Chapter 21
Jackson
Jackson lets the final chord breathe, a velvety hum that drifts up to the high ceiling. It hangs there, delicate and imperfect. Almost holy.
He knows what still needs doing tonight.
Track down the forger, nail the proof, pull Ben’s name out of the mud.
All worthy, urgent goals especially given his deep desire to move Ben from an undercover source to just under covers.
But right now, he wants one more breath inside this little snow globe he and Ben have accidentally shaken: full of soft lamplight and bad piano and that laugh that cracked out of Ben like something finally breaking free.
It would be so easy, just to lean in a little closer, catch that next laugh with his mouth. Capture the heat they’ve both been feeling for days and keep going until Ben was beneath him, pliant and gasping and his.
Then Ben’s phone vibrates.
It’s subtle, but they’re sitting so close on the bench that Jackson feels it buzz through the both of them. Ben reaches for it instantly, reflexive, built from years of being summoned. Jackson clocks the exact second Ben goes rigid as they both read the screen.
Dad.
“Just a sec,” Ben says, stepping a few feet away. He’s already shifting into that other register. Practiced in a way that makes Jackson’s skin crawl.
He knows what Ben really sounds like. When he’s laughing so hard he snorts. When he’s stumbling over his own compliments. When he’s gasping into Jackson’s mouth, warm and breathless. He hates this tight-lipped, press-conference version of him.
Jackson only hears one side of the conversation.
“Of course. Mmhmm. Absolutely not a problem.” Ben’s face tells a whole different story, one that unfolds in stages: confusion, panic, disappointment, frustration, then panic again.The delivery never falters.
There’s nothing familiar in it. Nothing warm. It’s not the way Jackson talks to his dad. Hell, it’s not even how he talks to Mort when he’s trying to weasel another day out of a deadline.
“Sure. See you in a bit.”
Ben ends the call and pockets the phone like a live grenade. “I’m just going to, uh… see how the caterers are doing,” he says lightly.
Easy to believe, maybe, if you weren’t paying attention.
That wasn’t curious-about-the-hors-d’oeuvres. That was keep-it-together. That was don’t-break-where-anyone-can-see. That was get-somewhere-safe-before-smiling-cracks-your-teeth.
“I’ll be right back.” And just like that, Ben turns and walks away.
Jackson watches him detour, not toward the catering staff, but straight up the grand staircase.
He waits.
Counts to twenty.
Then he follows.
The fourth door Jackson tries has a time-capsule energy.
The science fair trophy sits proudly on the dresser, flanked by a battered stack of Redwall paperbacks and a model schooner.
The wallpaper has tiny, tasteful compass roses on it.
One corner of the corkboard is still pinned with a fading flyer from a senior year beach clean-up.
Big house, Jackson thinks. No one needed this room back.
His own childhood bedroom had been repainted coral and turned into a yoga-cum-gift-wrapping situation by his mom approximately ten minutes after he pulled away in the U-Haul.
There’s something weirdly reverent about Ben’s room by contrast, someone trying to preserve the echo of the kid who used to live here.
Ben’s sitting on the far corner of the bed, turned away from the door, back hunched. He’s holding himself so still he nearly disappears into the wallpaper.
Jackson knocks gently on the doorframe, then crosses the room to sit beside him. The mattress dips a little under his weight; Ben doesn’t react, his eyes on the wall. Jackson watches his hands opening and closing against his thighs, something rising in him that he can’t wring out.
“Not a lot of caterers up here,” Jackson says gently.
Ben exhales. Almost a laugh, but not quite. “No.”
For a moment, they just sit. Ben’s drawn a circle of space around himself, and it feels like crossing it right now would miss the point.
“Three times in one week,” Ben says finally, his voice flat, stripped of all inflection. “That’s got to be a new record for me.”
Jackson tries for light. “In your defense, it seems like you’ve been having a particularly shitty week.”
It doesn’t land wrong, exactly, but it doesn’t land right either.
Ben’s jaw works. He won’t look at Jackson. “I usually try not to let it happen in front of anyone,” he says. “I know it can be—” He stops. Finishes quieter, “It’s a lot.”
Jackson’s chest aches with a dull fury aimed at whoever first made Ben feel that shame.
“Ben…” He reaches over, takes Ben’s hand with his own. Ben twitches at the contact. His fingers curl loosely around Jackson’s palm.
