There was no time for him to say anything else, no time for me to try to make any sense of what the hell had happened, of the fact that it had been Elliott who had been behind this, that he wanted me dead—because the police were now rushing into the place, and everything dissolved into commotion and chaos.
Chapter 26
Ben
To say my mind was reeling would probably be the understatement of the year. I was lying in bed at Teagan’s, listening to the steady rhythm of her breath. She had finally fallen asleep. I had no clue what time it was, but it was very late, or maybe it was very early in the wee hours of the morning. It didn’t matter; sleep was not going to be showing up for me anytime soon, but I didn’t mind lying here next to Teagan. It was a relief to finally know who was behind all of this, to know that Teagan wasn’t in immediate danger anymore. That still gave me the chills, to think about it. The fact that she had ultimately been the target all along. That it could’ve happened at any moment. I would have done anything in my power to protect her, but I hadn’t been with her all the time, and even if I had, there still might have been little I could have done.
I tried to banish those thoughts from my mind, tried to tell myself that there was no reason to think like that anymore, but I could not get the picture out of my head of Teagan getting shot and dying in my arms. Perhaps because it could have so easily happened. And while I had certainly taken the job seriously, had it ever entered my mind that she might truly be in danger?
The past few days since Elliott’s arrest had been tumultuous, though they were now starting to slow down, which I was grateful for. It was strange to be part of this narrative, to have to talk not just to the police but to journalists, strangers, my own friends and family. I couldn’t imagine what Teagan was going through, how she was feeling about the whole thing. I told her that we could talk about it whenever she wanted, whenever she felt ready, though I wasn’t sure if you would ever feel ready to talk about something like that.
It seemed that Elliott was fully cooperating with the police, now that he was in custody. The high-powered hunting rifle he had used had been one of his father’s guns. Unregistered, which was why the police hadn’t been able to trace it back to the owner. Apparently, Elliott’s father had so many guns that he hadn’t noticed one was missing.
I got up to take a leak and then checked my phone, saw that I had a missed call from Camille. It was followed by a text: PLZ CALL, important.
The text had been sent just a few minutes ago.
I called, telling myself I could just hang up if things got ridiculous.
“Listen,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about what Teagan said. And I can agree to that.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“About the cabin. We can have an independent appraiser come in and decide what the value is, and I am willing to let it go for half of that.”
“That’s great,” I said, “but I don’t have that kind of money just sitting around—”
“Teagan said that she was going to take care of it. That it was going to be a gift for you. I didn’t think that would necessarily be such a smart idea, you owning this place first with me, then with her, but she assured me that your name and your name only will be on the deed.”
“Uh...” I was trying to make sense of everything that Camille was telling me, but I was having a difficult time. When had Teagan talked to her? And she was willing to buy Camille out, just like that, but not have her name on it? I couldn’t let her do that. No way.
“This is assuming you still want to do this. If not, I’m just going to suggest we put the place on the market and split the proceeds.”
“Let me get back to you,” I said. “There’s been... there’s been a lot going on the past couple of days, and I’m sure Teagan hasn’t given the cabin any thought at all. I’ll call you back by tomorrow at the latest, though, about this, okay?”
“Sure,” Camille said nonchalantly. She paused. “But Ben?”
“What?”
“You seem happy. And Teagan seems like a good person. So I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate you saying that.”
I continued to feel as if I was existing in some sort of alternate universe, long after I got off the phone. I didn’t go back to bed, but instead stayed in the living room as the sun started to rise and the city began to wake up. I made coffee, and when Teagan got up, she came and sat next to me on the couch.
“Have you been up a while?”
“A little,” I said. “I actually had a talk with Camille. She called. She said she thought about it and was going to accept your offer.”
It took Teagan a moment to register what I had said. “Oh, shit.” She gave me an apologetic look. “I had wanted to surprise you. I thought she was going to get back to me about it.”
I took her hand. “You know I can’t let you do that,” I said. “Buy the cabin like that for me.”
“But I want to,” she said. “You’ve made me so happy. And I can clearly see how happy having that cabin makes you. I have the resources to do so. What’s the point in having all this money if I can’t use it to help out the people I love?”
I could understand where she was coming from; if I was exponentially wealthy, of course I would want to be able to do things for friends and family. But... it still felt so weird. I wasn’t used to being the person who got things in a relationship—I was usually the one giving.
“Listen,” she said. “We’ve been through a lot together, in a very short period of time. The sort of stuff that you never think is going to happen to you—it happens to people you read about online. I’m trying to deal with the fact that people are dead because my ex-boyfriend is a psycho who somehow got it in his head that I owe him something, and was willing to go so far as to take other people’s lives so he could ultimately take mine. If that whole scenario isn’t completely messed up, then I don’t know what is.”
