Chapter 7 #2
I don’t know what to say.
The heat in his voice—it’s not anger. It’s heavier. Denser.
He leans back, arms braced against the steps, and his T-shirt lifts—exposing the cut of muscle at his hips, the dark line leading down into his trousers. The sight steals the air from my lungs before I can stop it.
His presence fills the space between us without demanding it. It’s overwhelming—but not like Jacob. Not loud, not designed to cut. It’s different. He’s steady. He’s safe.
“You weren’t meant to see what he did,” I whisper. “Jacob….” I falter. Swallow. “He likes control. I was supposed to be waiting for him. Not… not out there.”
Benny’s jaw flexes. His chest rises, slow and sure like he’s holding back the storm that lives somewhere just beneath his ribs. “But I did see it,” his voice is low, steady, but the edges fray. “And I don’t understand why you’re still here. Why you let him treat you like this.”
A pause.
“You don’t deserve it, Summer.”
It’s the softness that almost undoes me. I look away. Because if I keep looking, I’ll break open and never find all the pieces.
“I appreciate you coming, but honestly. I’m alright. Things are just misunderstood, that’s all.”
He moves enough to feel the heat of him. The weight. The steadiness. It fills the cold space between us like mortar in a cracked wall.
“You can’t fool me,” he says.
Quiet. Firm. Unshakable. My eyes lift to his, and I want to tell him.
I want to spill it all—the way Jacob tied my choices into knots, the way my voice disappeared one 'yes' at a time, the way fear becomes habit when you’ve lived in it long enough. But I can’t.
Because if I speak, it becomes real. And if it becomes real, Benny’s in danger.
“I think you ought to leave, he might come back soon.” The silence swells.
He doesn’t push, but I see the questions in his eyes. I see the fight, the fury, the ache to be my knight in shining armour, rushing to fix everything in my life.
Then—his hand. It lifts. Slow. Careful. Like I’m something fragile but worth holding. Fingertips brush my jaw, featherlight. My pulse stutters. For a moment, just one fragile, foolish moment—I forget Jacob exists. Forget the rules. The threats.
Benny pulls himself to stand. Somehow, I hadn’t realized how big he was until now.
I’m tall—five-nine. I don’t shrink around men. But Benny? He towers. Six-four, maybe more. Built like a man who knows what work feels like. Shoulders broad enough to carry other people’s damage—and his own. But he doesn’t wield it.
Jacob’s always felt big, too. But Jacob is a threat. A storm in human skin. All furnace and fuse. His size isn’t comfort—it’s a cage. His hands never offer. They claim. They bruise. They burn.
But Benny—Benny is a mountain. Not the kind that casts a shadow. The kind you climb when the rest of the world falls away. He doesn’t demand space. He is space. And somehow… that makes me feel safer than I should. Safer than I have in years.
I look up. Drawn like tide to shore. His eyes are still on me. Not dissecting. Not devouring. Just… seeing. Like I’m not a project. Not a problem. Not a puzzle to be solved. Like I’m already whole, even with all the pieces missing.
Benny doesn’t move. Instead, he reaches out. Slow. Gentle. Like he’s approaching a wounded thing that might still have teeth. His fingers slip beneath my arm and guides me to my feet. He lifts me with such aching care I almost sob. His thumb grazes the bruise beneath my elbow—A ghost’s touch.
Then he leans his head down and kissed the back of my hand.
Not dramatic. Not showy. Just a whisper of warmth.
A kiss that says nothing but ‘I see you.’ And for the first time in so long, I don’t feel like damage.
I don’t feel like property. Or punishment.
Or a body waiting for orders. I feel… human.
His mouth lingers for half a breath before he lets go.
“You’ve got your guard up, and that’s smart. But know that I am here for you. Whenever you need me.”
God. He shouldn’t have said that, because it breaks something open inside me—something I’ve kept sealed behind bone and silence. Something small. Dangerous. Hope.
It swallows the truth. Swallows the ache.
“I can’t stop thinking….” he says, quieter now, like the words have been chewed up and carried too long. “The way you looked at me. Like you were already gone.”
“It was a rough day.” My voice cracks.
Something behind his eyes shifts. Darkens. He takes my hand again—firm this time. Like he’s grounding me. Like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
“Well, let’s make sure you have better days then, yeah?”
The words hit like a lifeline. He exhales hard, the kind of breath that’s supposed to steady you but doesn’t.
“I still think I should’ve kicked his ass for the way he grabbed you. I should’ve—”
“You’d be dead.”
“Maybe.” He tries for a smile, but it flickers. Breaks. “Might’ve been worth it.”
A bitter laugh slips out before I can stop it. I almost want to see it—Jacob meeting his match. But it’s not just Jacob. He’s the shell. The mask. The grinning sheriff with the charming smirk. Behind him is a machine. Built from fear, and blood.
“I’ve got a trailer behind the bar,” he says eventually. “Nothing special.”
I blink. To him, it’s just a stopgap. A dented tin box. Peeling floors. A place to sleep and write songs. But to me? It’s air. It’s room. It’s choice.
“What’s it like?” I ask. My voice is soft. Wary. “Being able to leave whenever you want?”
He hesitates. Then, almost to himself: “You’d hate it.”
“Why?” I ask, half-laughing. Unsure if it’s a joke or a truth that cuts too close.
“It’s too quiet.” He glances away, jaw flexing. “Makes you think too much. Makes you miss people you never meant to remember.”
I swallow. “Sounds familiar.”
He steps closer. “You could see it. Just for a second. I’ll bring you back. You don’t even have to get out of the truck.”
A simple offer. A stupid one. But it lands like a velvet noose. Soft. Beautiful. Fatal. I want to say yes. God, I want to say yes. But I don’t. Because the second I step off this porch without permission, the world changes shape. The punishment won’t just be bruises.
It won’t just be words. It’ll be fire. Jacob will know. He always knows.
Benny watches me for a long moment. Then he nods. Quiet. Resigned.
“I should go,” he murmurs. “Before he shows.”
I nod, too. But my body betrays me. He turns. Takes one slow step toward the truck.
“Benny—” Barely more than a breath.
He pauses.
I cross the space between us like I’m wading through water—each step uncertain, thick with everything I can’t say out loud. I reach for him. Fingertips brush his wrist. Light. Barely there. Like I’m not sure if I have the right to touch.
“I didn’t forget the dance,” I whisper. “Not one second.”
His eyes close. A heartbeat. Two. Then he leans in.
Not to kiss. Just lowers his head and rests his forehead against mine.
And for a moment—just one—I’m not in Rosefield.
I’m not bruised, or watched, or bought. I’m not a promise someone traded.
Not a wound someone owns. I’m just a girl.
And he’s just a boy. And the world hasn’t broken us yet.
Our breath tangles. Too warm. Too real. My lashes flicker shut.
I let myself believe—just for a second—that this is what it could’ve been.
What it still could be, if the world was a different shape.
When he finally pulls away, I don’t follow.
I just watch him leave. Watch the red truck pull away from the house.
It disappears down the road, swallowed by dust and distance.
“You do not deserve this.” He had said.
No goodbye. Just something so true it shatters me. My throat closes. Tears prick the corners of my eyes—but they don’t fall. They just sit there, burning. And for the first time in a long, long time—I don’t feel invisible. I feel seen. I feel real. I feel... remembered.