“You know what?” He shoved Peter’s hand away, got back up. “I’m really sick of you all having that fucking tone with me. You don’t know what a hard road is. Not with what you have in your corner. It’s fucking Christmas every fucking day for you.”
What the hell was happening? He was shouting, his voice was hoarse. What had happened to him tonight? He was Ben O’Callahan, a lawyer with K&A, a sexual Dominant who always held control. He always kept his shit together. He was the fucking foam on the latte that rose above all of it. He’d been there for them whenever they needed him, always. He hadn’t let his friends down. But at this moment, he resented the hell out of every one of them.
“I’m going. Get the hell away from me.”
Peter rose as he was walking away. “You know, Jon said something pretty interesting the other day.”
“Doesn’t he always? The guy never shuts up.” Ben came to a halt though, bracing himself against another lightpost, fingers gripping it hard, the peeling paint over the metal.
“Yeah. He said that our women—Savannah, Cass, Rachel, Dana—when we met them, each was in a situation where she really needed someone’s help. Someone strong to stand at her back. I’d say damsel in distress, but the lot of them would tie me down and pour acid on my manly parts.”
Ben lifted his head. Peter met his gaze, those gray eyes as steady as the rock embedded in a cliff face. “Jon said maybe you were different. That maybe Marcie’s supposed to rescue you.”
“Yeah right.” But he couldn’t move, something keeping him rooted to this spot, listening to this bullshit.
Peter took another couple steps forward. “You’ve been alone a long time, Ben. You have us, but it’s not the same. You don’t think we all see it? You’re struggling. You’re going to go off somewhere, get drunk tonight. That’s not the answer.”
“When you don’t know the answer, it works as good as anything else. What I do in my personal time is my business.”
“Yeah. That works, if you were just a coworker. But the five of us are a hell of a lot more than that.” Peter closed in another step. “We love you, man. We always have, we always will.”
“Don’t do this.” Ben felt like a vise was closing over his rib cage. Something was going to crack. “I’m not worth loving and you know it.”
A look of pained compassion passed over Peter’s face, but then it was gone and he shrugged. “Well, tonight you’re not. You’re pretty much a piece of shit. But lucky I’ve seen you on better days.”
“That moment at the limo…I wanted to hurt her, Peter. Not like when I have her tied up and want to make her ass red. Not the good kind of hurt.”
“Why did you want to hurt her?”
“Because she makes me want things.” Things he’d taught himself not to want, viciously hammering down any yearning for them, because those things couldn’t be trusted. They didn’t stay, didn’t last, and if he made himself vulnerable to them, they’d become a black hole that would swallow him up.
“Look at her, Peter. She’s young, and perfect…” Unspoiled. She was the face of what love was supposed to be. He knew everything about her, from every letter, from every word she’d spoken, every expression he’d seen cross her face. He didn’t even deserve to be in the same room with her. “What if I had really hurt her?” Ben couldn’t believe it, his voice broke. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, Peter. I really didn’t. Goddamn it, I wish Max had broken my fucking neck.”
He wished he’d died on the streets before he’d ever picked Jonas Kensington’s pockets, anything to avoid the shame of what he’d done tonight, becoming exactly what he’d spent his childhood facing. Ugly faces, screwed up with hatred and anger, hard fists, grasping hands. All of them wanting the same thing. To drag everything down into the muck with them, to confirm that life was a living hell, nothing perfect out there they couldn’t trash and destroy.
There was no such thing as love and compassion, light and hope. Not on the streets. And once the dirt of the streets was ground into his soul by the heels of everyone he’d encountered, by supposed friends and unexpected foes, he was tainted.
Jesus, what the hell was he doing? He walked away, straight into an alley. When he realized he was facing a brick wall, he sat down on a pile of discarded packing pallets. Using the heels of his hands, he rubbed viciously at something that was dust in his eyes, damn it. His hands were shaking. No, he wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t.
He pushed back the noise, the memories, and when he surfaced, gasping like a swimmer, Peter was sitting next to him. Just a few inches between their hips and shoulders, but not touching.
No. He wasn’t a fucking victim, someone who deserved compassion. He had manhandled a twenty-three-year-old girl, stomped on her spirit with the intent of crushing it. He saw himself shout those unforgivable words at her, saw each one hit her like bullets. Then he’d left her bleeding, all for the crime of believing herself in love with him.
