Chapter 17
Remi
Auggie gets off the couch to grab us all drinks, a clear excuse to give Benson and me a moment alone.
I could hug the stuffing out of my friend for dropping his guard and actually listening to his brother. Truly listening. I knew he would in time. I just figured it might take a little longer.
Benson, for his part, looks shell-shocked, but not in a bad way. He lifts his hands slowly, still slumped back in his chair. ‘That went better than I thought.’
I huff a small laugh. ‘Doing okay?’
Benson nods, his eyes shifting from the direction of the kitchen to me. He continues on in sign, either for privacy’s sake or simply because he wants to. ‘You two had sex?’
I ease out a breath, knowing this conversation was imminent regardless of Auggie blurting things so ineloquently.
Unfortunately, my friend takes that moment to come back into the room.
‘Later,’ I tell Benson, giving his knee another squeeze before sitting back and accepting the ginger ale Auggie hands me.
He passes another to Benson before popping his own orange soda. “So…what actually is this?” Auggie looks between the two of us. “Are you guys just fucking or…?”
“We haven’t…fucked,” Benson says, his signing having fallen away for that last word, likely because of how it would look in present company.
I suppress my smile. “It’s new,” I remind Auggie. “We’re figuring it out, I think.”
Benson nods.
Auggie grimaces slightly. “Ugh, I’m gonna need a minute to come to terms with it, okay? I mean, who do I even threaten? If you guys hurt each other…”
He trails off, but I understand the direction of his thoughts. Who’s he supposed to metaphorically beat up if his best friend and brother end up falling out? Whose side is he supposed to take?
“Well,” I say slowly, “hopefully that won’t be an issue.”
If anything, Auggie looks more alarmed by that. His voice goes high, a pitch I’m not used to from him. “Does that mean you’ll be getting married?”
“Oh Jesus,” I puff out, a laugh escaping. “Slow down. We haven’t even discussed dating yet, let alone wedding bells.”
“I doubt there’d be any,” Benson says evenly. “If we get married, it’ll likely be outside, not in a church.”
Auggie stares wide-eyed at his brother as my heart patters away. Christ. Bending in his seat, my friend waves his hand in the air. “Okay, okay, let’s…not paint that visual. I’m having a hard enough time imagining you two kissing.”
“Why would you imagine it?” Benson asks with a frown.
Auggie makes a sound that reminds me of the goats when they’re hungry. “Never mind. When, uh… When did you find out you’re autistic? Does Mom know?”
“This past year. And yes,” Benson answers, sitting more upright in his seat. He sets his unopened ginger ale on the coffee table. “We talked about it very recently. I’m sorry it took me so long to say anything. I just… I didn’t know how to tell you. Either of you.”
Auggie nods slightly, picking at the top of his soda can. “I’ve been a total dick, haven’t I? All this time, and I—” He cuts off quickly, chest rising and lips pressed tightly together.
“August,” Benson says calmly, waiting for his brother to meet his eye. “You’re not a dick.” He fingerspells that, wincing slightly. “I don’t expect you to treat me differently just because I’m autistic. I’m still a person. I’ll make mistakes. You’re allowed to be upset with me.”
Auggie’s brow pinches. “Yeah, but… It does matter. It’s a part of you. It’s not like I expect you to eat meat as a vegetarian. I want to know how this affects you.”
My chest squeezes tight.
Benson looks like he’s experiencing the same. He rubs at his shirt over his collarbone, his gaze downcast but mobile as he speaks. “I’m still learning, too. It’s been…a lot to process. I’m doing my best to be more authentic now that I know, but I worry…”
“What?” Auggie asks softly before I have a chance to.
Benson’s lips twist at the corner, a tiny marker of his distress. “I worry I’ll be even more unlikable if I’m not trying to make everyone else happy instead of myself.”
Ah, fuck.
Auggie buries his face against the back cushion of the couch, his groan audible even muffled. I have no doubt his thoughts are running along the same line as my own.
I scoot closer to Benson, his eyes flicking to mine when I grab one of his hands. “You’re not unlikable, Ben. And I’d argue the more that people see of you, the real you, the more chances they’ll have to like you for you. As for those that don’t? They can fuck right off.”
A tiny smile graces his lips. “Senile villain era?”
My laugh is small. “Exactly. I think you’ve earned it. Up in years as you are and all.”
Benson snorts, his eyes warm as they run over my face. My pulse skips as his thumb ghosts along my cheek, tracing the path of his gaze. I’ve never had someone look at me as if they were seeing inside before. It’s as shocking as it is exhilarating for that person to be Benson Harper.
