by Elise Faber
A deep breath released slowly. “For ten years we lived and breathed that, everything on hold, all of us just barely existed. I didn’t do anything but go to school and come home, and even at school, I existed as a buffer between Chance and anything that might knock him off track. If he couldn’t go one day, I didn’t go. If he needed to leave and go home, I brought him home or drove him when I was old enough.”
A tear trailed down her cheek, and he longed to wipe it away, to take her in his arms, but he didn’t want to stop her from telling her story.
So, he just clung to her hand and offered the only thing he could.
He listened.
“But eventually, I just couldn’t do it anymore. I’d already delayed going to college, had stayed and gone to the community one in our hometown because I couldn’t leave him, not when leaving might unbalance him, not when I wouldn’t be there to protect him.” She shook her head. “Then I couldn’t breathe, found myself not wanting to. Instead, I was willing to let myself slip down and not exist and . . . that finally snapped me out of it.”
“You left.”
She nodded. “I had to.”
He squeezed her hand again. “Yes, you did.”
“I went off. I had two great months. It was amazing living in the dorms, surrounded by people who didn’t want anything of me. And then . . .” Ben’s throat seized, but he didn’t press, just held her hand as she gathered her strength. “He killed himself.”
His breath hissed out of him. “Oh, baby,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“My parents . . . they didn’t explicitly blame me, but I saw the accusations in their eyes, in their sharp words when I returned for the funeral. Why hadn’t I been able to give everything when they could?” Her eyes were unfocused, drawn back to that time. “I couldn’t stand it, so the moment he was in the ground, I went back to school. Stayed there. Got my first boyfriend, lost my virginity, lost myself in trying to make people love me as much as my parents had loved Chance. But . . . college boys are, as you might remember, not inclined to love truly. They want to party and be free but . . . at the time, it seemed like further proof that I was unlovable, unworthy.”
He couldn’t stand this, but he had to, not only because she’d endured it, but because she needed him to shoulder this burden, to aid her in letting it go. Slowly, he tugged his hand free, leaned in carefully to cup her cheek, to brush the tears that continued to fall.
“Then I met Jeremy, and he was wonderful. At first. Or I thought he was, anyway, until I met you.” She gave him a ghost of the smile. “I get now that our relationship was unbalanced. I gave. He didn’t. Not in graduate school, when we met. Not after I moved here, and we were supposed to be building our future.” Her hand covered his on her cheek. “I don’t know why he broke up with me, why he pushed me away. Maybe part of him sensed that I was too desperate for him, too willing to do anything, he knew it would destroy me, so he turned me loose—”
Ben snorted.
She smiled sadly again. “You’re probably right. I doubt it was anything altruistic. But he broke up with me brutally enough that I knew I wouldn’t ever go back to him. Even though I was still desperate to feel loved, I couldn’t forgive what he did and said and how he left me alone in a new state without a place to live and a broken heart.”
“I want to kill him.”
A chuckle slid from her lips. “After today, I don’t think I would have minded. Especially after what he did to Fred.” She shook her head, and he shook his. This woman and her dog, worrying over him rather than herself. “But it’s better that he’s gone, out of our lives forever.”
“Our,” Ben said, shifting closer to brush a kiss to her forehead. “I have to admit I like the sound of that.”
Her lips turned up. “I do, too.”
“Almost as much as I like the sound of forever.”
Laughter on the air. “I like that, too.” She covered his hand with her own. “You gave me that. Gave me a reason to hope, the strength to throw open the door and realize that I deserve more, not the crumbs that someone is inclined to toss my way. I deserve everything.”
“Baby,” he whispered.
“You, Ben,” she added softly. “You gave that to me.”
“I love you.” His fingers slid over her cheek, into her hair. She sniffed, and he felt near enough to tears himself to ask lightly, “Do you think I could kiss you, if I’m very gentle?”
More laughter, this time in his ear, her smile beatific. “I really wish you would.”
So he did.
Chapter Thirty-One
Stef
It was Tammy’s turn.
To keep her busy, or really, to keep her from going insane from being locked up in Ben’s apartment.
Three weeks since Jeremy had broken into her place.
And somehow, she’d been coaxed into moving in with Ben.
Her condo was on the market, her things packed and moved to his place. The only thing that was missing was a back yard for Fred, not that her condo’s had been anything to celebrate. A tiny postage stamp had nothing on it. Plus, Ben had already had grass installed on one of the patios for Sweetheart, and he’d had some workers expand it, so the pups would have more space to run.
It had worked out perfectly, and she was done with being scared and living in the past. She’d told him the dark secrets in her heart, the things that made her ashamed, that had her parents looking at her with disdain.
And he hadn’t run.
He stayed.
He’d remained the Ben she knew and loved, and . . .
In the meantime, she convalesced, worked as much as she was able to from home, and Ben still had his hard stop at six, though oftentimes he was home much earlier, working beside her on the couch.
Yesterday, he’d brought home the news that Jeremy had pleaded guilty to his charges and would face both jail time and mandatory rehab.
