Chapter 29
Remi
I’m in my room, getting dressed after my shower, when my phone lights with a text from the youngest Harper brother.
Auggie: I think I fucked up.
Amused, I type out a response.
Me: You’ll have to be more specific.
Auggie: Benson told me about our dad being a giant douchebag, and I kind of went off on him.
Auggie: Our dad, not Benson.
Auggie: Now he’s gone and not answering his phone.
Frowning, I step out into the hall, pausing to see if I can feel any vibrations on the floorboards. A hunch has me going up the stairs to the attic, even though no lights are on.
My shoulders come down when I see Benson sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, his back to me. Based on the slight turn of his head, I suspect he knows I’m here. I type a quick response to Auggie before pocketing my phone.
Me: Found him.
Benson doesn’t turn around as I step his way, the room dim, scant light coming through the windows from the setting sun.
I realize once I’m close enough that Mouse is with Benson, the rodent dancing around his fingers as he bounces them on the floor, playing at trapping the field mouse.
He doesn’t seem to mind her occasionally gnawing on him.
“Hey,” I say quietly, sitting down at his side, my leg pressed to his. “All right?”
His throat works in a swallow, but he doesn’t say a word. He looks…stiff. Like he’s barely holding himself together.
I’m not sure if it’s what happened with Auggie or if the day is simply catching up to him. Maybe both.
Benson stills when I run a hand along the back of his neck, but then he’s closing his eyes and swaying as if some sort of tension has been cut. I feel it in my own chest, that snap.
“Oh, Ben. Can I hug you?”
I’ve no sooner asked than Benson is curling my way.
He drops his face to my neck, tugging me halfway onto his lap.
Mouse scurries off, and I close the remaining distance between us, settling with my legs outside Benson’s hips.
His shoulders shudder under my palms, tension leaching from him in increments.
“Want to tell me about it?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, not even with a shake of his head.
I rub over his back, letting my own eyes close as Benson’s beard bristles my neck. His fingers are tugging at my shirt, plucking and twisting in a rhythmic pattern.
“Do you want to know something I realized today?” I don’t wait for an answer before going on, a smile pulling at my cheek. “I never have to worry when I’m around you.”
Benson’s movements slow.
“I knew that already,” I admit, “but I saw it again today. Being able to communicate with you fully? I’ve never had that before, not with a partner. I’m safe to be myself around you.”
He squeezes me tighter, as if in agreement.
“Although…I think next time I’ll leave the trail mix at home.”
His chest shakes in a huff, his lips pressing to my neck. Apart from his hands, he doesn’t move, not seeming to mind my weight on him. So I talk. About the Silkies, about the ranch, about our coworkers and the new chicken salad sandwich with cherries his mom is trying out at the shop.
It’s dark outside when I feel a shift in Benson. His hand smooths purposefully up my back, the man himself leaning away slightly. I catch his gaze, although his features are difficult to make out.
His eyes flick to my ear before he lifts a hand to his chest. ‘Sorry.’
‘What for?’
He doesn’t seem to have an answer for that, which makes me smile. That smile slips when he lifts his hands again. ‘Is it not like this for everyone?’
‘What do you mean, Ben?’
He squints a little, and I huff a small laugh.
“Want to head downstairs?” I suggest.
He nods, and I press a kiss to his temple before standing. Benson follows me slowly to his feet, a brief rumble accompanying the move I suspect is a groan. When his eyes flick my way, I visibly zip my lips.
‘Youth,’ he signs with so much feigned disgust I laugh.
As Benson collects Mouse, I head to the stairway and turn on the light.
Inside my room, Benson sets Mouse inside her cardboard home, adding some food from his backpack before filling her water in the bathroom sink.
After making sure the rodent is settled, he grabs his toiletries bag and does the same for himself.
I already brushed my teeth after my shower, so I wait on the bed. Benson comes back into the room a couple minutes later, pulling pajama bottoms out of his bag. With not an ounce of fanfare, he switches out his clothes, carefully folding his jeans and shirt before sliding them into his backpack.
When he comes my way, he looks…tired. Drained.
‘We can chat later if you want,’ I tell him.
His eyes follow my hands before he shakes his head, easing onto the bed beside me. He sits, better able to sign that way. When it’s clear he’s not sure where to start, I prompt him.