“Ew, ew, ew,” Auggie mutters just loud enough for me to register. “That might be worse than kissing.”
Benson’s eyes drop to my lips. I have only enough time to form a smile before he’s leaning forward to offer August a valid comparison.
It’s short, the fit of his lips to mine.
But it’s already familiar to me. The soft scrape of his beard.
The warmth of his mouth curved against my own.
The way he favors going high, trapping my top lip with a tiny tug of his teeth.
By Auggie’s mortified expression when we part, I’m guessing he caught my moan. “Oh God,” he says flatly, one hand on his chest. “I need to stock up on ear plugs. And…how many times is it safe to bleach one’s eyeballs?”
“It’s not safe even one time,” Benson says, so deadpan it takes Auggie a second to realize his brother is fucking with him.
August points an accusing finger Benson’s way. “You did that on purpose. That whole…thing with your face on his face. Maybe we could give my fragile heart a minute to catch up to all this?”
I huff a laugh as Auggie collapses against the couch, his arm over his eyes. Patting his leg, I ask, “Should I get the smelling salts?”
He drops his arm. “I’m not a damsel,” he gripes, his expression turning quickly serious as his gaze shifts Benson’s way. “Are you staying, then? Here in Darling? Are you…back for good?”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t as invested in Benson’s answer as Auggie.
Benson taps his leg a couple times, forefinger to pinkie and back again. “I’m back.”
My relief is mirrored by Auggie’s own exhale. He nods several times, looking as if he mumbles, “Good, good.”
And my friend tried so hard to claim he didn’t like having his brother back. I think, quite possibly, he was simply preparing himself for Benson’s departure.
Clearing my throat, I say a quick, “Excuse me. Bathroom.”
Auggie shoots me a look, like he knows exactly what I’m doing—giving him and Benson the same space he offered us minutes ago. But he doesn’t call me on it.
I take my time in the small, first-floor bathroom, smiling to myself as relief and happiness battle for primary position in my chest. Deep down, I knew everything would be all right. I knew Auggie wouldn’t disown me for harboring feelings for his brother.
But I’m not sure any of us saw this coming. Me and Benson.
Younger me may have imagined various forms of this over the years, but it wasn’t the same. It was fantasy and lust, simple as that. I didn’t know Benson then.
Not the way I do now.
A soft knock on the door precedes Benson’s voice coming through the wood. “August is making a snack. Are you done hiding to give us privacy? The toilet flushed two minutes ago.”
I let out a chuckle, opening the door to find Benson waiting.
‘Come on,’ he signs. ‘I want to show you something.’
I follow him up the stairs to what used to be his childhood bedroom.
He opens the door carefully, shutting it again once we’re both inside.
I understand why when I spot Mouse zipping across the floor toward Benson’s foot.
He doesn’t even flinch as Mouse unsuccessfully tries to scramble up his pant leg.
I lose a little piece of my heart when Benson bends down to pick up the field mouse. She scampers onto his palm, and he lifts her to his pocket, Mouse settling quickly inside. He pulls out his ever-present baggie of snacks and drops a few in after her. Walnut pieces this time.
As Benson goes to the closest, I take in the space.
It’s my first time in here since his return to Montana.
Apart from the cardboard boxes and mazes set up for Mouse, it’s hard to tell a guest is even staying.
There isn’t a spare piece of clothing on the floor or any personal possessions in view apart from Benson’s phone charger on the nightstand.
When he comes back my way, it’s with a large silver briefcase of sorts in hand, nearly as deep as it is tall.
My eyebrow pops up as he sets it on the bed. “Is that your diverse portfolio of investments?”
Benson looks so insulted I nearly bark a laugh. “I don’t keep my assets in cash. No, this is my…collection.”
He pops the clasp open and lifts the lid. Several layers of shelves unfold like steps, each lined with foam and filled with dozens of ceramic Wade figurines.
“Holy crap,” I mutter, fingers hovering over the top shelf before I pause.
“It’s fine,” Benson tells me. “You can touch whatever you’d like.”
I bite down my retort about what I’d most like to touch and run my fingertip over a white polar bear. “How many of these do you have?”
“An embarrassing amount,” he answers, chagrin on his face as he adds the signed words.
‘Not embarrassing,’ I sign back forcefully. “Why don’t you have any of them on display? Is this their travel case?”
Benson’s eyes follow my hands as I pick up a dotted tan-and-brown giraffe. “I’ve always kept them in here.” He shrugs. “Guess I didn’t know what else to do with them.”
I set the giraffe down and pick up a butterfly. It’s so small and smooth, little circles on its wings. “You know, my dad builds things out of wood sometimes.”
‘Dining table,’ he fills in with his hands.