Chapter 25 #2
Ben glanced over his shoulder at Jolly, who had taken the opportunity to lie down in the middle of the muddy kitchen and was now rolling onto his back, paws in the air, grinding mud into his own fur with the commitment of an artist.
“Now, the bigger problem,” Ben said, turning back to William, “is that guy. Look at him. He’s a disaster.
I need to give him a shower, and he hates showers.
He fights me the whole time.” He paused.
“I could really use backup. Somebody who doesn’t mind getting wet.
You’ve got to get in the shower with him, though.
Fully clothed. Only way to keep him from escaping. ”
William’s eyes went wide. “In the shower? With our clothes on?”
“Everything except shoes. Only way it works.”
“That’s silly.”
“Jolly doesn’t think so. He thinks it’s terrifying. That’s why I need a brave guy to help me.” Ben glanced over at me for approval, and I gave a tiny nod.
William looked at the proffered hand Ben had extended. Looked at Jolly, who was still on his back in the kitchen, tail thumping the floor. Looked at his own muddy, wet clothes.
He took Ben’s hand.
“I’m in.”
They went up the stairs together, William’s small hand in Ben’s large one, Jolly scrambling to his feet and bounding after them. Within a minute, I heard water running, then William’s voice raised in a shriek of delight, then Jolly barking, then a splash and more shrieking.
I stood in the middle of the dining room, one hand on the new table, and my throat closed up so tight I couldn’t swallow.
My son had been terrified. Standing in the middle of a room, mud on the floor, every muscle locked against the explosion he was certain was coming. Then he’d wet his pants.
And Ben had looked at him and understood, instantly, what was happening. Had made himself small, told a story like it cost him nothing, and pivoted to something ridiculous before William could settle into the shame.
Ben had made it nothing. Because it was nothing. And William needed a man to show him that.
I stood up. Walked across the muddy kitchen, stepped into my shoes, and went home to get William a change of clothes.
When I got back, the shower was still running. I could hear William narrating the process in a steady stream.
“And now we have to get behind his ears, because that’s where the mud hides. Hold still, Jolly. I’m a professional.”
Ben’s low laugh underneath it.
Ben met me at the top of the stairs, crouched in the hallway with a towel working over Jolly’s back. His shirt was soaked through, his hair damp, and he looked more relaxed than he had in days.
“William’s all yours.” He gestured at the bundle of clothes I was carrying. “I wrapped him in a towel, but I thought you should probably do the rest.”
He took Jolly downstairs, and I stepped into the bathroom. There was water everywhere. The shower curtain was half off its rings, and a wet towel was wadded on the floor in a shape that suggested Jolly had used it as a wrestling opponent.
William was standing on the bath mat, wrapped in a towel roughly the size of a parachute on him, wet hair going in every direction, grinning so hard his face couldn’t hold it.
“Mom, we did it. We washed Jolly. He tried to escape twice, but I blocked the door.”
“Heroic.”
“Mr. Ben says I’m a natural.”
I’d planned to check in with William. Make sure he was okay, that the earlier moment hadn’t left a mark. But he was chattering so fast about Jolly’s escape attempts and how much water had gotten on the ceiling—the ceiling, Mom—that there was nothing to check in about.
Whatever Ben had done in that shower had finished what the army story had started.
And standing in that wrecked bathroom, listening to my son talk about a dog like nothing bad had ever happened to him, I felt something shift in my chest. Quiet. Definite. The kind of shift you don’t come back from.
I was falling in love with Ben Garrison. Maybe I already had.
I helped William into dry clothes. He put his shirt on inside out and didn’t care. I didn’t fix it.
We went downstairs together. Ben had taken Jolly out to the porch to dry off, and I found the mop in the hall closet and started on the kitchen floor while William went to find them.
He came back a few minutes later and walked into the kitchen like the last half hour had been filed under good memory.
