Chapter 16
Benson
I can’t remember the last time I felt so painfully awkward.
August takes a sip of his coffee as my leg bounces underneath the table. The bakery isn’t particularly busy this late in the morning, which means there are minimal people around to observe my discomfort. But I’m acutely aware of it.
My pulse. The disordered cadence of my tapping shoe. The strain lining my spine as a milk steamer hisses from somewhere behind the counter.
August sips his coffee again.
I must let a noise slip because his eyebrow rises. “Something to say?”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Clearly.”
I grunt. “You’re better at this than me.”
His second eyebrow joins the first. “Better at what?”
I wave a hand his way. “Talking to people. Being…sociable. Help? Please?”
My brother leans back in his chair, looking somewhat shocked. “You’re asking me for help? With conversation?”
“Is that so surprising?”
“I mean… Yes? You never want to talk.”
My frown is immediate. I don’t bother hiding it away, but I stare at my plate as I answer him. “I like hearing about your life, August. I may not be good at…knowing the right things to say. But I’ve always liked listening.”
His finger rolls around the rim of his mug a couple times. “Okay, well, have I mentioned I joined the gym?”
“At the…town rec center?”
“Yeah. Better than driving forty-five minutes, even if their equipment sucks.”
I sweep my gaze over my brother’s face. He doesn’t exactly look happy. “Why’d you join the gym?”
He shrugs. “I’m not very…active, I guess? Apart from running supplies back and forth in the shop, I’m not on my feet a lot. I don’t want that to catch up with me, you know? I mean, you jog all the time. You get it.”
“I hate jogging.”
August’s eyes whip my way. “What? But you do marathons and shit.”
“Did,” I stress. “Not anymore. And I hated every one of them. Find a way to be active that makes you happy, August, because I can guarantee being fit and miserable is no way to live.”
“What the fuck,” he hisses, voice low out of consideration for the people around us. Whether conscious or not, he switches to sign. ‘Why am I only now learning about this?’
I lift my own hands. ‘If you’re going to sign, I need you to slow down just a little.’
His eyes widen. “You’ve been practicing.”
“I told you I have. Remi makes an effort to communicate to the people around him. But he shouldn’t be the only one expected to.”
August heaves out a breath, silence stretching between us for a handful of heartbeats.
“When we were in school, I was the only one who could sign to Remi. None of his teachers learned more than a few phrases. Simple things. Hello. How are you today? No one made an effort that was inconvenient to them.”
My chest aches, but I’m not surprised to hear it.
Even at the ranch, there are employees who see Remi every day who don’t sign more than a greeting.
Remi doesn’t hold it against them, I can tell.
But neither does he bend when it comes to his own comfort.
If he doesn’t want to wear his CI, he doesn’t. Simple as that.
I admire him for it. For standing up for himself in that way.
“He’s worth the effort,” I respond. “But I don’t have to tell you that.”
My brother stares at me for a long moment, his eyes so like our mother’s. I take after our dad. I’ve often wondered if August sees him in me. If it’s part of why our relationship is so strained. “Do you—”
Whatever my brother was going to ask is interrupted by a crash of dishes. I wince, the clatter going on for quite a while before the fallen dishware settles, an employee calling out an apology.
Chatter picks back up again, more people inside the bakery now as the lunch hour approaches. The little bell above the door chimes, and my brother clears his throat. “Wanna head back to the house? We could watch a movie or something?”
“Sure,” I answer, relieved by what feels like an olive branch of sorts. At the very least, August isn’t yet sick of my company.
The drive is short, me behind the wheel as some country music plays that my brother picked out.
Once we’re back home, August heads to the kitchen to grab himself a soda while I check on Mouse.
She’s fine, exploring the new maze I left for her this morning.
Her cast will come off in a few weeks. My chest pinches, even as I know letting her go is for the best.
When I get back downstairs, August is browsing a streaming service. I join him on the couch, tapping fingers caught between my knees.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asks. “Action? Comedy? Or maybe you want to tell me what you’ve been putting off all day?”
I freeze, a lump lodging in my throat. My flight response kicks in too suddenly and forcefully for me to counteract. “Excuse me.”
“Benson,” August calls, his voice soft.
I round the corner into the hall and shut myself in the bathroom. My eyes slip closed as I work to steady my breathing.
Forty-two goddamn years old and still scared of confrontation.
