Daring You

by Ketley Allison

  What’s left unsaid is, I’m not gonna give you the chance to cancel, Astor.

  Ugh, friends. I forget how much they care and want to make things better.

  “Come on in,” I say, and back away from the door with reluctance and shame. Carter was willing to wait for me around my office for a few hours today. The least I can do is let her in for a while.

  “Pretty sure your brother has put a GPS tracker in your phone,” Sophie says as she passes me.

  I raise my eyes to the ceiling and follow behind them after shutting the door.

  Sophie thunks her boots near my hallway closet, but quickly becomes distracted. “Oh! Wine! My kind of girl. Can I pour us some glasses?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Doesn’t look like I’m getting rid of you any time soon.”

  “Not if I like you.” Sophie grins, then makes herself at home in my kitchen.

  Carter sits on my wide gray-suede couch, and pats the seat next to her. “Come take a load off.”

  I can spot a trap when I see one, but I’m too tired to put up a fight. Plus, Mike and I bought top-of-the-line furniture. That couch is really comfy and my feet are aching to be raised.

  Sophie clatters around my cupboards, and I swipe my wine glass on the way and sit next to Carter.

  She smiles, rests her arm on the back of the couch, and curls up her legs to face me, her body language practically screaming, LET ME BE YOUR THERAPIST.

  I take a long, quenching, sip of wine.

  “Seriously, how did you know I was here?” I ask her.

  “Ben texted Locke. Locke texted me.”

  I pretend not to feel hurt over the idea that Ben summoned his best friend and my brother to do any emotional clean-up I may require. “What the hell do they want? Did Locke think sending a female in his place would somehow get me to regurgitate my feelings?”

  “No, it’s because I’m the least annoying of the three,” Carter says. “And we’re all worried about you.”

  “The case is almost over,” I say on a sigh. “By the time trial starts, if there is a trial—”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  I delay any response by taking another sip.

  “Something else is going on with you, Astor. Something personal. And I want you to know—”

  “Mike and I broke up.”

  Carter sits ramrod straight. “What?”

  I stare at my glass of wine, now one-third full, blaming it for the sudden confession.

  Yet…it feels rather freeing, blurting it out like that, no longer containing it in the cold, steel vault within my heart. Not to mention, it’s a hell of a lot better than saying, Ben’s in the witness protection program and I might’ve screwed it all up for him.

  Sophie swoops in at that moment, laying down three very full glasses of wine on my marble coffee table. She gently pries my mostly-empty one from my hand. “You need a refill, new friend.”

  “What happened?” Carter asks, scooting closer.

  “He cheated.”

  Another, wondrous thrill courses through me, almost like exorcising a demon.

  “That rat bastard,” Carter mutters. “I fucking knew it.”

  After she refills it, Sophie cups the bottom of my glass and tips it to my mouth. “There, there.”

  “Multiple times,” I say after a gulp of wine.

  “Whiskey. We need hard brown stuff,” Sophie says, and goes on a new search.

  “In the bottom cupboard,” I say.

  “Do you mind that Soph’s here?” Carter asks once Sophie’s out of earshot. “I can ask her to…”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I wave it off. “I have a difficult time opening up to people I know. Strangers, I have no problem dumping on.”

  Carter pats my leg. “Eventually, you’re going to see this as a good thing. Mike wasn’t the right man for you.”

  “And you all knew it.”

  Carter pauses. “I think…everyone was letting you make your own decision on that.”

  “Classic attorney answer. You missed your calling.”

  “Astor…” Carter approaches her next words carefully. “I’m not sure you’re handling it okay.”

  At that, I let out a loud guffaw. Mike, in all his inadequacies, is the last thing on my mind. But Carter can’t know that. “I’m coping as best I can.”

  She frowns. “And Ben? Has he been helping you through it?”

  My shoulders go stiff. “What does Ben have to do with this?”

