Chapter Thirty-Eight
Benji
They arrested her.
Dragged her out like she was nothing. Like she didn’t light up every dull inch of that sterile fucking room, or my whole goddamn world.
And now she’s behind bars and I’m standing here like an asshole while some clipboard-wielding lady tells me, “I’m sorry, sir. She’s being held overnight. The judge won’t be available to set bond until morning.”
Is that supposed to be okay? I’m just supposed to nod and walk away while they cage the only person who makes me feel human?
I take a deep breath, trying not to sound like I’m about to lose it. “I think there’s been a mistake. I can post whatever you need. Cash, card, wire transfer. I’ll figure it out. She can’t spend the night in a place like this.”
But it’s not a mistake. I know that. And she knows I know.
Her expression softens just a little, pitying. That makes it worse.
I turn, heart pounding, and spot Dr. Hartwell standing by the doors like some kind of broody guardian angel in a sweater.
I rush toward him. “Dr. Hartwell, you can do something, right? Have them release her under your supervision?”
He holds out a hand. “Benji. Rhys will do. It’s nice to formally meet you… just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”
Yeah. Same. I shake his hand.
“Judge won’t set bail till morning,” I say, barely holding it together. “But if there’s a way around it, house arrest, ankle monitor, whatever, I’ll take responsibility. I’ll sign anything. She shouldn’t be in a cell.”
Rhys gives me that intense therapist stare, peeling back my skin to look at the bones of what I’m feeling. It’s unnerving. “Let me speak with them.”
I nod. Clench my fists. Start pacing the lobby while he heads over to talk to the woman at the desk.
It takes less than two minutes. Too fast to be good news.
Rhys walks back, shaking his head before I even ask.
“She’s a repeat offender,” he says quietly. “That complicates things. They won’t consider special release without judicial review.”
Repeat offender. Right. Because she loves too hard, and the universe punishes her for it. Boots her teeth in while she’s choking on blood and glitter and still trying to smile.
I grip the back of a waiting room chair, trying not to snap the damn thing in half.
She’s in a cell right now. Probably cold. Probably pissed. Definitely scared shitless under all that glitter and bravado, even if she’d die before letting it show. And I’m here. Helpless. Powerless. Nothing to offer but pacing and promises and the quiet, gnawing fury in my chest.
But she’s not gonna spend one second longer in there than she has to. I’ll be back at sunrise. With bail, coffee, donuts. My whole fucking heart in a paper bag if that’s what it takes.
“What about Jett?” I ask, because… hell. He matters to her. They got into this together.
Rhys nods. “His lawyer’s already on it. Jett should be eligible for bail tonight.”
“But not her?” I hate how bitter that sounds. I’m not mad at Jett. I’m mad at the whole fucked system. “Didn’t Jett already have… issues too?”
Rhys exhales. “He did. But he was provoked, and Walter, his attorney, started working his case the minute they were booked. That’s the difference.”
I nod, jaw tight. It’s not fair. None of this is. But especially not for her.
Rhys must see it on my face, because his voice softens. “I get it. She’s vulnerable. She doesn’t belong here.”
And that tells me everything. That she’s gotten to him.
Crawled under his skin the same way she’s burrowed into mine.
And I did tell her I was cool with this sharing thing, but hearing it, feeling it, is different when she’s locked up and I’m clenching my fists to keep from crying or throwing something.
“Is there nothing we can do right now?” I ask, knowing the answer, asking anyway.
“Jett offered his lawyer to help her. Walter will take over her case as soon as Jett’s released,” he says.
I’m already pulling out my wallet. “Can I bail him out?”
Rhys blinks. “You would?”
“She cares about him. That’s enough. Same goes for you, by the way. I’d post bond in a heartbeat.”
He huffs a laugh. “Not that I’m planning on getting arrested anytime soon, but… good to know I have options.”
His smile is real. And kind. And yeah, okay, I get why she’s into him. It’s not just the jawline. He’s calm in a crisis. Steady. Empathetic in a way that’s hard to fake.
“You don’t even have my number,” I joke, trying not to melt down in public.
“I’ll fix that,” he says. “But if you really want to cover Jett’s bail, it’s under Ryker. Let me grab the paperwork.”
The woman at the desk doesn’t give me any grief about posting Jett’s bail.
I guess it’s expected when men like him get into fights. Shrug-worthy. Normal.
But Delilah? Nah. She doesn’t fit their little boxes. Too pretty. Too strange. Too much to belong in a cell.
It’s a while before they bring Jett out, which means I’m stuck in this sterile lobby with Rhys, trapped in awkward silence and fluorescent lighting.
What the hell are we supposed to talk about?
Can’t exactly ask how therapy went today.
He can’t tell me what Delilah said. I can’t tell him that I know he’s pretending this ends with her as his patient and not his future emotional support orgasm.
And I won’t say it, but I think we both know how this finishes.
Not with boundaries. Not with professionalism.
She doesn’t let people stay untouched.
Finally, Jett strides into the lobby looking only slightly less pissed off than he did when we had our little hallway showdown. Still got that bruised-pride stiffness to him, like the whole world owes him an apology.
