Chapter Eighteen

Harper

I call his parents and Tahoe almost every single day to see how Ben is doing. He’ll come around eventually. He’ll let me back in. He has to. He’s my best friend. Ben needs me, he just hasn’t worked that out yet. I can make him feel better. I know what he needs. It’s been six months since Norah died.

I went to the funeral and it was just as tragic and sad as you’d expect. Ben wore his uniform as did several of his friends. It was an enormous ceremony filled with so many people who loved Norah. Ben didn’t get up to speak. The other vet in Norah’s practice did. It’s sort of fitting. Norah spent most of her life with her. More than with Ben, I’d fathom a guess.

Ben met my gaze once. He looked away almost as soon as he saw I was looking his way. It was the first time I thought maybe this was a permanent friendship break and my own heartbreak intensified tenfold. Tahoe told me he’s only doing well on surface, that he doesn’t trust him by himself, so he’s been spending a lot of time with him on their off hours. Ben didn’t take any time off work. He’s been working even more, taking missions that aren’t intended for his schedule. He’s burning himself out. It’s so he doesn’t have to think. His brain doesn’t ever turn off unless he’s exhausted.

Darren died. Suffering for several days after he woke from the coma. The masochist who wanted him to live out his days in jail was satisfied in the painful way he went. Marcus moved back to the East Coast. He emailed me last week to let me know he transferred to Harvard to teach linguistics. It sparked a glimmer of jealousy. The thing is, I’d never do anything about it. I’m where I’m supposed to be. Since the accident, I get angry more easily. I wish I’d ruined Marcus’ life. Filed a restraining order, made a black mark on his record so he’d have to suffer what he did to me for the rest of his life. He’s seeing a girl, too. I wonder if she knows what he did to me, how he ruined a relationship with jealous rage.

That wasn’t who I was back then, though. It’s who I am now. Bitter. Hardened by a life that I feel has never been my own. I chose it, though I chose what I thought would serve me best instead of choosing what would make me happiest. I sacrificed my only opportunity to have my happily ever after by being selfish. It serves me right.

Martina and her husband just left. I had several people over to my house for dinner. Now that it’s fully furnished and has all the charm of a Martha Stewart catalog; I’ve been hosting. It does make me feel better for a little while. My friends occupy my free time during daylight hours. At night, I’m so alone even my breath causes loneliness. Like Ben’s surface happiness, I feel as if most of the people in my life are surface friends. Those that know me, but not deeply. Not every single detail and quirk. They know what I want them to see.

The one person who I savor a past with wants nothing to do with me and I can’t say I blame him.

It was Ben who tried time after time to tell me and show me what we could have had. It’s wince worthy when I think back. It’s not equal parts pain and pleasure when I think of Ben. He saw what I ignored for years. You know how you can only cry wolf so many times? You can only turn a man down so many times before he believes you don’t want him in the same way he wants you. Add in vehicular manslaughter and you have a recipe to destroy any sort of relationship for the rest of time.

Once I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen to a spit shine, I shower and then call my mom. I’m seeing her this weekend. She told me Ben’s parents were coming for dinner and there was no way I could turn down the invitation. I want anything that has a connection to him. I flip the television on in my bedroom after I hang up with her and pull down my covers.

It’s midnight when my doorbell rings. It’s not a normal bell, it’s a high-pitched screech that jars me anytime I hear it. This late at night, it might as well be a police siren. I let out a tiny scream as I trudge out of my bed, cell phone in hand. I slide over the peephole and look through.

It’s Ben. And even from the skewed bubble version I see, he looks like absolute shit. Unlocking the door, I open it. There’s still a glass door between us. I slide down the storm window. “Hey,” he says, eyes brimming with red, dark circles. “What are you up to?” There’s no other way to explain it. Ben looks haunted.

I decide against peppering him with questions and answer him. “Um. Bed. Watching some TV. What are you up to?” I glance at the driveway and see his truck and then eye him from his head down and back up again. Leveling him with my gaze, I say, “You finally popped on a drug screen? They kicked you out of the Teams?” It’s a slight nod to his haggard appearance without commenting on it.

A small crooked grin appears on his face. “Nah. I just got home from work. I haven’t seen your new house yet,” he says, like it’s a legitimate reason for stopping by in the middle of the night. He hasn’t spoken to me in months. I know exactly why he’s here. His hair is wet and he’s wearing a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt. The attire one wears lounging around the house.

“Ben. It’s been months. You’re not okay. It’s obvious. You don’t want to see my new house.”

He swallows and looks up, pretending to examine the lighting fixture above my door. “I wanted to see you. I miss you, Harpee. Believe it or not.” He adds the last sentence to acknowledge his absence.

Do you ever think about the space around you? The area that the wind blows around one individual? It doubles when you’re next to a person, close enough to touch. There’s more life, more oxygen, when I’m in his space. My body calls out to him. To be held by him. It wants more life. I want him.

I slide the lock on the glass door open and with that click, I know there wasn’t ever an option. Some may call it a weakness. I call it friendship. “Come in,” I say. “You just got home. Are you hungry? I have some leftovers. I cooked my mom’s chicken recipe. You know, that stuffed one she made for my birthday last year? I can heat some up for you.”

