Chapter 21 #2
“I know,” Ben says, pushing forward before Jackson can interrupt.
“I know I’m lucky. I have my job, my dad, I’m basically the walking definition of privilege.
I shouldn’t feel like this. I don’t get to feel like this.
But sometimes I just…I look around and I know I’m not where I’m supposed to be.
And I don’t know how much time I’ve got left to fix that. ”
He drags both hands through his hair, frustrated now, more exasperated than anything. “Which is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. Who has a midlife crisis at twenty-six?”
“Hey,” Jackson says, bumping his shoulder lightly against Ben’s. “We love an early bloomer.”
Ben lets out a startled little laugh.
Jackson shifts, one knee folding up onto the bed between them. “Can I tell you something?”
Ben glances at him warily. “Is it going to be emotionally bracing?”
“Oh, almost definitely,” Jackson admits with a grin. “But hopefully in a comforting way?”
He puts a hand on Ben’s knee and catches his eye; Ben holds the eye contact which is a good sign.
“The reason you feel like this? It’s not because you’ve done something wrong,” Jackson says. “It’s because you care. Because you carry everything, everyone, so close to the surface. Even when it hurts. That’s not a weakness, Ben. It’s rare. It’s rare and it’s brave and it’s extraordinary.
“I know what it feels like. I Iived it. Thinking if I make all the right choices, follow the map, things will fall into place.
But then something knocks you off-course.
And then one day you look up and wonder how you ended up somewhere completely different from where you meant to be and whether it is enough.
“After Boston it all felt pointless. I made a lot of quick and reckless decisions. I kept waiting for it to feel like it made sense again. I could have gone to any other city looking for a reporter than Silver Shoals last year. It never made sense to me that I did until you contacted me the other day in the least professional way possible.”
Ben doesn’t laugh, but he huffs softly, like he wants to.
“Tonight, sitting here with you? I don’t feel off-course.
I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Do you know how many tiny, impossible things had to happen just so we could meet?
” He turns, fully now, facing Ben. “Eight billion people on this planet, and the two of us end up on this bed, on the road to making a real difference. That doesn’t happen if you just follow the plan. ”
Ben’s mouth twitches.
“People in your position don’t usually end up next to an investigative reporter who can’t stop thinking about how lucky he is that a miracle like you even exists. You did that yourself and I’m so glad you did.
“You look at yourself and think you’re behind. But, Ben… I look at you, and all I see is someone who is trying so hard. And maybe you don’t think that’s enough. But I do. And I wish you could see yourself the same way.
“You are exactly who you’re supposed to be, exactly when you’re supposed to be it. You don’t have to earn it. You just… are. You don’t need to be perfect. I’m just grateful you’re Ben.”
Jackson’s voice catches. “And I’m so sorry if no one’s told you that recently.”
Ben lifts his head again, eyes glossy and disbelieving. “That was emotionally bracing,” he accuses hoarsely.
Jackson grins, soft and a little breathless. “But comforting?”
Ben’s laugh is half a sob. “Yeah.”
Jackson pulls him in and holds him there, not too tight. His fingers card gently through Ben’s hair.
“So in addition to investigating corporate malfeasance and delivering the occasional softboy monologue,” Jackson says after a moment, “you are in luck, because I also happen to be a C minus speechwriter. My TA once described my final piece as ‘bland, uninspiring, and better suited to your journalism major.’”
Ben snorts. It’s wet and undignified. Jackson’s heart swells anyway.
“Honestly,” he says, “that’s kind of perfect for a corporate event. You wouldn’t want anyone actually taking interest.”
“Great,” Jackson replies. “You mingle with the guests. I’ll write the speech. All you have to do is stand there and read it.”
Ben wipes under his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Oh, God.”
“I know,” Jackson says, sympathetically.
“Still sucks. But at least it’ll suck with a script.
” He tilts his head, mock-thoughtful. “Now, on a scale of one to ten, how much do you want me to reference the MarineSelect paperwork? One being ‘administrative errors were made, now please enjoy the vol-au-vents,’ and ten being a full slide deck entitled ‘Forger? I Hardly Know Her.’”
Ben shakes his head, but there’s color in his cheeks again. “Can you do a three? Like… politely suspicious energy?”
Jackson winks. “Three it is. Warm, wry, and full of plausible deniability.”
Ben reaches out and threads his fingers into Jackson’s. “Thank you,” he says. “For saying all that. For being here.”
Jackson lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to Ben’s knuckles. “Trust me, there’s nowhere else I want to be.” Because Ben’s in front of him, cracked open and glowing, and Jackson thinks, with absolute clarity: I would burn the whole world down just to keep this softness safe.
Downstairs, the doorbell rings.
Neither of them startles.
Jackson rises first. “Shall we?”
Ben turns to him, and it’s like watching a candle shield from the wind. Still small, still vulnerable, but burning clean, no longer on the verge of going out.
“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s do this.”