Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Harper
I call his parents and Tahoe almost every single day to see how Ben is doing.
He’ll come around eventually. He’ll let me back in.
He has to. He’s my best friend. Ben needs me, he just hasn’t worked that out yet.
I can make him feel better. I know what he needs. It’s been six months since Norah died.
I went to the funeral, and it was just as tragic and sad as you’d expect.
Ben wore his uniform, as did several of his friends.
It was an enormous ceremony filled with so many people who loved Norah.
Ben didn’t get up to speak. The other vet in Norah’s practice did.
It’s sort of fitting. Norah spent most of her life with her. More than with Ben, I’d fathom a guess.
Ben met my gaze once. He looked away almost as soon as he saw I was looking his way.
It was the first time I thought maybe this was a permanent friendship break, and my own heartbreak intensified tenfold.
Tahoe told me he’s only doing well on the surface, that he doesn’t trust him by himself, so he’s been spending a lot of time with him on their off hours.
Ben didn’t take any time off work. He’s been working even more, taking missions that aren’t intended for his schedule.
He’s burning himself out. It’s so he doesn’t have to think.
His brain doesn’t ever turn off unless he’s exhausted.
Darren died after suffering for several days after he woke from the coma.
The masochist who wanted him to live out his days in jail was satisfied in the painful way he went.
Marcus moved back to the East Coast. He emailed me last week to let me know he transferred to Harvard to teach linguistics.
It sparked a glimmer of jealousy. The thing is, I’d never do anything about it. I’m where I’m supposed to be.
Since the accident, I get angry more easily.
I wish I’d ruined Marcus’s life. Filed a restraining order, made a black mark on his record so he’d have to suffer what he did to me for the rest of his life.
He’s seeing a girl, too. I wonder if she knows what he did to me, how he ruined a relationship with jealous rage.
That wasn’t who I was back then, though.
It’s who I am now. Bitter. Hardened by a life that I feel has never been my own.
I chose it, though I chose what I thought would serve me best instead of choosing what would make me happiest. I sacrificed my only opportunity to have my happily ever after by being selfish. It serves me right.
Martina and her husband just left. I had several people over to my house for dinner.
Now that it’s fully furnished and has all the charm of a Martha Stewart catalog, I’ve been hosting.
It does make me feel better for a little while.
My friends occupy my free time during daylight hours.
At night, I’m so alone even my breath causes loneliness.
Like Ben’s surface happiness, I feel as if most of the people in my life are surface friends.
Those that know me, but not deeply. Not every single detail and quirk. They know what I want them to see.
The one person who I savor a past with wants nothing to do with me, and I can’t say I blame him.
It was Ben who tried time after time to tell me and show me what we could have had.
It’s wince-worthy when I think back. It’s not equal parts pain and pleasure when I think of Ben.
He saw what I ignored for years. You know how you can only cry wolf so many times?
You can only turn a man down so many times before he believes you don’t want him in the same way he wants you.
Add in vehicular manslaughter, and you have a recipe to destroy any sort of relationship for the rest of time.
Once I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen to a spit shine, I shower and then call my mom.
I’m seeing her this weekend. She told me Ben’s parents were coming for dinner, and there was no way I could turn down the invitation.
I want anything that has a connection to him.
I flip the television on in my bedroom after I hang up with her and pull down my covers.
It’s midnight when my doorbell rings. It’s not a normal bell, it’s a high-pitched screech that jars me anytime I hear it. This late at night, it might as well be a police siren. I let out a tiny scream as I trudge out of my bed, cell phone in hand. I slide over the peephole and look through.
It’s Ben. And even from the skewed bubble version I see, he looks like absolute shit. Unlocking the door, I open it. There’s still a glass door between us, so I slide down the storm window.
“Hey,” he says, eyes brimming with red, dark circles. “What are you up to?” There’s no other way to explain it. Ben looks haunted.
I decide against peppering him with questions and answer him.
“Um. Bed. Watching some TV. What are you up to?” I glance at the driveway and see his truck and then eye him from his head down and back up again.