“I don’t want to be around her anymore. She pushes my buttons too hard. What if I hurt her again?”
“Then we kill you, dump you in the swamp and be done with it.” Peter laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder again, though Ben refused to look up from the hole he was staring into the filthy concrete ground. “If you truly believe that’s a risk, you get help. Lance the boil, let the past come out and deal with it. Dana’s counselor is a woman who’s worked with countless vets with PTSD.”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are. You think because it happened when you were a kid on these streets, instead of in a desert a few thousand miles away, that it’s so different?”
Ben swallowed. He really didn’t want to have this conversation. Everything in him was pulling away from it, but something kept him rooted. Marcie’s wounded eyes, the fear he’d put in her eyes. The past two years, the nights when nothing filled the ache except things he knew weren’t the answer, things that merely made the ache worse in the long run.
“Asking for help is the hardest thing for one of those guys to do. How can some fucking shrink sitting in her safe office, piping in Enya music, help you deal with the blood, the screams, the fucking noise in your head? The staring eyes of the dead, of the ones you feel like you let down? Of what you’ve lost? But she can, Ben. Dana used to have nightmares all the time. Now she doesn’t. We all have battlefields we’ve survived, but until we make peace with them, we don’t leave them behind. And your kind of battlefield? It can haunt you forever, keeping you from what you deserve.”
Peter gripped his shoulder hard, drawing his eyes up to his face. “Your parents didn’t abandon you because you weren’t worth loving, Ben. They abandoned you because they were assholes.”
He definitely heard a rib crack from the pressure inside. When Peter sensed it, moving his touch to his nape, rubbing there, Ben swallowed. “Get off me, you homo.”
“Yeah, you know I’ve always wanted to suck your monster dick.”
“Good of you to finally admit it.”
Peter eased up on the touch but stared him down. “If you love her, if you want her, you do whatever you have to do to deserve her. Because she’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to prove she wants your sorry ass. Got it?”
Rising, Ben rubbed a hand over his face. “Don’t know where I am on that. I’ve got to go…to move. Don’t follow me this time. I mean it. I need to work this shit out.”
“If you make me a promise.”
“What, we’re girls now?”
When Peter shifted, blocking his way out of the alley, Ben sighed. Yeah, he could get into a major brawl with him, but he’d have to fight dirty to win, because fighting Peter was like facing a tank. Probably why Matt had sent him, knowing he was the only one Ben couldn’t easily beat up. “What?”
The gray eyes were steady, implacable. “Tell me you’re not going to do anything stupid.”
“I’m not that kind of guy, Peter.”
“Not usually, no. But I’ve seen the look you’ve got in your eyes. A guy so consumed with his demons he’d throw himself on a mine to escape it. Then they send the little polished medal home to the people who love him. You’ve got a lot of people who care about you, Ben. Don’t do that to them. If you don’t trust yourself tonight, then let me shadow you.”
Ben sighed, looked back out in the darkness. “Fine, but keep a distance. I don’t want anyone to think we’re dating.”
“No chance of that. I wouldn’t be caught dead dating an ambulance chaser.”
Yes, these will make your ass bigger. But they will be worth it. Remember, a good friend will always tell you the truth. A great friend will validate your decision when you decide to do something stupid anyway.
Ben’s note on a box of homemade truffles for Marcie’s birthday
Chapter Thirteen
Marcie woke at two a.m. She vaguely remembered being carried up to her bed by Lucas when he’d gotten home and the party had broken up. She’d almost immediately returned to a deep sleep, but it had been short-lived. A bad nightmare had sent her bolting out of the bed and practically into the wall. Cass was in the room with her in a flash, helping to calm her down. She hadn’t had a nightmare in ages, but she guessed it made sense that it had happened tonight. She still hated it, because she didn’t want anything about Ben tainted with that.
Her sister was still there, sleeping next to her, arm around Marcie’s waist. Marcie studied her face, then leaned over, kissed her forehead. “I’m going downstairs to get a snack,” she said.
“Mmph. Need help?”
“No. You go back to Lucas. He misses you. I’m all right now.”
“S’okay.” But Cass slept on. Marcie smiled. Lucas would undoubtedly come find her himself before long. Slipping out of the bed, she pulled on her robe and slippers and shuffled down the steps, wincing only a little at the shock to her joints.