‘You asked if it’s not like this for everyone. What do you mean?’
His chest drops in an exhale before he lifts his hands. ‘It’s so much. In here.’ He taps his chest, over his heart. ‘It physically hurts sometimes. And I don’t see other people hurting like that. Do people not…feel this much? It’s hard to breathe past.’
‘Heartache?’ I ask.
His face scrunches for a second before he pinches his fingers in a no. ‘Love.’
My pulse skitters, my breath leaving me.
Benson goes on before I can formulate a response. ‘August stood up for me earlier. And it hit me that I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him do that. But it came at the cost of him being upset with our dad, and I never intended that.’
‘You know August has complicated feelings toward your dad.’
‘I know, but I made it worse.’
‘By telling the truth?’
He scrubs a hand over his face, his eyes on the comforter beside my knee. ‘And when we spotted that bear earlier? I had a handful of seconds to run rapid-fire scenarios through my head while I was trying to get your attention.’
There goes my pulse again.
‘Every time,’ Benson signs decisively, ‘every single time, it ended with me following you to the ground. There was no other choice. If you’d gone down there, I would have, too.’
“Ben,” I croak out, not even sure the word is audible. I lift my hands. ‘Are you saying you would have fought a bear for me?’
He shakes his head rapidly, his movements the same. ‘You don’t fight grizzlies. You play dead. I envisioned exactly how I’d lie over your body, Remi. I realized it then. And now… Now I’m here because I wanted to be near you more than I wanted you not to see me like this.’
‘Like what? Emotional? Human?’
He blinks several times. I can see him battling a lifetime of outside opinions. Opinions on masculinity, sure. Men don’t cry. Men don’t show weakness. It’s all bull.
But it’s more than that for Benson. For the child who learned his responses weren’t considered normal. For the adult who carried those lessons with him and who is only now learning how to undo the damage.
Which makes it all the more impactful when he decides to let it all go.
Wet eyes lift to mine, a tear slipping down his cheek. ‘I’m surrounded by love. And it hurts.’
‘Good hurt?’ I ask, my hands shaking as much as Benson’s.
He nods. ‘Nothing ever stays the same, Remi. Except maybe my figurines. But even they’ll crumble to dust eventually.’
‘Yet you still collect them.’
Benson understands my point. I can see it in his eyes as they hold mine, pinging slowly back and forth. ‘I can’t not. Love is always worth the hurt.’ His gaze shifts toward the cardboard box on the floor, his throat bobbing as he swallows. ‘When I have to say goodbye… Would you be there with me?’
Ah, fuck.
I squeeze Benson’s knee. ‘Yeah, Ben. I’ll be there.’
He nods, relief mixing with the anguish still painting his features.
He rubs his chest, and I can’t stand it anymore.
I give his shoulder a gentle shove until he gets the hint and lies down.
With my cheek pressed to Benson’s chest, I feel the beat of his heart until it settles, the gentle sway of his breaths.
His fingers run through my hair, his other arm holding me as tightly as the change he sees coming.
Sometimes words aren’t needed.
For a person to offer their fears. Their heart.
For another to accept them.
Benson was right. Love is big. And scary. And so many wonderful things we’re capable of losing.
But it’s worth it.
Every single time.
I generally try to sleep in a bit on Sundays, but Benson and I wake before the sun, likely because of how early we fell asleep.
For a few minutes, we simply blink at each other with sleepy smiles, Benson’s gaze running over me unhurriedly, the world around us silent and still.
When he signs, ‘Toilet,’ I chuckle and nod.
As Benson pads out of the room, I slip my CI free from the dehumidifier and pop in a fully charged battery. Sound flicks to life with a soft hum, the sink running down the hall, a robin singing a familiar cadence outside the window.
Benson comes back into the room looking sleep-rumpled but more awake than a few minutes ago.
“Morning,” I say softly.
He clocks the CI nestled over my ear, easily following my cues. “Morning,” he replies, voice low and rumbly in a way that has me smiling.
“You sound delicious.”
Benson looks taken aback.
I chuckle. “Hungry?”
He nods, checking on Mouse as I make my own pit stop in the bathroom. The moment we get downstairs, rounding the corner into the kitchen to find my brother Jackson nursing his thermos of coffee, Benson turns right back around. Presumably to grab a shirt.
