Chapter 10 Benson
Benson
The view of the lacrosse field reminded Benson of his high school days.
Like many of the men roaming the halls of the country club and drinking wine in the dining room, Benson had attended a prep school that focused on networking and getting him into the Ivy League.
Lacrosse had been his sport, and it was nostalgic watching men of all ages enjoy a pickup game in the large, back field of Sunfall, one of the smallest country clubs in the area.
What had once been a secret society for men directing the winds of political change in New England was now an open secret in the queer community.
For while any man of certain means could join, the focus was on those who enjoyed each other’s company.
Which was why it wouldn’t look weird if Liam joined him on one of the balconies overlooking the field.
“You dragged me all the way out here,” Liam said, plopping into the other chair next to Benson, “just to talk. We could have met up anywhere, Ben.”
“Yeah, well…” Benson leaned back, root beer in hand, as he enjoyed one of the first truly warm days of the year.
The sun kissed his cheeks and arms, which were clad in short sleeves for the first time all year.
His coat was left at the main entrance. “I had the urge to get out of town for a day. Besides, I thought you liked this place.”
“I haven’t been here in years. Surprised I was still on the roll.”
Liam shielded his eyes to catch a glimpse of one team overtaking the other on the field.
He must have come straight here, where Benson texted him he would be, and didn’t even bother to drop off his jacket or order a drink.
Why not? You get one free drink per day.
That membership had to pay for something besides the Turkish bathhouse and lunch buffet.
In that order. Members knew their priorities.
“Why here?”
Benson crossed one leg over the other while drinking the spring air. “Neutral territory.”
“The hell it is. I saw two guys making out on my way in here.”
“Only two?”
“It’s not La Mariposa, Ben. Guys keep it in their pants until they’re in the sauna.”
“You would know about that.” Lest Liam assume that was why his ex invited him here, Benson asked, “How was LA?”
“Ugh. It was hot, dry, and everyone was insufferably good-looking in the fakest ways possible. So, it was LA.”
“I mostly meant your business meeting.”
“We’re investing in a tech startup. What else is new?”
Benson detected some annoyance on Liam’s part, but it wasn’t enough to change course. “Eden and I had a heart-to-heart this weekend while you were going. It started because I asked her to move in with me when her lease is up this summer.”
Liam glared at him the moment a breeze picked up, ruffling his hair and making the zipper on his jacket rustle in the air. Although Liam said nothing, Benson understood every word. “Oh, fuck you, dude.”
“She was upset that I hadn’t asked you about it first.”
“Well, yeah. Dick move, Ben. She’s my girlfriend, too.”
Benson slowly unraveled what he and Eden had discussed Saturday night, leaving out a few details about Eden’s personal life before going to La Mariposa.
That wasn’t the meat of the discussion, anyway.
What Benson wanted to reveal was his own revelations about what he wanted from life.
Not just with Eden, but… maybe someone else, too.
But it was a delicate discussion. Liam would immediately be on the defensive, and to be fair, he would assume the same about Benson. Nobody knows me better than him. That was difficult enough to admit.
“There’s a part of this whole situation that seems to imply you think I’m going to disappear,” Liam said. “Like, either I’ll get tired of it, or Eden will pick you. But that’s not how this is going to work. I’m in this for the long haul. You can’t get rid of me so easily again.”
Benson swallowed, despite having nothing in his throat. The root beer glass grew slick with condensation. “The way I ended things with you. Back then. That was... cowardly."
Liam didn't move. He stared out at the field, at the men running and shouting, before laughter broke out after a play.
"I was scared," Benson continued, the words scraping his throat. "Not just of… us. Of a man. In my world, with my clients, the old money… it’s still a boys' club, but a specific kind. A very straight kind. Having a third was one thing. But you? That swung the balance of what I could get away with."
He risked a glance. A muscle twitched in Liam's cheek.
"But that was the excuse," Benson pressed on, hating the sound of his own voice. "The bigger truth is… I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to be married again. Not really. To anyone. To that level of… entanglement."
The silence stretched. The shouts from the lacrosse game seemed distant.
"To marry another man," Benson said, forcing it out. "I just don't think I can. It's not you. This has nothing to do with you. It's a line I don't think I can cross, for myself. Ever."
