Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted

by Kaitlyn Cross

  Ben watched the movie load on the screen. “Hope they don’t forget the hot sauce. There is nothing worse than taco pizza without hot sauce.”

  “Why is your dick tattooed?”

  His eyes snapped over to her. He hesitated before answering. “Lost a bet.”

  “Just tell me the truth.”

  “I was wasted and I lost a bet.”

  Her eyes wrinkled around the corners. “What kind of bet?”

  “Eight ball.”

  “Oh God,” she muttered. “Why would you ever make a stupid bet like that?”

  “I was wasted! Remember?”

  “How old were you?”

  “Eighteen and I regret it to this day.” He turned back to the TV with a glum expression. “I really do.”

  Her eyes fell into his lap. “But The Incredible Hulk? Really?”

  “There’s a hidden message in there when it gets bigger.”

  Her eyes rose to find his staring back. “Like what?”

  “A blueprint to your heart.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So did you do it or did someone else do it for you?”

  “The ink?”

  “Yeah, the ink. Who touched your wiener?”

  “Movie’s on,” Ben said, turning up the TV as the opening sequence filled the wide screen. A dizzying aerial shot followed a lone VW Bug motoring along a mountainside road below, sinuously navigating a snaking path with deadly consequences bordering every passing ridge. “Best opening in movie history,” he whispered over the ominous music. “Stanley Kubrick, baby.”

  “Don’t try changing the subject,” she said. “And I thought it was Stephen King.”

  “King wrote the book, Kubrick did the movie.” He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.

  Heat flushed her left side as she snuggled against him, her legs folded to the side on the couch. They exchanged warm smiles, like young lovers will do, and turned back to the TV. It was scary how right this felt, like they had been together for years, happily sharing in one another’s joys and triumphs while nursing the stings of misfortune along the way. The kind of thing only the elderly can truly come to know.

  “This music is so creepy.”

  “You’ve never seen this movie?”

  She shook her head.

  “The music sets the mood. Kubrick is a master of setting.”

  Brooke leaned her head on his shoulder and let out a content sigh, watching the little yellow car languidly carve through a swath of towering pines.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brooke rinsed out her coffee mug and grabbed a purple jacket, glancing around the living room as she put it on. Ben had already cleaned up the pizza box and beer bottles before leaving for work, the place as clean as a whistle. A smile broke out as she took off the jacket and draped it over the couch, opting for her black one instead. She grabbed Ben’s spare key, already anxious to get back here after work. Well, after going to her parents’ house after work. She sighed. It was going to be another long day but just knowing she would be back here later tonight made everything seem okay. Regardless of how far her parents would (or wouldn’t) come around, nothing could steal her joy today.

  A loud knock at the door startled her. She slung her purse over her shoulder and went to the peephole. A gray haired lady stared back like she could see Brooke through the door. The lady’s face fell when the door opened and she saw Brooke, her complexion nearly as gray as her short cropped hair.

  Brooke smiled, trying to ease the woman’s bafflement. “You must be looking for Ben?”

  She glanced into the apartment. “Is he here?”

  “No, he left for work a little while ago.”

  “Oh, I see,” she responded, stretching each syllable. She held up a plastic bag. “I’m his mother, Irene, and I wanted to drop this off on my way to the doctor’s. Normally, I’d just leave it by the door if he wasn’t home.”

  “Oh, I’ll take it,” Brooke said, taking the bag.

  Irene held onto it a split second longer then relented.

  “I’m Brooke by the way.” She couldn’t decide if she should offer her hand or not and opted against it.

  Irene’s gaze slipped back into the apartment and snagged on the purple jacket folded over the couch. “Are you staying here?”

  Brooke’s cheeks blushed. “Not really,” she lied, hiking her purse strap further up her shoulder. “Just visiting.”

  “Oh, where from?”

  She swallowed thickly. “I’m from here.”

  Another longwinded I see rolled from Irene’s wrinkled mouth.

  They stood there in silence for the next few excruciating seconds, Irene eyeballing Brooke, and Brooke trying not to squirm beneath the weight of those cold blue eyes.

  “Well, tell him I stopped by then.”

  “I will. Nice to meet you,” Brooke said, mustering up a smile that was as fake as the sincerity in her tone. She watched Irene silently turn around and slowly navigate the thin hallway carpeting like it was a sheet of slippery ice.

  Brooke shut the door and exhaled a long breath, staring at the bag in her hand. “Oh boy,” she whispered, setting it down and giving Irene plenty of lead time to vacate the premises before leaving for work.

  ***

  The sight of her parents’ yellow house dispelled any warm fuzzies she had collected over the day. It was after seven o’clock and already dark. Brooke was tired and hungry and determined to get this over with as quickly and painlessly as possible. Brooke wasn’t one to hang onto a grudge, preferring to patch things up before they could – like Ben had said – fester. Despite that, she nearly put the car in reverse and left. Instead, she turned it off and climbed out.

  An odd feeling sprinkled over her on the front porch, leaving her unsure whether to go inside like usual or knock first. She chose the former and stepped inside. The smell of microwave popcorn greeted her.