I thought I was prepared. Or at least as prepared as I could be to tell my brother I’m autistic and interested in his friend.
But faced with the prospect of rejection by one of the people I love most in this world, I realize there’s no amount of running through hypotheticals that could have prepared me for this.
Rejection sensitive dysphoria, I repeat in my head, the words from Steph helping me to focus on the logistics instead of the way I feel. Intense emotional pain from rejection or perceived rejection. It’s a loop born from a lifetime of criticism in small doses and in large.
Any other time, I would find my center, shove my feelings down deep where I could deal with them later, and walk out the door in any number of suits I’d developed over the years.
Customer Service Ben. Businessman Ben. Carefree Friend Ben or Impenetrable Family Member Ben.
I’d get through it the way I always have.
The only way I knew how. By hiding away everything that makes me me.
But I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t think I can.
There’s a difference between putting on a brave smile every once in a while and convincing yourself you’re brave, isn’t there? How do you convince yourself of something you now know is a lie?
I pull out my phone with a shaking hand and text the only person I haven’t felt the need to hide from since coming back to Montana, even though I don’t understand why.
Me: Can you help me tell him?
He doesn’t ask any questions. Maybe he doesn’t need to.
Remington Darling: Be right there.
I breathe a little easier as I wait for Remi to arrive. No doubt my brother is wondering why I’m locked away in the bathroom, but I can’t worry about that. I run a hand over my beard, tug my sleeves until the seams aren’t bunched against my arms, and allow myself the time to simply be.
When there’s a knock at the front of the house, I hasten to my feet and walk into the living room. August is opening the door, a perplexed expression on his face that I barely clock before my eyes are on Remi. He’s staring right back at me.
There’s none of that pity in his eyes that he so hates. There’s barely even concern. Just a soft smile telling me everything will be okay.
And Christ, I think I believe it.
“Uh,” August says slowly, even as he steps back so Remi can come inside. “Did we have plans I forgot about?”
“No,” Remi answers simply, toeing off his shoes.
“Then why…” My brother’s head snaps toward the hallway where I’m standing, his eyes latching onto me. “Did you call him?”
I ease out a breath. “Texted. Technically.”
August huffs a short laugh that’s anything but amused. “Technically. Sure. What the hell is going on? What is this?”
Remi steers August toward the couches. “Sit.”
“For what?” August demands, panic overtaking his face as he looks my way again. “Is he here for moral support? Are you…sick or something?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. I’m healthy.”
I don’t refute the moral support part. Because even though August’s assumption that Remi is here for him isn’t quite correct, his overall observation is.
August plunks onto a cushion, and Remi sits beside him, canting his head a little to urge me further into the room. I walk slowly to the chair beside the couch, Remi nearest to me.
I can see my brother looking between us, even as my eyes stay on Remi’s. I know I’m being obvious, but I can’t stop. Not when I’m staring at cloudless skies that make me feel like, for once, I’ve found a place to belong.
August’s voice cuts above the steadily ticking grandfather clock at the edge of the room. “Someone needs to tell me what’s going on right now. Because the two of you are having some sort of telepathic conversation, which means Remi knows whatever this is and I don’t.”
“It’s nothing bad,” Remi says softly, hands moving the same.
“But you do know,” August accuses, hurt flashing across his features that I never wanted to cause. “I’m starting to feel like this is some sort of two-against-one intervention—”
“We kissed,” I cut in before August can jump to any more conclusions.
Remi closes his eyes briefly, but he doesn’t look upset. Only calm and resigned. He shifts August’s way as my brother gapes.
“Um,” August says, shaking his head a little. “You…”
“Kissed,” Remi confirms.
August’s breath puffs from him. “Like…a little whoops, our mouths touched sort of thing? Or…”
“No, very intentional,” I tell him.
Remi coughs, the sound quick and almost amused.
“What?” my brother squeaks. “But… And…”
“We’re telling you because we plan on it happening again,” Remi says gently, cutting to the heart of the matter in a far softer way than I would have managed.
August pops up off the couch, his eyes wide as they swing to me. “Seriously?”
I nod, not knowing what else to do.
“I’m sorry,” my brother says incredulously, rubbing a palm harshly over his face before tossing a hand Remi’s way, even as he speaks to me. “Are you asking for my permission to fuck the guy I lost my virginity to?”
