14. Fourteen
Fourteen
LENA
I find Ben an hour later in the barn, shoveling muck from the horse stalls while Hugo and Penelope watch. His button-down hangs on the half-door, and his white undershirt is smeared with dirt and clinging to his sweat.
He’s using work as a focus to balance his emotions—a trick I pull thousands of times a day. Sometimes, the best thing to do is to stay busy, despite how taboo that word has become lately.
Choosing to retreat to the barn makes sense, too. It’s off-limits to guests, and there aren’t many quiet places at Saddletree on the weekends.
“Ready to talk yet?” I lean against the half-door, trying to look nonconfrontational.
“Yes. No. Maybe.” He barely looks at me.
“It’s an amazing deal, Ben. If you’d hear me out, read the paperwork—”
“How could you do this without consulting me?”
“You called me a chaotic mess. I wanted to prove otherwise and solve the problem myself… and I did. I need to heal, and you need me to be more available—win, win.”
He grunts, looking everywhere but at me. “No. You refused to close when I asked you to. You would’ve found a way to keep the place running, even if it meant baking one-handed… and asking you to be more available didn’t mean I wanted this.”
I soften him with a light smile and trace the veins in his arm. “I told you I’d stop the world for you. That’s what I did. I thought it’d be… fireworks.”
“You did this for me ,” he summarizes, closing his eyes tightly. His face pinches, and for a second, I almost expect tears to spit from his eyes—not the good kind.
“For us . Surprise,” I say, trying to be cute.
He remains blank, arms folded like a barrier between us, and shakes his head.
I square my shoulders and offer a soft smile. “This’ll give us time. We could discuss job options, ways to run Saddletree better, whatever you want. I love you and want us to fix what’s broken… I thought you’d be proud of me.”
“You made a huge decision that affects us all and could ruin Saddletree over one argument? That’s unreasonable.”
I raise my good hand delicately between us, trying to turn this calm again when I say, “It wasn’t unreasonable, Ben. And it’s not one fight. It’s us .”
“You can’t make these kinds of decisions over me, Lena. Not now. Not…”
He drags a hand down his mouth as if loosening his tight jaw and gritted teeth. A breathy pause brings his hands to his hips, but he seems stuck like he can’t get the words out.
“Not what, Ben? Not for a two-month vacation that we both desperately need?”
“It won’t be a vacation. It’ll be a circus.”
“You don’t know that,” I argue.
“Yes, I do. I see it all over Wilmington. They’ll come in and take over. Saddletree belongs to them now.”
“I thoroughly reviewed the details. It won’t be like that,” I say, though now tiny doubts fray my confidence. “You said I needed to do better with Saddletree. I made what I believe is a smart business decision that helps my family. That’s why I did it, Ben. It’s for us.”
He scoffs. “No. If this were for us, you would’ve discussed it with me, like you always used to. Agreeing to it without me is retaliation.”
The accusation makes my neck snap back in surprise. “What?”
“You’re pissed about Lauren and the job, so you did this behind my back.” He shrugs like this is obvious.
“That’s not true. I’d never be so fucking petty. How can you say that?”
“The evidence supports it—”
“Evidence, my ass. I was upset, yes, but I got over it. Stop blaming me for every shit thing. You’re only upset because I’ve hurt your pride.
You thought you could show me how fucked up I run things around here, swoop in, fix everything, and play the hero.
Well, guess what? I’m the hero. If you’d give it a chance—”
“Dictating a major decision concerning our household without me makes you feel heroic?” He huffs like he’s seething. “I’m sick of living around your edges, Lena.”
“What does that mean?” I barely manage to get the words out.
He steps closer, signing as he speaks. “We used to be different. I wanted things for us. Family vacations. More kids—”
“That’s not my fault. I’m forty, Ben. Even Ruthie was a long shot.”
“Yes, I know,” he puts his hand in the air as if to soften his words. “But look at us. We’re lucky to have her, lucky to have all of this, but we aren’t together enough to enjoy it, let alone grow our family. We could’ve discussed adoption or fostering.”
“Then, why haven’t we?”
“We parent Ruthie in shifts as it is. You’re constantly overwhelmed. How could I possibly bring up more kids or taking trips when—”
“When I turn into this?” I finish for him, waving my good hand in the air. “All my fault. Again.”
“No, it’s mine, too. I struggle to communicate on a good day.
I know it’s not easy living with someone so closed off, especially since you’re so open,” he explains, his hand motioning back and forth between us.
“But you don’t even listen to the small things.
I exist in your periphery—your business, your schedule, and your anxiety.
You must believe it, too, or you would’ve talked to me first before turning our home into a movie set. ”
“Fine, I should’ve talked to you. I’m sorry. I tried to do something good for us. It will be good for us.”
“It’s a Band-Aid, Lena. Not a long-term solution.” His arms unfold long enough for him to rake a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you giving things up for me. Not now. Not ever.”
“Well, tough shit. I’d give up anything for you. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“Stop romanticizing it. This is different.” He rolls his eyes and refolds his arms. “You can’t take risks—not for me. Shutting down Saddletree puts it in jeopardy. Puts us in jeopardy.”
“How? Saddletree will be fine, better than fine—trust me,” I say, tears dripping and anxiety rising because how can I be sure of anything? “What do you want me to do? Hell, I’ll sell the whole place if that’s what you want. I’ll do anything. Just tell me why you’re so fucking angry?”
My words catch him like a hook, and his expression falls somewhere between hurt and stunned. His brow pinches at the top of his nose, and his lips part, like maybe the words he needs to say are right there, lined up in proper order, awaiting his final command.
But they don’t come.
“Why can’t you talk to me?” I say, tears dripping from my chin to the ground. “Lying, blaming me, being fucking mean… this isn’t you. What’s going on with you? Really?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do whatever you want… that’s what you’ll do anyway.” He brushes by me so fast that the breeze he creates ruffles my dress.