  “Sweet Jesus, it lives!” Will scrambled over to the sofa table by the door and snatched a silver cross. He gripped it tightly in his fist and held it up to Brooke’s face. “I bind whoever is inside of my daughter in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!”

  Brooke cocked an eyebrow as her mother sauntered out of the kitchen in slacks and a breezy blouse that showed off her cleavage.

  “Will you please put that thing down before you poke someone’s eye out?” Laura wrapped Brooke in her arms and gave her a big hug. She kissed her on the forehead and swept a lock of hair that had escaped its ponytail from her eyelashes. “Hi, honey.”

  “Hi, mom.”

  Will lowered the cross and unleashed a sheepish smile. “Sorry, picked it up on Amazon a few days ago and it just came in the mail today.”

  Brooke scrunched up her nose like something smelled rotten. “You bought a silver cross on Amazon?”

  “There were only two left in stock, Brooke. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Why?”

  “Probably because it’s a very popular item.”

  “No, why did you buy a cross?”

  He lifted a shoulder to his ear. “Just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case he’s crazy,” Laura replied, returning to the kitchen.

  Will leaned in closer and spoke in a gravelly whisper. “In case vampires or demons stop by unannounced.” He held the cross up to her face and lightly pressed it against her forehead. “Burns don’t it?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Not really.”

  He pushed harder. “How about now?”

  “Nope.”

  “Now?”

  “Nothing.”

  He took the cross back and studied it through bewildered eyes. “I’ll be damned.”

  Brooke hit him with a perplexed frown before following in her mother’s footsteps.

  He gave chase. “You’ve got to admit you’ve been acting a little crazy lately.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Will you leave her alone?” Laura said, turn
ing off the light above the oven.

  “Look, I’m sorry about everything that happened. I don’t know where to even…”

  Laura waved her off with an unconcerned hand. “Water under the bridge, honey.”

  “I just don’t want you guys thinking less of me.”

  Laura hugged her again and held her out at arm’s length. “We don’t, and never will, think anything other than what an amazing young lady you have turned into.”

  Her mother’s words made her eyes water.

  “Where’s your box?” Will craned his neck, looking down the hallway to the front door.

  Brooke twisted the car keys in her hands until they left white imprints in her flesh. “It’s…at Ben’s place.”

  Laura arms dropped to her sides like they were made of concrete. She took a small step back.

  “You’re staying with him?” Will asked.

  Brooke responded with a shamefaced nod.

  “Maybe I should try the cross again.”

  “Would you rather I lied to you?”

  Will cried yes as Laura said no.

  “I really like him, dad, and he’s not what you think.” She turned to her mother. “You always taught me not to judge a book by its cover and I am telling you, Ben is a good man and is good at what he does.”

  “Drawing on people?”

  Brooke’s head jerked to her dad. “He’s an artist, dad, and one that’s in high demand.”

  Will let out a heavy sigh. “Do you have a tattoo now?”

  “No, I don’t have a tattoo.”

  His gaze saddened. “Oh, don’t do this, Brooke, not to us. Not after everything we’ve been through together.”

  “Dad!” she laughed. “I don’t have a tattoo.”

  Will sat down at the island and tapped an index finger on the soapstone. “Anything you want to tell us at this moment right here, for a limited time only, comes with full immunity. Now is your one and only chance to cleanse yourself of your detestable sins.” He gestured with the cross.

  Brooke exchanged a knowing glance with Laura. “So are we good then, mom?”

  She smiled warmly and took her daughter’s hand. “Of course, we’re good, honey. We’re always good and there is never any problem - big or small - that can change that.”

  Brooke faced her father in the tall breakfast bar chair, eye to eye. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

  An easy smile slid across his face. “I am too, baby girl.”

  They embraced and said their goodbyes, Brooke’s stomach suddenly growling. She made her way to the front door with Laura’s homemade carrot cake to go.

  “Brooke?”

  “Yeah, dad?” she said, her hand on the doorknob.

  He appeared in the hallway, a can of Diet Coke in hand. “Why don’t you invite Ben over for Thanksgiving?”

  She stood like she was made of stone. “Really?”

  “If he’s good enough for you, he’s good enough for me. And I mean that.”

  Brooke smiled. “Thank you, daddy. I’ll ask him.” She opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch.

  “Oh, and hey, Brooke.”

  She turned. “Yeah?”

  “Just stay out of our closets.”

  She shot him a look that could kill and disappeared into the night before he could change his mind.

  ***

  Brooke met Ben at a restaurant around the corner from his place that served cold beer and greasy pizza late.

  “Hey, hot-stuff,” he said, his face brightening.

  “Hi handsome.” She deposited her purse into the booth before presenting him with a kiss on the lips. “How are you?”

  “Better now.” She sat down and exhaled a tired breath before taking a sip of the red wine he had waiting for her.

  “Heard you met my mom this morning.”

  Brooke groaned and set the glass down. With everything else going on today, she had completely forgotten about Irene. “She stopped by just as I was leaving for work.”

  “Did you tell her we were living in sin?”

  Brooke’s head jerked back like someone had just slapped her. “What? No!”