  “Well, I’ve noticed…I mean, it’s hard not to. The two of you in a room together, it’s like nothing else can exist. You two take up all the oxygen. I had to wonder—”

  “If we’ve hooked up?” Yes. “No.”

  “Okay, well, have you thought about trying?”

  I stare at Carter like she just proposed that she, Sophie and I engage in a lesbian orgy. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

  “Well, yeah.” Carter shrugs. “Nothing like letting off a little steam, and you and Ben would explode the roof off this apartment complex.”

  She’s not wrong.

  “There’s no sexual tension between us,” I say.

  “Now you’re being a shit lawyer. You can lie better than that.” Carter smirks behind her wine glass.

  “I’m not a believer in healing heartbreak by jumping into bed with another man,” I say a little too primly. Mostly because that’s exactly what I’ve done.

  “Not what I’m getting at,” Carter says. She seems to think a while, rubbing her lips together and staring off in the direction Sophie went, before continuing, “I was really difficult on Locke.”

  “Huh?”

  “When I first met him. When I had to give Lily up to him. I was brutal.”

  “I remember,” I say, then squint at her, wondering where she’s going with this.

  “My best friend had just passed away, and the only piece of her that remained—that I loved—was going to someone who, I believed, had no idea how much of a precious person he was getting. I was broken, and saw Locke only through jagged edges. I didn’t give him a chance.”

  “Carter, I know all of this. We’ve forgiven you. He’s forgiven you, if there’s even something to forgive. You were protecting a child who couldn’t speak for herself—”

  “I often wonder if I could’ve healed my heart a lot faster by opening up to him sooner.” Carter shrugs. “Would’ve saved both of us a lot of suffering.”

  I resume squinting at her. “You’re drawing a parallel to me and Ben. I don’t appreciate it.”

  “I’m not telling you this to gather sympathy,” Carter says. “I’m telling you this because sometimes we can’t see past our own wounds, and that only makes us bleed longer. Locke’s a good, terrific man. And so is Ben.”

  “I agree,” I say. “But Ben and I…” I stifle another forlorn laugh into my wine. How does one explain about the college dare-night-stand, the years of not speaking because of it, only to be trumped by him throwing me over a judge’s couch and fucking me from behind just before he admitted to having a secret identity involving a family massacre?

  “He’s Locke’s best friend,” I mumble instead.

  “Is that what’s holding you back? I’m sure if you talked to Locke…”

  I shake my head. “Locke’s set in a lot of things. And screwing up his friendship with Ben would be up there.”

  Locke knowing about the dare would definitely tear them apart.

  Locke finding out about this afternoon would drive a deeper wedge.

  Locke understanding that his friend is really Ryan Delaney would throw him so far for a loop, I don’t know if he’d ever forgive me.

  I don’t want to talk about this anymore, especially considering how good Carter is at spotting any mistakes. I can’t, for Ben’s sake, let anyone know the truth.

  “Besides, I just broke up with my fiancé. I don’t want to jump into something so very, incredibly complicated.”

  Carter nods, but adds, “Y
ou were there for me during my darkest hours, so I’m going to be here for you. And I’m going to say that since I’ve met you, there’s been something between you and Ben. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you told me you broke up with Mike because of Ben.”

  I whip toward her—

  But she holds up a finger. “I don’t think you’re going to get to the root of your problem until you understand that aspect of yourself. Why you’re drawn to Ben. But, whatever you do, I’m here for you. Ignore Ben, yell at him, pretend to be friends, whatever you want. All I can say is, Mike is a very poor substitute to what you could allow yourself to have in your life.”

  My jaw clenches and my traitor eyes go hot again, but I bat down any tears.

  Sophie, God bless her, comes back into the room. “What’d I miss?”

  I open my mouth to come up with something off the cuff, but Sophie preempts by saying, “Just kidding. Mike’s an abscessed turd and Ben’s the love of your life. I’m all caught up.” She holds up Mike’s thirty-year-old bottle of bourbon, meant only to be opened when he or I make partner. “Who wants?”

