17. Seventeen
Seventeen
BEN
T he Riley Trust Amphitheater echoes with applause as the outdoor summer concert begins.
Screeching guitars, banging drums, and a thumping bass have me on my two-way, requesting another officer to switch with my central position.
She arrives promptly, glad for the swap.
She gets to enjoy the concert while I monitor the food truck lot, away from the speakers.
My hearing aids don’t make loud noises louder, but it’s harder to hear much else in these conditions.
A brief patrol along the food trucks reveals nothing concerning. It’s a casual venue that rarely presents a problem.
But even the easy assignments prove challenging. The noise rattles in my head, increasing my sensitivity. A headache pings my temples. Lena was right—this isn’t good for me.
“Ben?”
A light tap on my arm accompanies a muffled version of my name. I turn and find Lauren. Her white shorts and soft pink sleeveless top accentuate her tan skin and remind me of long summer days together on the beach. She holds a party box of tacos from one of the trucks.
“Wow, you always did look amazing in a uniform. Funny seeing you here,” she says.
Best to ignore the uniform remark. “My captain assigned me here.”
She shrugs and grins. “You say assigned . I say a funny coincidence . We were just talking about you in the booth.”
“The booth?”
“Well, our version of a skybox.” She motions sheepishly over her shoulder at the main building overlooking the amphitheater. “The Riley booth—a little perk to funding the venue. We attend most events. Dad calls it community spirit. The gang’s all here… and hungry for tacos. Come say hello.”
“I’m on duty.” I assess my surroundings rather than her.
But it’s a challenge. Her hair is up, but loose pieces dangle on her bare shoulders, stirring memories I don’t want to have.
I straighten my back. “I’m turning down the position.
Please extend my appreciation to your father for the opportunity. ”
A beat passes.
“That’s it? You’re not even going to tell me why?”
“I’m not required to explain.”
“It’d be nice. If something’s lacking in the offer—”
“There isn’t. It’s personal. I put you and the Rileys in my rearview long ago. I don’t see a reason to go back.”
She loses her smile and glances at the ground between us. When her gray eyes land on mine again, she nods. “Not even for my mom’s weird handsiness or Uncle Rob’s gross doctor stories?”
An unstoppable laugh rumbles from me. She routinely saved me from both at their frequent family events.
Jillian would loop her hand around my arm and parade me around parties—her way of getting me talking.
Rob, a well-known orthopedic surgeon, shared his worst ER stories; the more graphic, the better.
Lauren would swoop in when she suspected I’d reached my limit.
But I never minded. The upside to spending time with the Rileys was that they made me feel I belonged there.
Until I didn’t.
“Wow, I never thought I’d get another laugh out of you. It’s good to see you smile.” She tilts her head, scrutinizing me. “Well, I’m disappointed, but I understand. But is there any chance you could tell Dad yourself? He’ll blame me, especially if I break the bad news.”
She tips her head toward the booth again.
“I’m on patrol.”
With an amused chuckle, she nods toward four officers loitering twenty feet from us. “I think this parking lot is covered. It’ll only take a minute.”
She steps away, leaving me little choice but to follow.
The booth resembles a large living room with a bar, couches, plush chairs, tables, and a windowed wall overlooking the concert.
The music filters gently into the room via speakers built into the walls and ceiling, but it’s barely heard over their conversations.
I linger in the doorway with Lauren, reluctantly taking in the small group.
The people in this room once mattered to me. They filled the stands at my football games and cheered at my high school graduation. Seeing them again feels jarring, but so does their absence over the years, as if it just hits me.
“I got tacos!” Lauren announces, breaking their chatter. “And Ben!”
The room shifts toward me with wide-eyed familiarity. My timid wave doesn’t satiate them. Rising from their seats, the Rileys pull me into their circle, wrapping arms around me and shaking hands. It’s like I never left.
Their warm reception makes me wonder how Lauren handled her family after us. What she said to explain my sudden absence. I can only guess she told them the truth.
My headache worsens.
Jillian looks the same: elegant, poised, and beautiful.
She tilts her margarita toward me before linking arms and steering me around the room.
Lauren’s grandmother kisses my cheek. Aunt Miranda, the former Coast Guard pilot, salutes me before introducing her husband and their kids.
Uncle Rob also has a new wife, much younger than him, and several small children, who race around the room in a strange game of tag.
