Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Ben
That look. The one that reminds me that the life I dreamed of is fucking dead. The shock that then always turns to sadness for being a broken man.
I mourned it a long time ago, but I watch it every time someone else does.
If I have to see her do it, it’ll be different.
Gretchen was that girl. The one I prayed would see we could be more than friends, and then, when we finally had our chance, I moved.
My father’s job had us go from New Jersey to Idaho and he took it because of how badly I was picked on. I hated it. I hated leaving her. I would’ve taken an ass-kicking every day if it meant that I could be with her.
Sure, we were teenagers and it probably would’ve never worked, but there was something there and then I had to bury it. When I saw her again, it came rising to the top.
“Okay, then,” Gretchen says a second later, her blonde hair falling in her face a little. “Let’s do what we can from here. I figure we can use good old detective work and brain power. I’ve never really dealt with a kidnapping in litigation, but I’m sure there’s something I watch on CSI that could come in handy, right?”
I’m stunned slightly. No questions? No millions of options that she thinks I should do? Where is the pity? Where’s the sadness at the shattered dreams?
I wait for it, because it always comes.
I’m not sad nor do I feel bad for myself. I’m pissed, sure. I have regrets to some extent, but I’m lucky. I’m alive. Some of my friends weren’t quite so lucky.
Immediately, I realize my mistake. I went there.
My mind fills with visions of the mission where we were riding in the Humvee, laughing, talking about TJ’s fiancée and all the money that wedding was going to cost—and then suddenly, we weren’t.
“Hey, Ben, you with me?” she asks, breaking me from my thoughts.
I shake my head. “You don’t want to ask a million questions?”
“Well, I just asked one. If you could answer that, it would be great.”
“I mean about my injury.”
She shrugs. “Do you want to answer a million questions?”
“No.”
“That’s what I figured. If you want to tell me or talk, I’m here, but I know what it feels like to have people ask the same shit over and over again.”
I remember what Catherine said about her being stood up, and nod. I can imagine that she’s dealing with a lot, including people wanting to know information she probably doesn’t even have.
But still, I’m not used to the reaction she gives. Almost like it doesn’t matter.
“Still...” I say.
Her hand touches my arm. “I’m sorry you went through that. I really am. I know this is going to sound stupid or whatever, but I missed you, Ben. You were my best friend and I’m just really happy you’re alive and here. I’m glad that right now, we’re sitting in the same room and can talk. I really am.”
“You missed me huh?” I nudge her.
“Well, I missed the scrawny kid who used to take the candy out of my bookbag when he didn’t think I was looking. Who talked to me about how inaccurate movie scenes were based on random facts you knew. Not sure about The Hulk who is ridiculously hot, broody, with muscles...who is in front of me...and I’m going to shut up...” Gretchen seems to catch herself and her face turns bright red.
“Please. Do keep going...”
Gretchen was always gorgeous to me. I crushed on her all through school. She was the first girl I really had feelings for and when I left her, I hated my father. I had this adolescent dream that we would somehow be together. If she could just see...
Seems her eyesight is finally working.
“Anyway. The case. The missing kid, let’s talk about that, and not your jacked-up body, okay?”
I decide to let her off the hook—for now.
“Sure, why don’t we start at the beginning?”
She nods and sits beside me, taking a sheet of paper, and starts to read it. Instead of doing the same, I watch her. She’s different and yet still in some ways, she hasn’t changed at all. Her hair is much blonder, her eyes are still that aqua blue, though. I note the scar right under her eye from when she fell as we were playing tag. It’s faded, but still there.
I wondered about her through the years. I hoped that she was okay. I’ve never been much for technology, plus we’re not exactly encouraged to have a presence online, so I couldn’t look her up.
But she’s right here. Looking as beautiful as ever.
“How have you been? Truly, are you okay?” I ask, unable to stop myself, mostly because I just want more of an excuse to keep looking at her.
She shrugs. “I’m functioning.”
“That sounds really encouraging.” I laugh once.
“I’m sure you know that I’m here because I was left at the altar. I lost my job...well, I quit because I was sleeping with my boss who decided on my wedding day he didn’t want to marry me. I was set to make partner at said job, so there’s that. My life list has gone to total shit, and I was given a pity job from my best friend’s husband. I mean, I’m really winning at life.” Gretchen releases a heavy sigh and then covers her face. “Oh my God, I’m a mess.”
I pull her hands down, hating that she felt the need to hide. “You’re not a mess.”
Her eyes go wide. “Did you not hear my life just now?”
“I did, but I bet I can do you one better,” I challenge.
“Please. By all means.”
She has no idea what she just asked for. I’m the poster child for mess. “I’m divorced because my wife couldn’t handle the fact that I was injured. I lost my dream job, where I was literally kicking ass—daily. My parents passed away a year ago in a car wreck—while I was deployed. I live in a tiny ass apartment, after mooching off Jackson and Catherine because I basically shut myself down after my injury. I work here because Jackson and Mark won’t let me quit, no matter how many times I’ve tried. Oh, and I literally lost an appendage.”
“No fair.” Gretchen glares.
“No, it’s not.”
She shakes her head. “No, you can’t use the war injury as one of your life being a mess things. I call bullshit on that.”
“Excuse me?”
Gretchen leans back in her seat with her arms over her very ample chest. “That’s like the trump card that you can’t play. Your wife leaving you, fine. Your job, I get. Even the housing thing, I’m totally with you on, because I too am now homeless and living in my best friend’s husband, now boss’s house. But you can’t use your leg as a sucking point. Because it sucks, but it doesn’t make you a mess.”
I’m dying to hear her reasoning on that. “And how exactly does it not?”
“Because you, Benjamin Pryce, are a hero. A man who fought during a war and you survived. That’s not a mess, my friend. Not even a little. Find another reason.”
I laugh, a true, deep, hearty laugh for the first time in forever. She just called my ass out and doesn’t look the least bit upset by it. As if all these years haven’t passed and she’s still the dorky kid’s friend.
“You got balls, I’ll tell you that,” I toss back.
“Why, because your half-assed attempt at making your story sound worse didn’t work?”
I think back to reasons and the one sticks out. Her life list. She still has that damn thing? I remember she would write, scratch out, write more, cross it off, and add again all throughout school. She felt that if she wrote it down, she put it out for the world to find.
I always thought she was ridiculous with it, but she swore it would work.
“Where the hell is your life list?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Now it’s my turn to grin. “Not a chance. You called me out, time to face the firing squad. Give it to me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I’m not giving it to you.” Gretchen looks away but I see the glimpse of her smile.
“So you do have it? I bet it’s even on you right now.”
Her eyes narrow and she points a finger at me. “You will never see it.”
I lean in, pulling her hand down and my lips turn up. “We’ll just have to see about that.”