  I throw my hand up. Hard. “Me.”

  21

  Ben

  For the second time this week, I’m in front of a building that might as well deny me any entry.

  But I don’t know what else to do.

  After the courthouse, I tried going to Locke first and pretending to fall into my old life—I mean, new life—I mean, I don’t know what the fuck I mean anymore—

  All I want is to be Ben Donahue, record-breaking wide receiver on his off season, hanging with his best bud and honorary niece.

  Lily almost worked. How could she not, with that pixie face and slobbery lips that pucker up every time she sees me?

  I held her, felt her warmth, and thought of innocence.

  This baby is solely dependent on other people to keep her safe. She needs help to understand the concept of love in order to become a strong, independent, kind woman I know she’ll be.

  All those things that were so callously taken away from me before I was old enough to store anything but the cold murder of my biological parents.

  In seeing Lily, I witnessed my old self, what I was deprived of, and Locke could tell.

  “Buddy, cheer up,” he said as he rounded the cushioned ottoman in his apartment, spackled and stained with various toddler substances these days.

  “I’m cheered,” I said off-hand.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Whatever. I didn’t come here to talk to you. I came here to get some chubby baby-ness in my life and maybe steal some of Ash’s muffins I see in your kitchen.”

  “Help yourself,” Locke said, leaning back with a Coke. “To both.”

  That’s what I love about the guy. He doesn’t press.

  Though, I kinda wished he would’ve at that point. Lily was chatting with her dolls in between bashing their heads on the floor, Carter was hanging out with Astor, doing the work I should be doing, and I had the sudden urge to expel everything polluting my insides.

  I’m not who I say I am.

  I slept with your sister in college.

  I slept with her again this afternoon.

  She’s representing my parents’ killers.

  She hates me, and I should hate her.

  You’re definitely going to hate me.

  But Locke isn’t my anti-venom. If anything, I’d only manage to transfer my disease onto him, killing our friendship with my lies about Astor, severing ties with Lily—my one true love—and roping him in on a murder whose network of killers are still very active.

  Ah, fuck. I am so, so, goddamned tired.

  “Eat a muffin, dude,” Locke said through the fog. “You’re not yourself.”

  “Yeah,” I replied, and left it at that.

  I ate my muffin. Kissed Lily who picked the crumbs out of my scruff, and left my friend as clueless as he was when I arrived.

  Except, I didn’t go home.

  I went to Astor’s.

  The sun has dipped low at this point, casting the city street in a vague golden glow seconds before it surrenders to the artificial lights of a New York night.

  It’s so cold that anyone on the sidewalk has their heads down as they walk, buried in scarves or phone screens. I’m the only noob standing at attention directly in front of revolving doors.

  Not again.

  I push through with zero hesitation this time, thumbing into my phone as I stride to the elevators. I text Locke:

  Carter home yet?

  Locke replies, Yeah, 20 mins ago. Why?

  Excellent. I don’t bother with a response, since he’s given me the info I need.

  The security is distracted by a few deliverymen, as it’s prime time for takeout, and I scoot past as fast as my big body will carry me, and slide into the elevator right when the doors begin to shut.

  I nod to a delivery man carrying Chinese—the smell of egg rolls hits my nostrils and my stomach roars—and he tips his head up at me, studying.

  Astor’s floor hits as soon as awareness flows into the man’s face, and I leave on a salute.

  I’m smarter this time, and as soon as I reach Astor’s door, I knock firmly, hoping to preempt any phone calls from security downstairs.

  The door opens immediately. Astor didn’t even check the peephole.

  Her face, her gorgeous, stunning, heartbroking features greet me, and I don’t let her get a word in.

  “I don’t remember much about that night,” I say.

  Her brows, ever so slightly, lift in surprise. “What?”

  “When my parents died. I only get snippets sometimes.”