Ben sighs, relief prickling every feature on his face, his body relaxing. “That would be amazing,” he says. He doesn’t look at my house the way any person who wants to check out a friend’s house would. He stares at my bare legs, covered by only my oversized T-shirt. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” he admits. “I, ah, I’ve been trying to get my shit together and work has been busy.”

Because you’ve made work busy, I think.

“You never wanted to see me again. I didn’t expect you to knock on my door…ever,” I say, my tone mocking.

He sits down at the table in my kitchen. It’s where I eat breakfast and have coffee. Drumming his fingers on the table, he says, “I’m sorry. I figured you knew I didn’t mean it.”

“How could I not think you meant it? It made perfect sense. I understand, Ben. I hope you didn’t come here trying to make me feel better about everything. I don’t need your apology. I have to live with the part I played.”

“Harper. I came here because I need you to make me feel better,” he says, grabbing my waist as I pass by him on the way to the microwave. “I need you. Do you understand?” If I didn’t, he’s made it perfectly clear with his touch.

I swallow and eye him from the side. I can’t deny what his hand on my body does to me. A riot of sensations bleeds to the surface—all those things I try to not think about because I knew I’d never have them again, knew no other man could play my body so precisely. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, turning in his grasp to meet his lust-filled gaze. “You look like shit, Ben. Being with me isn’t going to help you how you need it to.”

His eyes glass over. “Don’t make me beg,” he whispers, lips barely parted. “For once, don’t overthink it. Do you want me?” What a cruel, unfair question to ask.

A stronger woman would deny him. Tell him to grow up and deal with his emotions like a big boy. A stronger woman would have grabbed this passionate, beautiful man when she could have. A stronger woman wouldn’t have been afraid of the power of the love we shared. “What do you need? Tell me.”

“What I’ve always needed,” he replies.

I set the cold plate of chicken down on the table all but forgotten.

“We need to talk first,” I reply, my heart hammering in my ears. I want to ease his pain, steal the hurt away from his body as soon as humanly possible despite any hardships in our past. I think I’ll always feel that way. “Can we talk?”

Ben’s weary face hardens. “Everyone wants to talk. Talking doesn’t fix anything, Harp. Please,” he pleads, standing, taking the sides of my body in his hands. “Please,” he whispers again, voice cracking at the end. “You can fix me. Only you.”

I let him guide me to my bedroom and settle in my bed. When we’re lying down face to face I admit, “I can’t fix you. You know that. You need help. I can talk to you as a friend.” It’s an offer my body rejects. It wants what he’s after. The friendship needs to come first. It’s obvious he’s in pain.

“What if I don’t need a friend right now? What if I never needed you to be my friend? What if right now I need the woman who loves me? A woman who wants to steal away my pain? The woman who promised to love me through this? Fix me.”

His chest is heaving, and the first tear has fallen. Leaning over, I kiss it away and Ben shudders at the slight contact from my lips. “Yes,” he says. “More. Touch me more.”

I trace my lips across his stubbly face and end with my mouth hovering over his. “This isn’t a good idea,” I whisper.

He closes his eyes. He wants this so bad I can feel it in the air. How desperate he is for our connection. In turn, it makes me delirious with desire.

He pulls me so close, our noses are smashed together. His breathing becomes jagged as he pulls breaths through his mouth. His eyes are closed tightly, the pain of holding himself back twisting his features. He’s taking my oxygen and making it his own. I realize maybe I can fix him by giving myself to him, laying down my life, and my air for him to bend at his will. I’d do that, and more, to make Ben happy.

Unable to hold out any longer, I kiss him. His whole body comes alive when I slip my tongue into his mouth and wrap my hands around his neck. He groans in complete relief at the contact and I’m so happy I cry; a small tear leaking down my temple. The hollow, empty place is filling and I don’t know if it’s just for tonight, but I have to take it regardless of the price.

Ben pins me to the bed with more force than I’m expecting, his hands holding down my forearms. He traces circles with his tongue on my exposed neck and chest as my T-shirt rides up to expose my panties. My whole body prickles with goosebumps and my stomach flips. I’m so anxious and excited there’s no controlling my reactions. Moans escape as he releases me to slide my underwear down my legs. Sitting up, I take off my shirt and he makes haste pulling off his clothing. No boxer briefs tonight.

He stares at me from the foot of my bed, chest heaving, eyes heavy, and cock pulsing in preparation.

“Come here, Ben. Let me love you.” I hold out my hands to him.

His eyes turn down in the corner. Sadly, he shakes his head, his brows pulling together. “That’s not what I need,” he whispers, licking his lips.

I nod, understanding. Swallowing hard, I reply, “Fuck me. Right now. Fuck me.”

Crawling up the bed, he rests his head in between my legs. It’s not a soft, light, feather touch. His tongue and mouth are rough. At this point in my sabbatical, it doesn’t matter. Ben’s face is pressed against me and it’s more than enough to have my pussy throbbing out a love song of wetness and lust. He doesn’t want love, and maybe I don’t either.