“Mom, from now on, if I come inside and I’m dirty, I’ll just clean it up. Can you show me how to mop? Mr. Ben says that’s what men do—clean up their own messes.”
“That sounds right to me.” I handed him the mop, even though I knew it would mean more messiness before things got clean. “Let’s get it done, little man.”
Yeah, my heart was definitely gone.
After William was in bed that evening, I knocked on Ben’s door. I kept a baby monitor in my hand so I would hear if William woke up and needed me.
Ben opened it barefoot, the house quiet behind him. Jolly was asleep on his bed in the living room, one paw twitching in a dream.
“Can I come in?”
We ended up at the dining table since he’d gotten the chairs set up. Something about sitting there felt right. The room was meant for this now. Talking. Being together.
“I need to tell you about Craig. I know I’ve told you some, but I want to address earlier.” I gestured toward the kitchen.
Ben sat across from me. Focused.
“You saw what happened with William today.” I kept my voice even. This wasn’t something I needed to be fragile about. “That reaction didn’t come from nowhere.”
I didn’t walk him through the full history. I didn’t need to. I gave him the shape of it—Craig Dutton, first relationship since Ryan, five months that went from charming to controlling to cruel. The yelling. The criticism. William learning to scan rooms and read faces.
And the night it ended.
“Craig had white carpets. William came in from playing outside with mud on his shoes. Just a kid being a kid.” I held Ben’s eyes. “Craig screamed at him. In his face. A grown man, screaming at a six-year-old over dirt on the carpet.”
The silence held.
“I ended it that night. Told him I never wanted to see or talk to him again. Even living in the same town made me sick, so William and I moved here. Started over.” I shrugged. “But William’s still carrying it. You saw that today.”
“I saw it.” Quiet. No performance. Just confirmation.
“What you did for him—” My throat tightened, and I had to stop. “You understood what was happening. You knew the mess wasn’t the problem.”
“The mess is never the problem.”
I let that settle. He was right. The mess hadn’t been the problem today. The mess hadn’t been the problem six months ago when Craig had lost his shit.
“There’s more. Craig doesn’t accept losing.” I opened the Evidence folder on my phone and slid it across the table. “He’s been messaging me since I left.”
Ben took the phone.
I watched him read. He scrolled slowly, his face unmoving, but something behind his eyes was working.
Absorbing and deciding. His thumb stopped.
Started again. Stopped. He spent a long time on the screen, and when he finally set the phone down on the table between us, his hand came to rest beside it, fingers flat, very still.
“How long has this been going on?” He slid the phone back to me.
“Since I left. More than six months of new accounts, working around every block I put up. He calls every once in a while too.” I picked up the phone and set it in my lap.
“My therapist and I have talked about a restraining order, but he hasn’t threatened violence—legally, it’s a gray area.
Honestly, I don’t want any legal anything. I just want him to stop.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I’ve got the evidence. Every email. Every contact attempt. But I think he’ll eventually get bored and move on.”
Ben was quiet. His eyes were on my face, steady and unhurried, and when he spoke, his voice carried no heat at all.
“I’d like to know if he contacts you again.”
Not a question.
There was no show in his expression. No displayed anger, no theatrical protectiveness designed to make himself the hero of the story. Just a man who’d listened to something ugly and decided, without fanfare, that he was part of it now.
“Okay,” I said.
He reached across the table and took my hand. His fingers were warm and rough and certain. He didn’t pull me toward him. Didn’t try to fix anything. Just held on.
Through the window, the wind moved through the pines. Jolly’s breathing was slow and even from the living room. The dining table sat solid beneath our joined hands—new furniture in an empty room that wasn’t quite as empty as it used to be.
“You and William are welcome here anytime,” Ben said. “Mud and all. That’s not going to change.”
I believed him. Not because the words were grand. Because everything this man had done—from the first morning at the fence to the moment he’d knelt beside my son on a muddy floor and made the world safe again—said the same thing his mouth did.
I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.