Leveling him with my gaze, I say, “You finally popped on a drug screen? They kicked you out of the Teams?” It’s a slight nod to his haggard appearance without commenting on it.
A small crooked grin appears on his face.
“Nah. I just got home from work. I haven’t seen your new house yet,” he says, like it’s a legitimate reason for stopping by in the middle of the night.
He hasn’t spoken to me in months. I know exactly why he’s here.
His hair is wet, and he’s wearing a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt.
The attire one wears lounging around the house.
“Ben. It’s been months. You’re not okay. It’s obvious. You don’t want to see my new house.”
He swallows and looks up, pretending to examine the lighting fixture above my door. “I wanted to see you. I miss you, Harpee. Believe it or not.” He adds the last sentence to acknowledge his absence.
Do you ever think about the space around you? The area that the wind blows around one individual? It doubles when you’re next to a person, close enough to touch. There’s more life, more oxygen, when I’m in his space. My body calls out to him. To be held by him. It wants more life. I want him.
I slide the lock on the glass door open, and with that click, I know there wasn’t ever an option.
Some may call it a weakness. I call it friendship.
“Come in,” I say. “You just got home. Are you hungry? I have some leftovers. I cooked my mom’s chicken recipe.
You know, that stuffed one she made for my birthday last year? I can heat some up for you.”
Ben sighs, relief prickling every feature on his face, his body relaxing.
“That would be amazing,” he says. He doesn’t look at my house the way any person who wants to check out a friend’s house would.
He stares at my bare legs, covered by only my oversized T-shirt.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long,” he admits.
“I, ah, I’ve been trying to get my shit together, and work has been busy. ”
Because you’ve made work busy, I think.
“You never wanted to see me again. I didn’t expect you to knock on my door…ever,” I say, my tone mocking.
He sits down at the table in my kitchen. It’s where I eat breakfast and have coffee. Drumming his fingers on the table, he says, “I’m sorry. I figured you knew I didn’t mean it.”
“How could I not think you meant it? It made perfect sense. I understand, Ben. I hope you didn’t come here trying to make me feel better about everything. I don’t need your apology. I have to live with the part I played.”
“Harper. I came here because I need you to make me feel better,” he says, grabbing my waist as I pass by him on the way to the microwave. “I need you. Do you understand?” If I didn’t, he’s made it perfectly clear with his touch.
I swallow and eye him from the side. I can’t deny what his hand on my body does to me.
A riot of sensations bleeds to the surface—all those things I try not to think about because I knew I’d never have them again, knew no other man could play my body so precisely.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, turning in his grasp to meet his lust-filled gaze.
“You look like shit, Ben. Being with me isn’t going to help you how you need it to. ”
His eyes glass over. “Don’t make me beg,” he whispers, lips barely parted. “For once, don’t overthink it. Do you want me?” What a cruel, unfair question to ask.
A stronger woman would deny him. Tell him to grow up and deal with his emotions like a big boy. A stronger woman would have grabbed this passionate, beautiful man when she could have. A stronger woman wouldn’t have been afraid of the power of the love we shared. “What do you need? Tell me.”
“What I’ve always needed,” he replies.
I set the cold plate of chicken down on the table, all but forgotten.
“We need to talk first,” I reply, my heart hammering in my ears. I want to ease his pain, steal the hurt away from his body as soon as humanly possible despite any hardships in our past. I think I’ll always feel that way. “Can we talk?”
Ben’s weary face hardens. “Everyone wants to talk. Talking doesn’t fix anything, Harp. Please,” he pleads, standing, taking the sides of my body in his hands. “Please,” he whispers again, voice cracking at the end. “You can fix me. Only you.”
I let him guide me to my bedroom and settle into my bed.
When we’re lying down face-to-face, I admit, “I can’t fix you.
You know that. You need help. I can talk to you as a friend.
” It’s an offer my body rejects. It wants what he’s after.
The friendship needs to come first. It’s obvious he’s in pain.
“What if I don’t need a friend right now? What if I never needed you to be my friend? What if right now I need the woman who loves me? A woman who wants to steal away my pain? The woman who promised to love me through this? Fix me.”