“August,” Remi barks, voice harsher than I’ve ever heard, his arms snapping as he stands to face my brother. I have trouble following his words, my heart stumbling over itself, my mind tumbling the same. “Don’t make it out to sound like more than it was. You’re being an asshole.”
“I just found out you two are…” August aims his hand between me and Remi. “You expect me to be calm about it?”
“Yes,” Remi retorts decisively.
I clear my throat. “You two…have feelings for each other?”
“No,” they answer at the same time.
Remi comes my way, dropping to a crouch in front of my chair, his hands running up and down my thighs.
Perhaps he can tell my world is spinning because his voice is soft but steeled in equal measure.
“It was never like that. Not for either of us. Your brother just processes his emotions out loud in real time. Faith, remember?”
August scoffs. “You’re comforting him instead of me?”
“Oh my God,” Remi groans, standing and facing my brother.
He tugs him in, August making a disgruntled sound as Remi hugs him firmly.
“Auggie, I need you to listen to me carefully, all right? I mean this in the nicest possible way. This isn’t about you.
” He pauses for only a second. “Please, please, stop being defensive and pay attention to what your brother is trying to say.”
August’s eyes meet mine over Remi’s shoulder, his appraisal sharp in a way I can feel down to my bones. But I don’t look away, unwilling to back down on something so pivotal. August licks his lips as Remi steps back. “You…have feelings for Remi?”
I can feel Remi’s gaze on my face. The clock tick, ticks twice. I nod.
August deflates, even his expression seeming to lose any trace of anger. He lets out a groaning sort of sob before shoving Remi’s shoulder softly. “My brother? Really?”
Remi’s lips twitch, and I feel like I can breathe again. “Would you have rather we kept it to ourselves?”
“No?” August answers, flopping back onto the couch. “Yes? I don’t know. This can’t be real.”
Remi retakes the seat next to him, but he’s sitting closer to me than he was before. Close enough to set a hand on my knee. I slide my own over his, giving my tapping fingers something to grasp onto. Remi shoots me a soft smile.
“Oh my God,” August moans. “Can you please not eye-fuck in front of me?”
He makes a fake gagging sound that has Remi smacking his leg.
August’s head rolls on top of the couch back as he looks my way, a slight furrow in his brow. “Have you guys been hiding this the whole time?”
“We haven’t been hiding it,” Remi defends.
“Define ‘whole time,’” I put in.
“Ben,” Remi groans, although his next words are aimed at August. “It’s new.”
If anything, that furrow in August’s brow only grows. “Then…what’s been going on lately? And don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
I realize he’s talking to me and have to resist the urge to flee once more. Remi’s hand tightens around my own, a small squeeze that helps fortify me. Before I can lose my nerve, I open my mouth. “There is something else I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
“I knew it,” August says, although there’s no ire in his voice. “You better not be pregnant. I swear to God—I can only handle so much at once.”
“I’m…a cis man,” I say slowly. “You know that’s not—”
“Je-sus,” August cries, laughter in his voice. “I’m kidding. What is it? Just rip off the Band-Aid. You already said you’re not dying, so what could it possibly be? You’re moving again? You’re taking my best friend with you? You’re—”
“Autistic,” I answer.
August’s breath whooshes from him, and he sits up straight. “What?”
“I’m autistic.”
My brother looks between me and Remi. Remi’s eyes are watching me calmly, the slight smile at the corner of his mouth reminding me of what it felt like to kiss him. Probably not what I should be focusing on right now, but it’s hard to see anything else.
August makes a sound that reminds me of Remi’s own huh upon hearing the news. It’s considering. My tension unspools in increments, my brother’s silence so light I can practically see his thoughts floating on the air.
“I feel like I should have realized that,” he finally says. “It seems so…obvious now that you’ve said it.”
My laugh is small, joining August’s thoughts in the air. One turns to two and then three. There’s a responding grin on August’s face, even as he’s watching me closely, like he’s afraid I might be cracking apart.
I am. But not in a bad way.
I fall back against my chair, one hand over my eyes, as years and years and years of facade crumble away like the driest of dirt. Nothing could have prepared me for this conversation with my brother. For how freeing it would feel to have someone tell me yes, there you are, I see you.
“Yeah,” I manage, the croak in my voice audible. Remi’s hand stays around my own, a raft that’s been offered since he welcomed me back home. “Here I am.”