I stare at my brother until he lifts his eyes, a question on his face. “It’s not even the ass crack of dawn,” I inform him.
Jackson glances at the clock, swallowing his sip of coffee. “And?”
I wave my hand frantically around. “This isn’t your house anymore! What are you even doing here? You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m imposing a no visitors before 5 a.m. rule.”
He opens his mouth, but I barrel on.
“Ash is exempt, of course, as the ranch cook.”
Jackson balks. “What? But what about me?”
“Unless you’re here to make breakfast for everyone in his absence, you can wait outside. You heard me. Skedaddle.”
My brother looks shocked as I herd him toward the door. He sputters, but I successfully get him through, not even slamming the door after him but shutting it quietly. Once I’m back in the kitchen, I check out the window.
Jackson is standing on the front lawn, seemingly shell-shocked.
When his head turns, I follow his gaze to see our dad waving him over to his small pink cottage, still wearing pajama pants himself and a warm sweater.
Jackson heads that way, the two sitting out on the porch in the dim light from the fairy lights our dad hung a couple weeks ago.
Jackson is shaking his head, likely explaining he’s been booted from the main house.
I huff, starting a pot of coffee as Benson’s footsteps near.
“Did you really kick him out?”
“Damn straight,” I mutter. “This family needs to learn some boundaries. Especially now that I’ll have company more often.”
Heat lines my back as Benson leans against me. It’s a slow movement, his arms wrapping tentatively around me from behind. “Are you talking about me?”
“I don’t have another boyfriend, do I?”
“I dunno. I see the way you look at Ira’s mouth.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh, spinning enough to see the smile on Benson’s face. “That’s because he’s a mumbler, and I can barely ever understand him. Your mouth is the only one I’m interested in. Which reminds me, you haven’t kissed me today.”
Benson doesn’t need me to spell it out further. His hand slips up to my cheek, his thumb raises my chin, and then his mouth covers mine. Warm. Captivating. So damn earnest I can feel my knees turning weak.
He waits until oxygen becomes a necessity to draw back, his expression so serious for the words that come out of his mouth. “If you still want me to fuck you, I can do that the next time I’m in your bed.”
I groan, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. “Ben.”
He chuckles lightly. “I didn’t want you to think I forgot. But yesterday…”
“No, I know,” I cut in, lifting my head. I smooth my hands over Benson’s chest before giving him a pat. “Next time is good.”
He hums, the purr of it vibrating up my arm.
Lest I get sidetracked, I clear my throat and return to the task of making breakfast. “By the way, I forgot to ask… How’d you get in last night?”
Benson looks sheepish when I emerge from the fridge with a carton of eggs. “Um… Your dad gave me a key.”
“Of course he did.” I shake my head, grabbing a pan. “Have you checked in with August yet? He was worried when you took off.”
I texted him an update last night while Benson was getting ready for bed, but I imagine Auggie would appreciate hearing from Benson himself that he’s all right. That he’s not mad. Only concerned about the people in his life hurting.
“I’ll talk to him,” Benson answers. “I don’t want to be the cause of more friction between him and our dad.”
I grab a whisk for the eggs but pause, leaning against the counter. “I think, if your brother is upset by the way your father has treated you, that’s his call.”
Benson tugs at the sleeve of his shirt, gaze downcast as he fidgets with the material. “You’re right. I just…”
“You don’t want him to be mad at you.”
“I just got him,” Benson says, his voice sounding hoarse. “August is finally talking to me. Looking at me. I don’t…want to lose that. I don’t want to lose him.”
“You won’t.”
“How can you know?”
I huff gently, grabbing the bowl of eggs. “Because he’s a stubborn sonofabitch. And he just got you, too.”
Benson glances out the window, lost in thought, but his shoulders lower some. I whisk the eggs, the color reminding me of yellow glacier lilies and white spring beauties. Of sun and warmth and, now, the memory of Benson’s smile.
“Wanna go for a walk after breakfast?” I ask him. “Me, you, and Mouse? We could bring your coffee. Find somewhere quiet to catch the sunrise.”
I can see the answer in the uptick at the corner of Benson’s mouth, even before his eyes find mine. He lifts his hand. A single yes given without pause.
It’s not at all hard to imagine countless mornings just like this.
Benson Harper. In my kitchen. In my life.
It’s so bright I can’t even count the colors.