He slaps my back. “Heard your wife was in a fender bender. How’s her arm?”
“Broken. Distal radius and distal ulna,” I say.
“Cast yet?”
“No.”
“Wrist fractures are tricky. If they aren’t set right, it could mean a much longer recovery.” He hands me his card. “Bring her by the office Monday morning. Around ten.”
I consider refusing. I’m trying to distance myself from them, not become more integrated. But Dr. Robert Riley handles orthopedics for the Carolina Panthers and two local Olympic-level surfers. I can’t say no if it means Lena receives better care. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
He slaps my back again and leans in. “I’ve got a court behind the office. Shoot hoops after?”
“Yes. Definitely.” Basketball with Rob in the Riley’s driveway was a distinct highlight to many family events.
Jillian tugs me toward her husband.
“Ben, working the event today? Must be fate.” John shakes my hand and embraces me, not minding my gear and vest. “We were just telling them about you joining our team.”
“Possibly,” I correct, as the family cheers and claps. “I’m considering it.”
I catch Lauren’s small smile at my sudden reversal, but it’s not the right time to do it. I decide to call John on Monday.
But talking and answering questions about my parents and Becca, I realize it won’t be an easy call to make.
I don’t mind Jillian’s doting attention.
Regular pick-up games with Rob would be a welcome diversion.
Working for John would be an honor. Until everything fell apart, I loved being a part of the Riley family.
It felt like the one place I truly belonged.
His heavy arm wraps my shoulders as we talk, reminding me of a particularly shitty football game.
An easy pass would’ve won the game if I hadn’t fucked up the throw.
Mr. Riley met me outside the locker room.
He put his arm around me and said, “Everyone wants the wins, but the losses… those make us who we are.”
His words stayed with me through each loss, especially in Afghanistan. There, the losses changed everything but, strangely, made me a better man—a lucky man, though it took me years to see it.
Lauren wedges between me and her mother with a knowing look. “Dad, don’t monopolize him. He’s on duty. And Mom, he’s not your personal escort.”
“Oh, Lauren, relax. Ben doesn’t mind,” Jillian argues. “Tell us about—”
My phone rings, and with the volume up, the conversation comes to a skidding stop. It’s Lena, so I answer immediately.
“Hey, Ben. Is it a good time?”
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, we’re great. We’re at Greenfield Lake. Ruthie insisted on dinner with the gators, and Mrs. Moore let me borrow her MINI Cooper. We brought dinner. Any chance you can join us? We don’t mind waiting.”
She’s talking a mile a minute, which tells me she’s nervous, probably that I’ll say no.
I try to interject, but she continues, “I thought you might have a meal break soon. I brought your migraine meds, too, if you need them.”
“Is that Lena?” Lauren asks louder than necessary. “Tell her we say hello.”
There’s a pause before Lena says, “Was… that… Lauren?”
Lauren fucking Riley. My irritation spikes.
“Invite her to the booth, Ben,” John tacks on. “Her and Ruthie.”
“I have to go.” I exit their booth before they can argue, shutting the door behind me. “Lena?”
She’s no longer there. I call her back.
“I thought you had to go,” she answers, her voice distressed.
“No. That wasn’t directed at you. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
I hurry to arrange my meal break and get to my patrol car. Lena likely feels suspicious, perhaps even betrayed—I can’t blame her. Lauren has wedged between us for the second time in two days, creating doubts where there shouldn’t be any.
Lena overlooks the lake and Ruthie from a park bench while our daughter gator-hunts safely behind the raised boardwalk’s railings.
They don’t see me at first. I stop beside a bursting palmetto and breathe in with relief.
It’s quiet, a welcome change from the ringing in my ears.
My headache subsides with the peacefulness.
Seeing them makes me grateful and more upset with myself. Her head sinks, and her shoulders droop, making me wonder what she’s thinking.
And if she’s crying.
She looks up when I move to the bench, her eyes sweeping over my uniform with guarded relief as if she worried I’d lied to her again. She swallows her distress, reaching for the cooler by her feet. “Hungry? Ruthie helped me make very messy subs.”
She refuses eye contact as if she’s overloaded emotionally. “I don’t want to fight in front of Ruthie,” she says, strained and desperate as she fumbles to open the cooler.
“Lena, I wasn’t there with Lauren. I was assigned to the concert. I had no idea she’d be there.”
Her eyes catch mine in a huff. “How do you expect me to…”