Chapter 5 Harper #2
I tell him about seeing my parents, and although I wait for it, he doesn’t ask about my sleeping arrangement at Ben’s. I end the call with a good feeling about Marcus—all hesitation erased. I walk into the kitchen warily. “Over medium with toast?” I ask.
He clears his throat and nods. “Marcus makes you happy,” Ben says.
If he’d asked me this question ten minutes ago, I’d have had a different answer, but I have to tell him the truth.
Ben is a hero. He lives and breathes in a world that’s equal parts destroyed and perfect.
I live in the perfect version, and he’s not my superhero.
Ben can’t be. “I’m happy, Ben. I need to be a good girlfriend for him.
Give him a chance, yeah?” I nudge him with my shoulder.
He shoulders me back, his bare arm sliding against mine. “You leave me no option. Now cook, Suzy Homemaker. Man is hungry.”
“Oh, piss off, Benny,” I squawk, laughing at his stupid joke he knows will offend me. “I’ll poison your food.”
“Tahoe is on his way over to pick up my bag.”
I crack a couple eggs on the side of the pan and listen to the fizzle and pops. “He reminds me of Arnold Schwarzenegger in that movie where half of his face is a robot. He’s scary.”
Ben laughs, tells me to flip the eggs because he’s micromanaging, and says, “Tahoe is solid. A lot of these guys have been doing this job for such a long time. They teach me a lot. They were SEALs before the attack. Can you imagine? Just normal SEALs.”
I laugh. “As opposed to what? Hybrid SEALs?”
He sighs. “Nah. Just less…risk.”
At the tenor of his voice, I turn to face him, and I raise one brow. “How much risk are you in on a normal workday, exactly?”
He cranes his neck to look at the eggs in the pan. “Less risk than those poor eggs are currently enduring.”
Rolling my eyes, I scoop the eggs out and onto a waiting plate, but I can’t shake the uneasy feeling. “Seriously. Be honest with me.”
“Ah. Ah. Ah. We’re not completely honest with each other anymore. Remember?”
“Touché. Fair point, but I need to know how much danger you’re in. For my own sanity.”
The doorbell rings and Ben escapes my glare. Tahoe ambles in, his large frame hiding the sunlight. “What’s for breakfast?” he quips, flicking his gaze my way.
“Eggs?” I ask, holding up Ben’s plate.
“No, that’s mine!” Ben says, reaching over the counter to take the plate from my hands. “I’ll cook you something if you want, man,” Ben says, nodding at Tahoe.
“Nah. I’m going to meet a girl at Hash House,” he replies, a predatory smile stretching across his face. “What are you two kids getting up to today?”
I drink a sip of Ben’s orange juice and skirt around the corner, self-conscious about my shorts.
It was fine to sleep in my underwear with Ben, but a strange man can’t see me in my pajamas.
I realize the twisted hypocrisy. “He won’t tell me.
Evidently they’re pretty terrific, though.
” I laugh a little. “You don’t strike me as a man who brunches,” I add on.
“I’m getting my greens in. Their Bloody Mary counts as vegetables, and they serve beer in brown bags. So, yes, I do brunch.”
“And I’m sure her tits are dessert,” Ben adds, butting in.
Cringing, I shoot him a dirty look. “Don’t be crass, Ben. It doesn’t suit you. It reeks of desperation.”
Tahoe laughs as he looks between us. “Ben didn’t lie then,” Tahoe remarks. Then to Ben he says, “Where’s your bag, dude? I’ll get it packed up when I drop my stuff off later. You got that new Kevlar in there? Don’t want you getting any holes in your pretty, perfect body.”
Ben looks at me, eyes wide. “He’s joking. Of course he’s joking,” he says, glaring at Tahoe for a second before turning his gaze back to me and my gaping mouth. “I’ll throw it in your truck, dude.”
Tahoe looks taken aback, and he realizes what he’s said.
“Sorry. I’m not used to filtering. You understand?” he says, eyes softening. “Ben’s body repels bullets. He can’t get shot even when he tries.”
“Oh my god, Tahoe. Shut the fuck up, dude!”
“Did you almost get shot?” I nearly yell. It’s one thing to suspect things given his job description, but it’s quite another to hear them spoken about as truth. My heart hammers.
“Which time?” Tahoe laughs.
Ben punches Tahoe’s arm. It’s lighthearted because they’re laughing, but I feel like someone signed my death sentence. Ben’s death sentence. I’m still breathing heavily when Ben returns from bringing his huge bag outside as Tahoe’s loud truck pulls away.
I’m standing in the same spot. Tahoe said his goodbyes, and I must have mumbled through them, but I don’t recall just what I said.
Visions of Ben bleeding out, bullet holes peppered throughout his body, overtake all sane, rational thoughts.
My perfect life has never been more glaring than right now, when I realize that while I’m worrying about exams and jealous boyfriends, Ben is dodging bullets and praying he escapes with his life.
The attacks changed everything in our world, but in my universe, they damaged the one thing I hold dearest.
Ben and I aren’t the same anymore.
The door slams behind him, pulling me from my nightmare. He’s breathing heavy from toting his huge bag, and his abs flex and cave as he breathes. “Get dressed. First up is the comic book store. Then the beach and ice cream,” he says, waggling his brows.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I throw myself into his arms. “Maybe we can do some Jazzercise first?” I whisper through ragged breaths.
He chuckles under his breath. “Sure thing, geek. I’ll dig out my sweatband.”