and he strokes my bottom lip with his thumb, letting it sit right in the center. I pucker my lips, pressing a quick kiss against his fingertip, somehow resisting the urge to open my mouth and swallow it whole.