“It is,” I said. “And it’s probably going to take a while to fully process it. I don’t want you to blame yourself, though. You’re not responsible for his actions.”
“I know. It’s still hard not to feel guilty or responsible in some way, though. But I’ll be okay. And do you know how I know that? Because I have you. And I know that I’d be okay even if you weren’t in my life, but you truly make me so happy, and I love being around you, and I want to make you happy. So, please—let me get this cabin for you, as my way of saying thank you, and I love you, and I think you’re an incredible person who deserves this, at the very least.”
It brought tears to my eyes, it really did. Because I could tell she meant it; she truly meant every word she was saying.
“Okay,” I said, wiping at my eyes. Teagan grinned and slid closer, wrapping her arms around me, burying her face in my neck. I hugged her back. “Thank you so much. I love you.”
She lifted her head and looked me deeply in the eyes, and it felt to me that I was seeing something familiar, that I was coming home.
“I love you, too,” she said.
BOOK FIVE
Chapter 1
Drew
I did not believe in mixing my personal life and my professional life. You’d be forgiven for thinking this would be difficult, considering the core people of the company I founded were friends, or the siblings of friends. It just made sense to do it that way—to start a company with people I already knew, not people who had found me through some online job posting and come in for an interview after submitting their cover letter and résumé.
I told this to Julia, who was seated across from me in a new dress, her golden hair freshly highlighted, makeup applied in a subtle but becoming manner. Now, Julia, I had found her online, because every other week, I went out on a date. This was a ritual I adhered to the same way some people went to church every week, or parked themselves in front of the TV to watch a favorite recurring TV show or Sunday Night Football or whatever dumb shit people wante
d to stare at a screen over these days. It was one date, and one date only, which would culminate in a hug. There was no hand-holding, no kissing, no snuggling, just a hug of the sort you might give a great-aunt you hadn’t seen in a very long time.
This was non-negotiable, though attempts were often made to circumvent the unspoken rules. Julia, for example, had no idea about these rules; she just thought that we were two adults out on a first date and that it was—surprise—actually going quite well.
“I think that’s so cool,” Julia was saying, “that you just went ahead and started a company with your friends.” She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and gave me the bedroom eyes.
“I’ve never actually posted an online ad,” I said. “Everyone who works at Parker Security has known someone who’s worked there, and gets referred that way.”
“Well,” Julia said, “you may have never posted an online job ad, but your online dating ad was certainly... compelling.”
It was compelling because I used an actual, current photo of myself, which many people do not, and also because I’m exceptionally good-looking. Which sounds like a dickish thing to say, I know, but I say it more as a statement of fact than anything else. The same way you might say I have brown hair or I have a mole on my right forearm—a truth, something you generally don’t feel one way or the other about. I never used my looks to try to get something from people, never erroneously told myself that it made me better than others, never was so foolish as to think that looks were something you’d have forever. But I knew many women were attracted to tall, fit, brooding men, and I had that brooding sort of look, though it was never something I’d actively tried to cultivate. It’s just how I was.
I took a sip of my water and gave Julia a half-smile. Our evening was drawing to a close, though she probably thought the real part of the night was only just beginning. She was attractive, for sure, and probably great in bed, but here’s what she didn’t know: I hadn’t been intimate with anyone in close to two decades, and I intended to keep it that way for, well... the rest of my life. And sure, there was a part of me that longed to be with a woman, to look down at her, naked and writhing underneath me, to feel her hands caressing the length of my back, to look into her eyes before kissing her deeply. To feel that sort of release you can only get when you’re with another person. That desire was still there. But superseding that was discipline. It made me feel better to deny myself that and know that I had the control, the power, to turn my back on something that I wanted, than it would to actually just go through with it. I liked to look at the carrot dangling in front of me, but I’d never actually reach out and try to take a bite.
When the waitress came with the bill, I took care of it, despite Julia’s protests. I always took care of the bill, and I did not go to inexpensive restaurants.
“Thank you,” Julia said, as I slid my Amex Black Card into the leather server book. She eyed the Centurion card, but did not have any other outward reaction, which was good. Some previous dates would exclaim over it, or say that I must be loaded to be in possession of that, which made me even more desirable in their eyes.
Julia slid her hand across the table and traced her fingers over mine. I allowed this for a few seconds and then pulled my hand back, though I did it naturally. She smiled and pressed those lush lips of hers together. I felt a stirring in my pants, a reminder that there were things I would more than enjoy doing with this woman if only I would get out of my own way. The thing was, these feelings had been coming on stronger more recently, which perhaps meant that I should increase my dating frequency to once a week, instead of every other, at least until the feelings abated some.
When the waitress returned with the receipt, I pocketed my card, left a generous tip, and then escorted Julia out of the restaurant. This was my least favorite part of the evening, because I didn’t like to cause hurt feelings. I wasn’t a sociopath, despite what my dating behavior might suggest.
