Chapter Sixteen

Ben

When we land back in San Diego the next morning, my phone is blowing up. I make it a point to keep it off while I’m working so it doesn’t distract me. I slept the entire flight and I’m still exhausted. All I can think about is a dark room and my bed. My energy level after missions is completely depleted. I have to be on constantly. There’s no breathing room. Perfection twenty-four seven. It’s not as if I can make a mistake either. That could cost an innocent life, or two. I like to call it the mental mush. Voicemails ping by the half dozen. Text messages from so many people I’m not sure where to start.

“Ah, I need sleep first,” I whisper, trying to keep my eyes open. “Harper,” I whisper, seeing a voicemail from her phone number flash across my screen as I walk toward my truck. It was from yesterday morning.

That’s obviously the first one I click. “Benny. You need to call me as soon as you can. It’s important. I’m not just saying that to get you to call me back. I’m saying that because nothing has ever been more important.” She’s sobbing hard, her words hard to make out. My brain that is finished for the week, starts firing up again. “Please call.” The message finishes and I’m left with a jagged hole in my stomach that’s telling me something is incredibly wrong. I head to my truck, ready to be away from here and back on neutral ground—ready to be home.

I go to call her back, but I get a phone call from a number not programmed into my phone. I can tell it’s a number from work, the place I’m trying to leave right now. Swallowing down my irritation, I answer. “Hello?”

“Ben?” a male voice rasps.

“Yes,” I reply.

“It’s Cage. I’m sorry I’m just now getting ahold of you. I couldn’t track you down after you touched down. You already on your way home?”

“About to be,” I say.

“We have some tragic news. Can you come back into the office for a second?” my boss says.

I sit up straight, realizing just how much elasticity my energy level has. No longer am I tired. I’m ready to fight—kill. I feel warm and cool at the same time as I open and close my truck door. I start the engine and turn on the air to full blast.

“Did you hear me?” Cage asks, waiting for my response. What if I don’t want to hear anything right now?

“I heard you, yes. Go on.”

“Can you come to the high bay?”

I glance to the right, to the high bay, where I just walked from.

“Just fucking tell me,” I bark. Adrenaline hits me like a hot shot of whiskey.

Cage sighs. “Norah has been in an accident.”

“Fuck! Is she at the hospital? Is the baby okay? Which hospital is she at? I’m in my truck now. I can be there in fifteen minutes. What happened?” I ask, my brain in a frenzy trying to process all of the information. He called it tragic news. “She’s okay, right?”

He clears his throat on the other side of the line. “Norah was hit by a drunk driver yesterday morning. She was killed on impact. As was the baby. I’m so sorry, Ben.”

“What?”

He repeats himself a few times. “Ben, do you have someone to drive you home? Please don’t drive right now.”

I don’t respond. Norah is gone. Robin is gone.

“Ben?”

They say when you die your whole life flashes before your eyes. Right now the whole life I was supposed to have blazes behind my closed eyelids. Every moment that was stolen from Norah. Holding Robin for the first time. Watching as she takes her first steps, kissing baby toes, watching a kindergarten play, first dates, learning to drive, and graduations. Robin. She never got to see the woman who loved her more than anything else in the entire world. It’s so painful to think about that I might be sick.

“Who hit her? Who was driving the other car?” I ask, needing to know every last detail before I fall apart completely.

“The driver of the other vehicle is in a life-threatening coma at the hospital. His blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit. I assure you justice will be served. There’s no way he’s getting off, Ben. He will pay for this.”

What if payment isn’t enough? What happens then?

“I’m sorry,” Cage whispers, his voice taking on the tone of a friend instead of a boss delivering the most horrible news of my lifetime. He rattles off several more details that I hear, but don’t quite process. Norah’s father identified the body by sight. The intersection by her practice. The time it happened. The logistics of the accident. The speed of the other car. Cage tells me the things he knows I’ll want to know, need to know, but he tries his best to detail them like a brief. Factual. Without emotion. Matter-of-fact. I appreciate his effort. Then he says Norah’s name and mentions the baby.

Numbness takes over. I don’t even feel the steering wheel in my palms. The edges of my vision goes black. “Thank you,” I say and hit the red button the end the call. I see Tahoe walking to his truck parked next to mine, so I get out and stop him. I’m on auto pilot, my wise intuition forcing my feet and words.

He takes one look at me and asks what’s wrong. “Someone killed Norah and the baby,” I say. Tears are falling off my cheeks, wet, warm, and heavy. Fucking traitorous salty drops that make what Cage said real even though it seems like a cruel lie told to destroy a human. A lie I’d eat and let wrap me for a lifetime if it meant it was false.

One eyebrow shoots up. “Who? What are you talking about?”

“I need you to drive me home,” I get out. “I can’t drive right now.” I don’t want to hit and kill someone in the name of grief. “I’ll tell you what Cage told me on the way home.”

Tilting his head to the side, he nods slowly. “Okay, bro. Let’s go.” No questions asked. A brotherhood. What would have been better is if he asked who we need to kill. “Anything in your truck you want right now?” he asks, voice wary.