  Ben hid a grin. “Well, that’s what her little church lady mind dreamt up.”

  “Oh, fabulous.” She shook her head.

  Ben reached across the table and took her hands in his and she let him. “So how’d it go with your parents? Or do I even want to know?”

  She smiled brightly, the smell of sausage and garlic seeping into their clothing. “My dad invited you over for Thanksgiving.”

  His face fell. “Are you serious?”

  She replied with a rapid nod.

  “Oh my God, he’s going to kill me.”

  “He’s not going to kill you. It’s water under the bridge as far as they’re concerned.”

  “Brooke, it’s a trap! You said so yourself.”

  “That was before.” She leaned back, the warm fuzzies recharged and tickling her insides once again. “Things are different now, trust me.”

  He leaned across the table and kissed her softly before staring into her eyes. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am,” she said, flipping open a menu. “Now, let’s eat. I’m starving.”

  ***

  After dinner - which was loaded with pizza and more digging into Irene’s past - Brooke and Ben walked down the street toward GT’s Lounge. The crisp night wind tugged at her hair as they hurried into a dimly-lit bar the size of a photo booth. It smelled like motor oil and was less than half full, the counters and walls stained yellow from decades of smoking before the ban. Ashtrays long gone, baskets of popcorn now sat in their place. Ben ordered beers from a long haired guy wearing a faded Slipknot t-shirt that was at least a size too small.

  Ben tipped him and ushered the bottles of Dead Guy Ale over to the booth Brooke had commandeered in his stead. He set the beers down and took off his black leather coat, smiling down at Brooke like he had just gotten away with murder.

  She allowed her eyes to roam his body before he sat down. From his scruffy cheeks and black v-neck to his oily dark jeans, her eyes combed every nook and cranny.

  “You shoot stick?”

  She followed his gaze to the pool table with a hollowed out motorcycle engine for a light hanging above it. “Not really.”

  “You wanna play a game?”

  Her eyes wandered to the spattering of people sitting at the bar. Two guys with matching ponytails and motorcycle jackets looked her way, seeming to will her into playing a game so they could get a nice butt shot when it was her turn to shoot. She turned back to Ben and wrinkled her nose. “Not so much.”

  “Come on, I’ll give you some pointers.”

  “You already gave me a pointer,” she said coyly, then taking a quick sip. “A BIG one.”

  He flashed a confident smile and fed the table some quarters. The balls fell with a loud clatter and rolled to the opening at one end. “Just don’t let me catch you checking my ass out when it’s my shot.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Brooke replied, getting up to find a stick.

  Six minutes later, Brooke had just the eight ball left while Ben still had two stripes to sink. Brooke bent over the table and lined up the shot, her tongue in the corner of her mouth.

  Ben stared down her shirt while the guys at the bar admired her rear end. “Let’s see it, freckles.”

  Brooke drew the stick back and looked up. “Are you staring down my shirt?”

  He frowned hard, clearly offended by such a preposterous accusation. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  The stick made sharp contact with the cue ball, sending it blasting into the eight with a loud crack. The black ball darted into the corner pocket with a definitive plunk. Brooke straightened up and blew chalk from the end of her stick. “And that’s how we do.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, nodding his approval and feeding the table some more metal snacks. “What do you say we make it a little more interesting this time?”
/>   Nonchalantly, she chalked the end of her stick. “I’m listening.”

  There was a loud bang when the balls dropped down and began to roll. Ben rounded them up and carefully positioned them within the triangular rack. “You win and I’ll cook dinner every night for a week.”

  “Every night for a week? I didn’t realize I was staying that long.”

  He removed the rack. “Or you can stop by.” He grabbed his beer. “Whatever.”

  “Wait, you cook?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  Brooke considered this. “And if you win?”

  “If I win, you have to be my girlfriend. And I mean change your Facebook status and send out announcement, the whole nine yards.” He tipped his bottle back, a faint smirk nestled in the corner of his cheek.

  She stepped closer, her gaze set to searing. “How about if I win you have to do my laundry for a week.”

  Ben laughed a little. “Does that include your panties?”

  “And you have to wear an electric cock ring when we do it.”

  He swallowed and started choking. “A what?”

  She looked around. “An electric cock ring.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “Stimulates.”

  “I’m not putting something like that on my junk. It sounds like a shock collar.”

  “Well, I have to train you somehow.”

  He chalked his stick, not taking his eyes from hers.

  “Are you in or not?”

  He cracked the stick against the edge of the table, sending a plume of blue dust into the air. “You’re on, shortcake.” Ben took a long drink and swallowed with a sigh. “I’m so glad you patched things up with your parents.”

  “Oh, I know. Now if I could just fix things with Mandy.”

  “That might be a different story.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He leaned on his pool stick and shrugged. “Because she’s not family and will probably never forgive you.”

  “Don’t say that!”

  “I’m just being honest.”

  “Well, that’s a first!”

  Ben frowned. “Will you stop breaking my balls and break the ones on the table?”

  She shot him a grin and bent over the table, slowly drawing the stick back and giving him another good look down her shirt at the same time.