Because what he’d been looking for that day when he’d broken in was oxycontin, leftover from her first surgery. She didn’t know whether that was what he’d been looking for the first time he’d come earlier in the year, but she suspected it, suspected that the vase had just been an excuse to get into her house, one she’d unwittingly thwarted.
Temporarily, at least.
Because then he’d come back . . . and ruined her dinner plans.
She snorted, felt Tammy glance over at her. “What is it?” her friend asked, glancing up from her book.
She’d been reading while Stef watched, as she called it, another “boring pointy-ear show.” But there was little to do besides read and watch TV, especially when she wasn’t allowed to bear any weight on her ankle.
Tomorrow, though, she’d go back to the doctor, and if all looked good, then she’d be in a walking boot.
Woo-hoo.
The world would open up again.
“I’m just antsy,” Stef said. “I need to get off my ass and do something.”
Tammy laughed. “When’s that supposed to happen?”
“Tomorrow. If I don’t fuck it up.”
“What could fuck it up?”
Stef rolled her eyes. “Nothing, according to Ben, so long as I keep my ass on this couch.” She groaned. “Give me something. Distract me.”
“How?” Tammy asked. “I’m boring and single and have absolutely no life outside of work.”
“Tell me about work.”
“You cannot possibly want to hear about that.”
Okay, so maybe she didn’t. “Tell me about your love life.”
“I just told you I was single.”
Stef groaned again. “Give me something. You’re beautiful. Isn’t there a guy or girl you’re interested in?”
Tammy’s voice was pained. “Now you sound like my mother. When are you going to get married, Tammy? You’re the only one left, and you shouldn’t work all the time. A man or a woman would settle you and—”
She broke off on a fake gag.
“No dating?” Stef ask
ed.
“I’m not interested in turning into one of those sappy, love-struck idiots”—a grin—“no offense.”
Stef was sappy, love-struck. The idiot part was questionable, she supposed, but she didn’t take offense. Not when she supposed that everyone was a bit of an idiot when they were in love, especially when they were in love with a man like Ben.
“Ugh.”
Stef blinked. “What?”
Tammy waved a hand. “That. You’ve got Ben-fog going on, dreaming about the man who holds your heart and all the rest of that barf-worthy nonsense.” She slanted a look in Stef’s direction, contrition in her gaze. “Not that I begrudge you your happiness. It’s just . . .” Her lips pressed flat as she trailed off.
“You don’t want that.”
“No,” Tammy agreed. “I don’t. I just want to build my career and find success and . . . I guess, I just want to be me before I become an us.” She sighed. “I don’t know why everyone thinks that’s so unreasonable.”
She reached out and squeezed Tammy’s hand. The other woman was a few years younger, just in her mid-twenties, as opposed to Stef’s thirty-five. She had time to find herself. “I don’t think it’s unreasonable,” she said. “Not at all.” Another squeeze. “I think it’s admirable. You have plenty of time to find someone, or not. And either way, you have time to make that decision.”
Tammy smiled. “For a love-struck sap, you’re not too bad.”
Stef laughed. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
A buzz had Tammy glancing down at her phone. “Oh, shoot that’s the office. I need to take this.”
“Go on,” Stef told her. “And why don’t you take off? Free yourself from my pointy-eared torture. Ben should be home soon, and I wouldn’t want to subject you to more sappy lovey-dovey torture either.”
Dancing brown eyes. “You sure?”
Stef nodded.
Tammy grinned, gathered up her book and her purse, said a quick goodbye, then answered the call as she disappeared into the elevator.
Stef was grinning as she turned her attention back to her show.
A crash woke her up with a start.
She blinked, saw the penthouse was dark, the sun having gone down beyond the windows.
Clearly, she’d fallen asleep. Had Ben come home and let her rest?
Her lips turned up at the corners, of course he had. He’d been nagging her about getting enough sleep so her body could heal properly. She didn’t doubt he would have tiptoed by and taken care of the dogs and dinner.
Pushing her elbows beneath her, she sat up and glanced around.
Then nearly fell off the couch.
Ben was standing in the entryway, face hidden in the shadows, a bag at his feet, but there was something about the way he stood that had fear shivering down her spine.
“Why?” he asked, voice chilled as it slid along the air to her ears.
“Why what?”
He strode over, and she saw that his expression was furious and cold and completely unrecognizable.
This wasn’t her Ben.
She knew that in an instant.
“I could have forgiven the movie being leaked. Thought it was just a mistake, that you loaned it to someone you shouldn’t have.” His jaw clenched as he crouched in front of her. “But then it was the details about the contract with Talbot Green, the confidential information of my deal to stream to Europe, the specifics about the new algorithm.”
His fist banged down on the table.
“Was it worth it?” he asked. “What they paid you? Was it worth hurting me?”
“Ben,” she breathed, swinging her leg down and sitting up fully. “I don’t know what you think, but I didn’t do anything—”
“You used my laptop,” he interrupted. “When you came home from the hospital but hadn’t gotten one from work yet. You went into my email and shared—”
This was madness.