His eyes lock on me and Rhys, and his jaw tightens, bracing for a punch. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says.
“No. I didn’t,” I answer.
Rhys tenses beside me. He can feel the weight in the air too.
Maybe this is where it pops off. If Jett swings on me, he’s not getting bail again tonight.
But Jett just exhales, tight and sharp, looking disappointed I’m not being more of a dick about it. “Where is she?”
“They’re not setting her bail tonight,” Rhys says gently. As if it might land softer if it comes from him.
“Fuck,” Jett says. “I told Walter to handle hers first.”
Rhys shakes his head. “Wouldn’t have mattered. She’s flagged. Repeat offenses. Judge won’t touch it till morning.”
“Like I’m not?” Jett rakes a hand through his hair. I can tell it’s killing him that she’s stuck back there and he’s out here breathing free air.
“You want a lift to your bike?” Rhys offers.
“I’m headed that way,” I add. “Gonna grab something to eat and drink. They feed you in there?”
They both turn toward me like I just suggested a double date to hell.
Jett tilts his head. “Little hungry. Where you going?”
I shrug. Like this is normal. And I’m not losing my goddamn mind inside. “We got options. That burger joint a few blocks over’s fantastic. Or there’s the steakhouse.”
“Fuck a steakhouse,” Jett says. “The burger place serve beer?”
“Yeah,” Rhys answers before I can.
“Who you riding with?” I ask.
Jett flicks his gaze between us, assessing who he hates least. “Yeah, okay. I’ll ride with you,” he says, nodding toward me. “Take me to my bike. I’ll follow.”
Rhys adjusts his sleeves. “I’ll be there. Maybe a few beers in.”
Don’t I know that feeling. Wanting to drown in hops and foam because the girl we’d all kill for is locked in a goddamn cage.
Jett follows me to my car.
Rhys heads off toward his own, probably already overthinking every word we said.
Once the doors close, it’s just me and Jett. The man she chased while still catching her breath from me. I was first. That matters. But it doesn’t undo the way she looks at him, the way she sparks when he’s near, like they’re two wires trying not to arc in a storm.
The silence is heavy. Not angry, just… uncomfortable. We’re both choking on something we don’t know how to say.
He’s stiff in the seat. Waiting for a fight or bracing for disappointment. I get the sense he wouldn’t love easily under any circumstances and even now, I’m not sure he knows that’s what he’s doing.
We have a common ground though as hard as that is.
“I hate leaving her there,” I say.
“Feels like shit,” he says. “Fucking Chad.”
“What kind of asshole gets bitch slapped and presses charges?” I say, turning onto the main road. “Well, and the car.”
Jett lets out the ghost of a laugh. Just one sharp exhale. “She’s a menace. He’s a fucking coward. He’s pressing charges ‘cause she’s mine. That’s it. That’s the reason. I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”
“Hey now,” I say, glancing over. “I don’t got the bail money for that.”
That earns me a longer look.
Jett turns in his seat, squinting at me like I just offered to knit him a sweater. “That was… really fucking weird.”
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “She likes you. This’ll mean something to her. Not just that we got you out. But that we’re talking. Not breaking each other’s faces in the parking lot.”
“The night’s not over yet,” he says.
I nod. “No, it’s not.”
We fall into silence for a stretch, until the light turns green and I pull forward. Then the thought slips out before I can dress it up. “It’s not easy, you know,” I say. “Thinking about her with you.”
“Then why the fuck did you say it was?” he demands.
I glance over at him, feeling the heat rise in my throat. “I didn’t say I’d get off on it, Jett. I said I’m okay with it. Because I love her. Because I want her happy. You ever see her laugh? Like really laugh? It changes her. She lights up. It’s rare. She hides so much pain behind all that chaos.”
Jett looks out the window, trying to keep himself from absorbing any of that. “You’re supposed to be the nice one,” he says. “Let Rhys make shit deep and weird. She wants to fuck him too. I don’t like that either.”
“Same.” I pull into the lot beside his bike and throw the car in park. “You still want to eat with me and Rhys?”
He glances at me, suspicious. “You gonna keep your feelings to yourself?”
“Probably not. Delilah’s locked up, and I’m feeling pretty raw about it.”
He runs a hand through his hair, sighs like the whole world’s a goddamn inconvenience. “Shit. Well, I’m hungry. And Rhys is expecting me.” He stares at me. “You didn’t have to do that. Not even for her. She wouldn’t have expected it. She expects us to be assholes and make her work for it.”
“I know,” I say. “But maybe it’s time we flipped it. Maybe we should be working for her affection. Proving she’s worth it. Because she’s been taught for way too long, maybe since she was a kid, that she’s not.”
Jett stares. Doesn’t speak.
“Could’ve started with her parents,” I add quietly.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Still sounds like Rhys’s job to sort out.”
“You love her?” I ask, voice low.
Jett stiffens. He doesn’t answer right away. “She’s mine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
He opens the door, conversation over, like the question’s too big to sit with. Then, without turning back he says, “Yeah.”
He slams the door shut and heads for his bike.