I don’t respond. I climb into his truck and shut the door. When he gets in and starts the engine I tell him in a flood of words tinged with fury, word for word, what was just said to me. Tahoe doesn’t speak. He doesn’t feed me bullshit lines about how everything’s going to be okay. Because it’s not going to be okay. Nothing can possibly be the same after this.

The attacks stole the nation’s freedoms in almost every way. I made it my life’s work to restore what small pieces could be salvaged. A drunk driver stole my entire life. The whole thing. There’s no bright side or silver lining. There’s a hole where my family should be, a regret and guilt for the time I spent trying to embrace them, a pounding in my chest that makes me feel like an infidel. Everything around me is a fog. I never pause when a life is taken in the name of terror. Evil people deserve death. How can I possibly rationalize Norah’s and Robin’s deaths without feeling like a criminal?

Tahoe parks his truck in my drive and jumps up to hang on my roof with one hand while he searches for my hide-a-key with his free hand. He opens the door and looks back at me with a wary look. “We’ll make a list. You have a lot to do.” The funeral. “I’ll help you, bro. We’ll get it all handled. Why don’t you get some sleep?” He nods to the sofa. A smart man.

“I’ll clean up around here while you nap,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder. I pull him into a full hug. “It sucks. Let it suck, man,” Tahoe whispers. “Then when it sucks a little less, we move on. A little cracked, a little tormented, stronger than ever before.”

I want to tell him that’s what happens when brothers die. Somehow this feels differently. The same except the sting bites across my entire existence. My daughter. My future.

I fall back into the sofa. Tahoe tosses me a blanket from the chair on the other side of the living room. A throw blanket Norah purchased last week because it had stars on it. Heaving a breath, I lean back and close my eyes, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to fall asleep.

Except I didn’t realize the pillow smelled like Harper. It might as well be an Ambien laced with sedatives. The blackness pulls me under quickly. I’m covered in Norah and surrounded by Harper. My entire existence is in shambles.

++++

It was a dreamless sleep. Void of anything. Black. My exhaustion won out, and I probably have that to thank for the short reprieve from my reality. When I wake fourteen hours later, Tahoe is sitting in the chair across the room, his head tilted back, mouth open, sleeping like the dead. Running my hands through my hair, I sit up as every muscle in my body protests. I’m still in my goddamn dirty uniform. Mud caked camo pants and white shirt stained yellow from sweat.

“You’re awake,” Harper says, strolling from the hallway. “How are you feeling?” Her eyes are wide, apprehensive, terrified by what she’s going to find. “I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind. I still had a key from…before.”

Seeing Harper tears a wound open I didn’t know existed. I close my eyes because the pain is back, but now it’s multiplied by a thousand. “I need a shower,” I reply. Tahoe snores, completely out for the count. I approach him slowly and shake his shoulder.

“What, what? I’m up,” Tahoe says, eyes flickering open and meeting my gaze.

“Hit the couch,” I say, hiking my thumb over my shoulder. He goes without saying another word, collapsing in a heap. He’s back asleep before his head hits the pillow. Turning back to Harper, I swallow hard. “Shower,” I repeat to her. “I’m fine. You don’t have to hang around. Tahoe is here.” My traitorous gaze flicks down to her bare legs and short ripped jean shorts with lace peeking out the bottom. A sliver of her stomach peeks out from her loose T-shirt. She crosses one leg over the other, self-conscious of my obvious appraisal.

“Benny,” she says when my gaze finally finds hers. “Talk to me.”

I shake my head and let out a small laugh. “I can’t talk to you, Harper.”

“Why not?” she asks quietly, peeking over my shoulder at Tahoe.

“He can’t hear us. He’s out for another half a day. We’ve been up for more than a day.”

Harper wants to reach out for me. I see it in the way her hands flex by her sides. That’s enough torture for now. I flick my gaze forward and pass by her without saying another word. I enter my bedroom and find it has been cleaned up, just as Tahoe promised. Norah’s stuff isn’t in sight. I see several boxes in the corner and my chest aches.

Because my friend knows me better than I thought, and because it’s all that’s left of my future. I have nothing tangible except things. I don’t want things. I don’t need things. No one does, really. That’s not what we as humans crave. The door clicks closed.

“I’m so sorry. Ben, I’m sorry. I feel so awful. I’m not even sure how to process something like this.”

Sniffing my shirt, I wince and pull it over my head, while focusing my gaze out of the window. It smells like Norah’s lotion in here. I know how fragile life is. How it’s here one second and gone the next, but this sensation is new to me. Harper calls me again.

“What?” I yell, spinning on her.

“Why are you sorry? Why do you feel awful, Harper? You don’t have to process anything. This is mine to deal with. I can’t make you feel better about this. I can’t save you this time. My wife and daughter are dead. So process how you want to, but do it on your own because I’m trying to figure out how to go on without them. I can’t be on Harper duty this time.” I shake my head and turn away when I see tears falling down her cheeks.