Jackson tries again. “I’d rather know. I’d rather be here. Even if all I can do is sit with you. If that helps.”
Ben nods once, tight. “It helps,” he says, but it’s a little too fast. Something to keep Jackson from worrying and the weight squarely on Ben.
He can see what those words cost him. And what they cover up. Jackson doesn’t let go. Just softens his grip. “What’d your dad say?”
“His flight got delayed,” Ben says, staring straight ahead. “Snowstorm in Chicago. They had to de-ice the plane. He’s boarding now.”
Jackson waits.
“It means he’s going to be late to the party. So he wants me to give the annual speech. Said I should just… ‘wing it.’” Ben gives a helpless shake of his head. “Which, you know. Not a big deal. It’s just a speech. I shouldn’t be freaking out over something this small.”
Ben’s already somewhere else, playing out failure in his head, running through all the ways it can go wrong.
“You don’t have to make it sound like it’s okay for my sake,” Jackson says.
Ben goes still. Doesn’t respond right away. Just closes his eyes and releases a slow breath, like something leaking through a crack.
Then, with a bitter little shrug: “I have an MBA. I’m on the leadership team of a multi-million dollar operation. I should be able to give a stupid five-minute speech to a room of people who already work for me. If I can’t do that, then what am I doing there, besides being the boss’ son?”
His laugh is hollow. Sharp around the edges.
“I just thought I’d be farther along by now, you know?
That I’d be someone who already knows what to say.
Someone who’s… impressive. Someone with something real to show for all this.
Instead I’ve been treading water since I got out of school, waiting for someone to point out that I don’t really belong here. ”
He shakes his head. “I’ve been given so much. More than I earned. And I keep wondering if I’ve done anything to deserve it. Or if I ever will. It’s all just been handed to me, and I can’t even be trusted for one week not to blow it to oblivion.”
Ben turns his head slightly, not enough to meet Jackson’s eyes, but enough to suggest he’s waiting for Jackson to confirm every awful, hyper-critical thing he’s ever thought about himself.
Jackson’s chest pulls tight with grief for the way Ben talks, for the grace he gives to everyone else but fails to turn inward. It feels learned.
“You don’t have to let your father put all that pressure on you.” Jackson’s voice is low, edged despite himself. “You’re not a factory. You’re not a business model. You’re not some legacy your dad gets to build like a fucking brand. You’re a person.”
Ben flinches just enough to register.
“It’s not like that,” he says quickly. “Not really. I mean, yeah, sometimes. He can be… intense. But he’s not some monster.” He glances over, needing Jackson to understand that part.
“He cheered so loud at my college graduation I thought they were going to throw him out of the auditorium,” Ben says with a faint smile. “He brought one of those heavy duty marine air horns that you are definitely not supposed to use indoors.
“He remembers the name of every single guy I’ve ever dated. When I came out to him, he took me out for frozen yogurt. Which, yeah, I know, weird, but it’s what he used to do after my baseball games when I was a kid. I think it was the only thing he could think of to show he supported me.”
Ben glances down at his hands. Turns one over like it might explain something.
“He cares about me, Jackson. He really does. He’s just…
” Ben pauses before it all comes crashing out.
“He was so sad after my mom died. Honestly, he was already falling apart while she was sick. Without her, he just… he didn’t know how to do it.
How to be everything she was. He didn’t plan to raise me alone. He was lost. We both were.”
The silence is heavy before the rest slips out of Ben in a whisper, “I just thought… if I could be better. More of what he needed. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard on him, you know?”
Jackson swallows down the lump rising in his throat. His voice comes gentler this time, careful, making sure he’s got it right. “You tried to make it easier for him.”
Ben nods. “I didn’t want to make it worse.”
That’s what knocks the air out of Jackson.
Ben wasn’t taught to talk like some polished corporate robot, and to conceal his own suffering from the world. He taught himself.
Jackson bites back the first thing he wants to say.
Jackson wants to say, That shouldn’t have been on you.
He wants to say, You were a kid. You should’ve been held, not handed a role.
He wants to say, I’m so goddamn sorry.
Ben doesn’t look panicked anymore, just existentially tired.
“My mom…” he starts softly. He exhales, slow and uneven. “She used to say, if you have more than you need, your job is to make sure someone else does too. I just feel like I’m letting her down.
“I want to do good things,” Ben continues. “I do. But I keep feeling like I’m running out of time. Like I should already be more than I am.”
“Ben…”