  Astor leans against the doorjamb, as if she’s too exhausted to put weight on her feet.

  “Can I come in?” I ask.

  She rubs a hand across her forehead, pushing her short hair back before it falls back into place. “I guess.”

  Astor steps back, and at the little trip and jig she does, I finally notice that maybe it’s more than exhaustion weighing down her limbs.

  “You get some drink on?” I ask as I kick off my boots and shed my jacket.

  She points to me as my jacket is halfway off. “Don’t act like you’re staying long.”

  Hint received. I shoulder the coat back on.

  Astor weaves into her kitchen, picking up a half-empty highball glass of brown stuff. I close the space between us in way less time, and palm the drink. “Mind?”

  She furrows into a glare as she watches me down the rest of the liquor.

  “Wow,” I say and hold the glass out for inspection. “That’s some good stuff.”

  “Delicious,” she drawls, then beelines to her couch. “Why are you here again?”

  “Because we didn’t finish our conversation from lunch.”

  She peers around her shoulder. “Was that conversing?”

  “After,” I say on a growl. “I meant after.”

  “Lots of people wanting to conversate with me today,” I think I hear her mutter as she plops down on her cushions. “But at least you’re man enough to come do it yourself.”

  “What’d you say?”

  She looks down her nose at me while sitting. If anyone can achieve this, it’s Astor. “You sent Carter to butter me up so you could come in while I’m all weakened and emotional.”

  “First off,” I say as I come meet her, “You’re not either of those things. You’re fuckin’ drunk.”

  “Better than choosing door number one or two,” she sings.

  “Second,” I enunciate, “I didn’t send Carter to you. Locke did. But I figured you’d want family around you instead of me, and I see I was right. You and Carter had some fun, looks like.”

  “She helped me forget a few things,” Astor admits. “Her and that spunky blonde friend of hers.”

  “Then I guess I’m here to help you remember.”

  I sit a careful amount of space away, lest Astor swipe at me.

  “I don’t want to think about any
of it,” she says. “You told me, and now I have this secret. And in order to keep it, we have to stop talking about it.”

  “You deserve a better explanation than what I gave you.”

  Unexpectedly, her eyes go misty. “I don’t want to put you in danger, Ben. And I’m so afraid I’m going to.”

  “You’re not,” I say on an exhale, and shift closer. I lay a hand on her arm. “I never wanted to put this kind of burden on you. Please believe that.”

  “I don’t know…” Astor trails off, looks away. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act now. You went through something horrific, and I’m part of a team that’s representing who’s responsible. You broke my heart in college, and I hate you for it. But now I feel guilty for hating you, because of what you went through—”

  “Don’t,” I say sharply. “Don’t you dare pity me.”

  “But—”

  “No. I’m Ben. I’m the guy who humiliated you as a sophomore, who ditched you for years after that yet stayed in your life by becoming buddies with your brother. I’m that guy. Not a little boy who experienced trauma over twenty years ago.”

  The facts taste like vinegar, but I need to get Astor back to who she used to be. The woman who would as soon spit at me as throw me off a building—the passionate, argumentative, confident chick who doesn’t let the victims of her cases get to her.

  I don’t want to get to her. Not like this.

  “But you’re both,” she says. “And I can’t reconcile the two.”

  I let out a frustrated rumble. “That boy—Ryan, me, who the fuck ever—I can’t come up with anything. Memories. Killers’ identities. None of it. All I have are…are shades of what went on. My mom’s face…I can’t even fully remember what she looks like. My dad is nothing but a talking shadow. And I had to go into WITSEC for this—for knowing nothing, because these guys would kill me anyway. Do you know how much that pisses me off? Truly?”

  Astor nods sagely.

  “Except if I didn’t, if some…distant relative adopted me or something, I wouldn’t have my parents now. I would’ve never met Locke and the rest of my crew. I would’ve…fuck, I don’t know what life I’d be leading, but it can’t be as good as this. I love who I am. My career. My people.”