Harper walks forward, unperturbed by my harsh words. “I know you’re upset,” she says, reaching out for my hand with hers. “Your pain is more than I can comprehend.” When I don’t take her hand, she lets her arm fall back down to her side.

For a few moments I breathe and look at her. I feel better. Which makes me feel even worse. “You need to leave, Harper,” I admit. “Just go.”

Her whole body shifts, as if I stabbed her instead of spoke to her. Pain is etched into her facial features. She’s not allowed to feel an ounce of what I’m bearing. “I’m serious,” I whisper, gazing at the floor. “I can’t be around you right now.”

“Why?” she asks, striding forward and placing her hands on my arms. She grabs me firmly, grounding me to this moment. “Why?” Her eyes plead with me. She wants the truth.

I’m a glutton to give it. “The grief is killing me, dismembering my heart. The kicker?” I say, breathing several times to keep the tears at bay. “You’re the cure I need. But you’re out of my price range. Untouchable.”

She shakes her head. Harper was expecting that and it’s comforting and infuriating at the same time. “I won’t leave you here by yourself. I don’t care what you see when you look at me. I’m not only the woman who loves you, I’m your best friend. The person who’d die to take an ounce of your pain away if I could. Don’t complicate this. I’m your friend first, Benny.”

I look at the ceiling because the tears came anyway. “What if relieving my pain means you leaving and never coming back?”

Going up on her tip-toes, she grabs my face to force my gaze to hers. Her eyes are glassy, but she’s holding it together. Because that’s what I need from her and she knows it. “Then that’s your pain to bear because I’m not going anywhere this time. I should have stayed here all those years ago. By your side. I should have loved you through everything up until now, but I refuse to leave you during this. I’m going to love you through it. You will get through it.”

My eyes widen as my mind, a clusterfuck of dark as the devil thoughts, processes her words. Her light. Her life. “What I wouldn’t give to hear those words before. Love me from afar because that’s what I need. That’s what I want. Maybe forever. Definitely right now.” Voice loud and overbearing, Harper winces away from me.

“That’s what you want?”

No.

“I have to tell you something.” Her eyelashes flutter closed and little lines form in between her eyes. It’s anguish so great I’ve never seen her wear it before.

I stay silent and gesture with my hand for her to continue. She shifts around on her little black flip-flops, completely terrified by what she needs to say. “Did they tell you who was driving the other vehicle?” Harper asks, not meeting my eyes. In fact, she stares at the floor as she says it.

My stomach turns. Taking a step back, I sit on the bed. “No. You’re about to tell me, though.”

Harper meets my eyes, and her mouth forms a pout the same time she finally frees her tears. It breaks the piece of my heart that wasn’t damaged. “Marcus’ brother,” she whispers. “It was Darren.”

Shaking my head, I try to remember what he looked like. I saw him only once and he was piss drunk. I was so into Harper that night it’s hard for me to recall his face, let alone details about the man who stole Norah’s and Robin’s lives. I keep my eyes on hers because I’m trying to remember, but I can tell looking at me and not touching me is distressing her.

“This is my fault. All of it, Ben.”

“How?”

She steps toward me, but I halt her with a head shake. “If I had told you the moment I fell in love with you, none of this would have happened. The dominos were set into motion because I followed my head instead of my heart. I should have stayed. I should have loved you. There would have been no Marcus or Darren. No moves from the East Coast. It would have been you and me. Just us. Nothing else. No one would have gotten hurt. It’s my fault Norah and your baby were killed, Ben.”

I’ve never seen Harper so upset. I recall the weeks after her aunt died and she never showed this much emotion. If I wasn’t so detached, I’d be scared.

I open my arms to the side and she rushes to me, wrapping me in a wet, salty hug. Her whole body shakes, her apologies flowing as copious as her tears. She’s barely breathing when she pulls away.

“Please forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself, but I need you to forgive me.”

I take a deep breath. It’s not because I need one, it’s because I want to inhale her into my system for the last time. She gave me exactly what I didn’t realize I needed.

Someone to blame.

“Yes. I need you to go, though. I can’t look at you. Stay away from me, Harper. I’m serious.”

Backing away from me, she watches me, her face in utter anguish. From head to toe, I let my gaze roam her body. Every perfect curve, mark, and subtle nuance that’s fully Harper Rosehall. I leave her neck for last. Pressing my lips into a smile that probably resembles a grimace, she turns, unable to stomach the rejection.

I watch her back disappear and listen for the front door to shut before I follow her. Everything in me wants to chase her. Tell her I want her, but my guilt would never allow me to have her. I watch her car leave through the front window.

“Burning it all to the ground?” Tahoe mumbles.

“And watching it incinerate,” I reply.

He rolls over and his loud snore is audible moments later. Standing under the strong, hot water, I close my eyes and make mental lists of everything I need to do. I let practical Ben drive for a while because it saves real Ben from self-destructing. Watching Harper’s pain helped me. I made the decision Norah would have wanted. I didn’t honor her love enough during her life, but I can surely make it right after her death.

It gives me something to control.

Fuck knows I need it.