I’m about to come, and I scream it to the heavens to let them know, too. Ben doesn’t let me. He wipes his mouth on my inner thigh and then drags his lips and mouth up the side of my body. He kisses the side of my breast, moves his tongue over my nipple, and trails the kiss up the front of my neck.

“This neck,” he moans out, moving his kiss back down again.

I arch my chin to the ceiling and relish the sensations.

I can feel his dick head brushing softly against my core and I move my hips to let him know I’m ready and want him to take me. Ben is kissing and licking every inch of surface on my neck. He’s taking it slower than I thought he would. His eyes are closed as if he’s relishing every second. It hurts my heart to see him like this. I want to give him what he needs. My body at his disposal—for him to lose himself in something familiar, something steadfast, a body filled with life.

Leaning up, he lays a palm, fingers spread wide across my chest, and says, “Your heart is beating so fast.” He swallows hard, feeling my heartbeat.

I laugh a little. “You make me excitable,” I reply. “You should finish what you started.”

Ben replaces his hand with his ear, leaning his head down to listen instead, a complete change of pace. “I’m talking to you, heart,” he says, smiling. “I’m gonna give you something to really beat about.”

“Do it,” I say, smirking when he meets my eyes.

He’s back for a second. My Ben. Then he enters me in one, hard thrust and he’s lost in an entirely different way. He kisses me every so often, but it’s rough juts and feral shouts, anger fluidly swallowed by terror and rage.

I can’t even hang on to his shoulders, it’s so rough. It’s not pleasurable for me and I think he’s forgotten I’m even in the room with him. Leaning back on his knees, he pulls my hips to him instead of thrusting. He fills me over and over and I think he’s trying to fill me with everything he’s trying to get rid of. He looks up at the ceiling as he pulls me onto his cock at a furious pace. I clutch at the sheets and try to keep myself in place. I keep my eyes closed. There’s no need to see Ben right now, because this isn’t my Ben anymore. He pulls me all the way onto him and comes. Ben screams out. It’s a cry of anguish.

My whole body is tense when he pulls out. I don’t dare open my eyes. I listen to his harried breaths mixing with my soft whimpers. More tears come as I try to squelch the tightness in my chest, the hurt he’s caused.

“Harper,” he says.

I hear the apology in my name.

He’s looking away from me when I open my eyes and sit up. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wipe another tear away lest he see what he’s caused. He sobs and retreats to my bathroom.

I scoot off the bed, sore and terrified of what just happened, and walk in behind him. Ben is bent over the counter, forearms pressing on the granite, the ultimate picture of male prowess. Naked, stunning, muscles coiled, and chest heaving. He’s also a man completely destroyed. A stray delicate petal on a steel flower.

“Fuck,” Ben hisses. “I’m fucked up, Harper. So fucked up.”

I stay silent, but stand next to him, the mirror reflecting our images in an unfamiliar way. Ben meets my eyes in the mirror. “How many times have I transfixed your face on Norah? At least a million. Only the times when it matters? When I was fucking her? Definitely when I was marrying her. When it counts? This is my punishment from Norah after death. Seeing her sad, second-best face anytime you’re in front of me.” The man I love transforms into a ghost.

“Oh my God,” I sob. “I can’t do this. You shouldn’t have come here, Ben. I love you. I do,” I whisper, grabbing his arm. His gaze darts to where our skin meets in the reflection. “I’m not sure we can get over this. Or you need more time. This is breaking my heart. Fucking me isn’t going to bring back your dead wife. I won’t do that for you and I’ll do a lot.”

One side of his mouth quirks up. “The heartbreak club. At least we’ll be in it together. Fucking you helps me. It does. It’s the only thing I can think of.”

My stomach roils as my heart splinters.

I point to my bed. “I’ll never do that with you again. That’s a promise. I’m not some toy.” Swallowing hard, I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling too exposed.

“I need to go,” Ben says, brushing past me to get his clothes. “I’m sorry. I am. This was a mistake. I’m a weak bastard.” Shaking his head, he does look remorseful. He doesn’t apologize for using my body as a Norah vessel and the thought makes me shiver. “I’m out of my mind.” He mutters under his breath, something about how he can’t believe what he’s done and how he needs to shackle himself to his house.

I grab my T-shirt from the floor and notice the bloody, mangled sheets.

“Can we forget tonight even happened?” he asks, finally speaking loud enough for me to hear each word. I can tell he’s not going to try to convince me of his point of view, like my Ben would. He’s going to ask this of me.

“You’d ask that of me?” I ask, biting my lip to stifle tears.

He sighs. “My best friend would forget.”

When he gets to the front of my house, I open the door for him. “Maybe I can’t be your best friend and your fuck buddy at the same time. You said you didn’t need a friend. You didn’t need that version of me.” I stifle a hiccupped sob and pinch my lips together. “I’ll forget more than tonight. That’s a promise,” I reply, shutting the door in his sad, haggard face.

I drown out the night with a stiff drink and pass out in the sheets that prove I won’t forget that quickly.

Or ever.