“I didn’t share or steal anything,” she said. “This is all some stupid misunderstanding and—”
His voice was deadly soft. “Why did you do it?”
She pushed off the couch, squatted before him, ankle protesting the movement. She ignored the pain, both striking through her heart and shooting through the joint. “I didn’t do anything. I promise you. I would never—”
“Except, you did.”
She grasped his cheeks. “I didn’t.”
“Four isn’t a coincidence, Stef,” he said, not moving, his deep brown eyes boring into hers. “And you were the only one with the movie. The only one with access to my email and the other details. I didn’t want to believe it—”
“Then don’t,” she begged. “Because. I. Didn’t. Do. It.”
Ben went still beneath her. Just stopped breathing, every muscle in his body going rock-hard. But there wasn’t any heat in him, in his eyes.
No.
It was ice—pure and simple and biting, almost burning her with the intensity of the frost.
He jerked himself out of her grip.
“Get up.”
Stef blinked. “What?”
“Get up.”
This time she didn’t get a chance to even blink. Ben grasped her arm, yanked her up to her feet, and not all that gently either. Not like the tender, lovely man she’d grown to love.
The man who stood in front of her was a stranger.
He strode to where the bag sat, sitting on that white rug. “Get. Out.”
“Ben,” she began, wanting to beg, wanting to get him to see reason.
“I’ll have your stuff sent back to your place, the realtor take your condo off the market.”
Something cracked wide open in her chest. Her trust, her love, that all drifted away like clouds floating across the sky.
She tried one last time.
Because he was Ben. He’d shown that he was different. She wouldn’t cower. She would fight for what they’d built, fight to hold on to all that was special between them.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered.
He bent, grabbed the bag, and strode to the elevator, waiting until the doors opened before he launched it onto the car. “Go,” he snapped. “And feel privileged that I won’t be suing you.” He made a sound of disgust. “I can’t believe that I ever thought you were different from her. From all those people who just wanted to get close to me, just wanted a piece of me. But you’re not, are you? You’re just like her. Probably laughing at my idiocy.”
“I’ve never thought you were an idiot,” she said. “I love you, so fucking much.”
He scoffed.
And lips parting, a shaking sigh emerging, she stifled any further thoughts of begging, of trying to understand, trying to get him to believe her.
Because fuck him.
Because he’d given her the strength to do it, but she was the one who’d actually looked into herself and found worth and value, found a woman who could be loved.
Who deserved to be loved.
“Get the fuck out,” he said in that icy tone of his.
“I’m gone,” she said, limping toward the elevator, stopping only to grab her purse off that table in the entry, to pick up Fred’s leash and snap it to his collar. He was excited for a moment, probably thinking it was walk time despite the dark skies outside. But when she didn’t bring Sweetheart along, when she merely stroked that soft, white head and whispered, “Be good, Sweetie Pie,” he slowed, glancing over his shoulder and giving a quiet whine.
Stef felt a sharp crack in her heart, pain radiating through her, but she pushed it down.
“Stay, Sweetheart,” she said firmly when the dog started to rise.
Sweetheart plunked back down onto the fluffy bed.
Fred whined again.
That pain pulsed.
But she straightened and made her way to the elevator, proud her voice was completely neutral when she spoke. “I can’t believe that I ever thought you were different,” she said, anger drifting in, taking the place of all that hurt. She s
topped in front of him, as he still held the elevator doors, despite the warning buzzer inside the cart, telling him to close them. His eyes were chips of ice, but she felt frosted over herself, and merely lifted her chin as she added, “I gave you pieces of myself that I’ve never given anyone. I trusted you. I—”
She broke off, shook her head.
“I loved you,” she said and released a long, slow breath.
Then she pushed back his hand, tugged Fred forward, and they both stepped onto the elevator.
Ben stood there. No. Not Ben. Some stranger who she realized she didn’t know at all.
The doors began to slide closed.
“And if you thought for one second, I could share with you what I shared,” she said, stretching a hand out and stopping them once more. “If you thought I could conquer the demons I held tightly for so long to be with you, then could have turned around and sold your company’s secrets for a quick buck, then you never knew me at all.”
She let go.
The metal panels shut with a soft snick.
The elevator descended.
And then she left.
The first thing she did when she and Fred got into the Lyft she called was delete his texts and messages, block Ben’s number, and set about erasing everything of him from her phone. Until she could almost pretend he didn’t exist.
The next thing she did was wipe her eyes.
Because she was not going to cry.
Not over a man. Not ever again.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Ben
He wasn’t a man who drank himself into oblivion.
Or he hadn’t been.
But he’d changed.
Or at least, Stef had changed him.
Guzzling directly from the bottle of whiskey, he shoved himself into the corner between the TV stand and the windows, staring out at the city lights and ignoring Sweetheart when she nosed his side, probably wondering where Fred was. Well, she’d have to get used to being without him. Fred wouldn’t be back, and neither would his owner. Not now. Not ever. He’d trusted Stef, given her everything he had, opened his heart and home and—