“Well,” I said as we stood out front of the restaurant, “I had a good time tonight, thank you.”
“I had a great time, too. And thank you for dinner.”
“My pleasure.”
“It’s still pretty early. Do you want to go to my place? Or get a drink somewhere?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t. I’ve got another commitment I need to attend to.”
“Oh.” The disappointment was obvious, but Julia tried to disguise it with a smile. “That’s okay. Do you... do you want to get together again?”
She took a step closer to me; one more step and we’d be touching. I ignored the feeling in my groin, even as I looked down at her, her cleavage in full view.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”
It was best to be honest and straightforward. So many people had a problem with that, because they were afraid of hurting other people’s feelings or of coming across like a jerk. The thing was, it would hurt Julia’s feelings a lot more if I strung her along, and I would seem like a way bigger asshole if I agreed to go on another date and then just ghosted her. She’d be hurt now, but she’d get over it quickly.
Her brows knitted together and she nodded slowly. “I see,” she said. Her tone was hard to read. I’d gotten the full gamut of reactions at the end of these first dates—anger, hysterics, resentment; a few were even good-natured in their acceptance. She looked up at me. “Do you mind telling me why?”
Now we were entering trickier waters. Few women ever asked why; they were usually so eager to get away from an awkward situation that they’d make a hasty exit as soon as they could. But Julia didn’t appear to be in any hurry as we stood there on the sidewalk, people walking around us.
“Because,” Julia continued, when I didn’t respond promptly, “I had a really good feeling about you, and that feeling continued to grow right up until we got out here and you told me that you didn’t think it was going to be possible for us to see each other again. I can’t tell you how many first dates I’ve gone on where I haven’t had that feeling, and now I’m on this date with you and you’re telling me that we won’t be seeing each other again. So I guess I’m just curious as to why you feel that way, because my feelings usually aren’t wrong.”
Oh, boy. Her refusal to accept my answer was actually arousing me even more, which was not good. I was standing there in the middle of the sidewalk on a Friday night, with a hard-on pressing against my boxer briefs. They were made of thick cotton, and the pants I was wearing were also pretty heavy-duty, so it wasn’t like I was in any real danger of being found out, but it was making walking away that much more challenging.
You could do it, a little voice in my head whispered. How long has it been? How good would it feel? Don’t you deserve a little release? After everything you’ve been through? After every shit sandwich life has thrown your way, isn’t this the very least of what you deserve?
That was the thing—people didn’t deserve anything. There would be far fewer problems in the world if society could just get that straight. But that would never happen, because people needed a reason. A reason to keep on living, to be a decent person. If I’m a good person, good things will happen to me. That sort of bullshit. Which wasn’t true, wasn’t how things worked at all, but it was something that most people needed, whether or not they realized it.
To my horror, Julia’s eyes had started to fill with tears. I hated when crying was involved, because it all seemed so dramatic, so over the top. How could you really be shedding tears over someone you had known for a few hours?
“I know that probably sounds ridiculous,” Julia said, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “That my feelings usually aren’t wrong. But what I mean by that is, the last time I had this feeling was the first date I went on with Kevin, and he and I got married.”
I raised an eyebrow. This hadn’t come up at all during our dinner conversation.
“You were married?”
“Yes. And he was the love of my life and he died. Si
x years ago. He had cancer.”
“Julia,” I said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. I didn’t bring it up; it’s not the sort of thing you really want to talk about, ever. But Kevin and I talked a lot before he died, and he made me promise him that I would keep living my life. That I wouldn’t just curl up in a ball and never leave the apartment again, which was exactly what I wanted to do. Sometimes I still do. But the thing is, Drew, I believe in love, and that’s not something I want to give up on, despite all the shitty first dates I’ve been on. And you... you were the first date where I actually felt a connection, where I had that same feeling that I had with Kevin. So I’m sorry for reacting this way, but I think the least you could do here is tell me why.”
People were shooting curious glances our way as they passed by, probably waiting for the fireworks to start: Julia to start screaming or hitting me or something. But, shit—I’d had no idea about her past history. No idea at all.
“You’re a great person,” I said. “But sometimes, people just don’t feel the same way about each other.”
I actually did feel bad saying that, because Julia was someone whom I would’ve asked for a second date with, if I did second dates. And yeah, yeah, I know, all that stuff earlier about being honest. I could’ve told her: I don’t do second dates. But then she’d probably ask the very legitimate question: Why do a first date then? And that was going down a road I just didn’t want to head down.
“Which is not to say you won’t find the right person,” I said. “It’s just I am not that person.”
She started to really sob then, covering her face with her hand.
“Hey, now,” I said, and I took that last step, closing the distance between us, and giving her a hug. She buried her face into my shoulder and really let loose, her whole body shaking. I patted her back.
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