Liam's knuckles were white where he gripped the armrests of his chair. He kept his gaze locked on the game, but he wasn't seeing it. Not really. The quiet from him was heavier than any shouting match could have been. It was the stillness of a man trying not to break.
Liam finally turned. "You dragged me out here, to a place like this, to tell me what, exactly? That I'm still not enough? That I'm the one piece you can't stomach?" His voice was low, a dangerous rumble. "You did this on our turf, Ben."
"No," Benson said, shaking his head. “No. I've been thinking. A lot. About everything.” He set the glass down. "I want to try again. The three of us. A real triad, this time. No hiding. No half-measures. Eden's on board. She wants this. But it doesn't matter unless you're on board."
Benson held his breath. He watched Liam's shoulders, his hands, the line of his throat. But Liam's body didn't soften. He didn't lean in. He didn't even blink. The tension in the chair didn't lessen. He just stared, making Benson wait in silence.
"There's one thing standing in the way of that happening," Liam said, letting go of the armrests. "And it's not me."
He finally looked directly at Benson, and the lack of anger in his eyes was somehow worse. It was just a steady, assessing gaze.
"It's you, Ben. Your inability to completely give yourself over to anyone.
Probably since your first marriage." Liam leaned forward slightly, closing some of the distance between them.
The air grew heavy. "You have to be all in.
Completely open. Available. Not afraid of being ashamed or embarrassed by who you are. "
He paused, letting each word land like a stone.
"Because even when you're surrounded by people who love you, who would die for you," Liam's voice dropped to a near whisper, "you're your own fucking worst enemy."
Benson took it all in. Every word. He felt the truth of it settle in his gut. His throat was clogged, a wall of unshed words and old denials pressing tight. He wanted to argue, to say it wasn't that simple. But it was. And the silence he offered was its own kind of agreement.
"So here's the deal," Liam said, the words quiet but carrying the weight of a thrown gauntlet. "Show me you've changed. Prove it. Until then, I won't agree to anything long-term."
Benson opened his mouth.
"And until that happens," Liam continued, unwavering, "I will fight for my right to be in Eden's life. Even if that means pushing you out."
A cold knot formed in Benson's stomach. He had to reach for something, anything to hold onto. "What about my apartment?" he finally managed, the words barely audible.
"That was me," Liam cut him off, a bitter smile touching his lips for a fleeting second. "Giving in. My inability to get over you. A moment of weakness."
He leaned back, reclaiming his space on the chair. The distance felt like a mile.
"And I don't think for two seconds," Liam added, his final word a soft, fatal blow, "it goes the other way."
The lacrosse players cheered in the distance. Birds chirped in the trees. But on the small balcony, a silent war had been declared.
“So, now you know my terms.” Liam got up. “I’m not getting sucked into your bullshit until you’ve shown me you’ve changed. I’ve already wasted one ventricle of my heart on you. I’m not wasting another.”
He left. Benson did not go after him. Instead, he sat and chewed on that.
Benson stayed on the balcony long after Liam's car would have left the gravel lot. The sun was lower now, forcing the lacrosse players to consider heading inside. The root beer was warm, forgotten in his hand.
I really loved him. The memory hit him with the force of a physical blow.
Not just the idea of Liam, but the man himself.
After the suffocating end of his marriage, after years of feeling like a failure, there was Liam.
He’d found a man who understood him. A man who saw the jagged edges of him and didn’t flinch.
A man who met his needs without needing a blueprint, who understood the quiet desperation for control and the equally deep need to surrender it.
It had been a relief so profound it felt like surfacing after holding his breath for a decade.
And that was the problem. That understanding, that quick and effortless connection, had been their undoing. Because Liam, in his infinite, frustrating clarity, knew Benson’s limits before Benson himself did. He knew Benson wasn't ready to give him what he deserved.
Liam was not a man who would play second fiddle.
He never had. He wouldn’t accept scraps of love, a carefully portioned piece of a whole.
He deserved to be the main course, the entire feast, loved with a reckless, whole-hearted abandon by whoever was lucky enough to stand beside him.
He deserved someone who would shout his name, not whisper it in the dark.