Halos and Heroes - 4. Chapter 4

The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing.

-Socrates

 

"Honey, I need you to keep still. You're bleeding all over the place."

The bartender’s voice—Darcy’s voice, my booze addled mind absently amended—sounded tinny, like she was shouting at me from across the width of the Grand Canyon, even though she was right next to me, wedged in between my highbacked stool and the bar top. I could feel the warmth of her slim hands contrasting with the smooth cool metal of the rings adorning what felt like every single one of her fingers. She seemed to be trying to take my pulse, though I wasn’t making it easy for her as I kept trying to pull away.

"What?" I blinked, feeling slow and stupid as the effects of the alcohol hit me with the force of an Acme baby grand piano being dropped on me from an upper story window by some deranged cartoon character. I’d have taken the pain gladly if it’d come with some maniacal, signature Toon Land laughter so it could drown out the sound of my once-upon-not-long-enough-time ago life, peeling apart in my mind all over again.

It usually got this bad only when I was asleep, and my nightmares could sneak in and take over with covert stealth. But it seemed like the copious amounts of alcohol I’d ingested— courtesy of one horny, pink-hair bartender—combined with the stress of so many things being out of my control right now, was moving the monsters of my memory out into the world for public viewing.

Darcy was trying to help me, but there wasn’t anything she or anyone else could do to make any of this better. I thought that getting excessively drunk might mute some of my emotions, but despite the fuzziness of my head, my senses felt 100x more amplified right now. I wanted to get the fuck out of here because I was suddenly hyper aware of everything happening around me; The music that was too loud. The hard crack of a break from the pool tables as a new game started. And especially, the voices of all the people around us. Some of them were rising in startled alarm, while others just seem to be stage whisperers from the voyeurs enjoying the unexpected train wreck playing out in front of them, with the glee of any kid who’d ever enjoyed the unicorn experience of accidentally getting two toys in their Happy Meal instead of one. The drinks were overpriced and probably weakly mixed considering most of the crowd hadn’t looked like big tippers, but the free, impromptu entertainment would probably make up for it because it was gearing up to be a spectacular clusterfuck of amazeballs proportions.

At least I wasn’t wearing my uniform this time.

"What's going on?"

"You shattered your beer bottle, Sam. How the heck you did that is beyond me, but maybe it’s that former Ranger strength channeled with a little Thor. Just try and relax. Troy is calling an ambulance."

My gaze briefly shifted from her concerned face to the other side of the bar. I didn’t see the other sexy male bartender anywhere.

Crap.

"I don't need an ambulance. I'm fine."

But was I?

In all fairness, considering that Darcy was the second person to suggest bringing in vehicles with emergency lighting and blood pressure cuffs because I’d lost my shit, the question was a valid one. It just wasn’t one I was going to ask aloud. However, I’d gotten a man whose appeal lay as much in his compassionate stubbornness as his taboo sexuality to back down, so I could handle a well-meaning, pink haired, man-eating military brat.

Hooah.

“I’m good, Darcy.”

Famous last words.

One good shove scraped my bar stool across the floor with a harsh sound. How I managed to do that without falling over was a miracle of invisible mechanics, even though I stumbled a bit when I tried to get my feet solidly beneath me. I stared down at my hands when I slapped them on the top of the bar, feeling the angry sting from what were apparently open wounds, judging by the bright red blood that was oozing between my fingers. I moved my hands, turning them palm side. Almost entranced, I watched as the lifegiving liquid slid down my wrists in lazy rivers. From personal experience—enough of it so up close and personal that it'd send even the most determined lookie loos running from the bar screaming if they’d had access to my memories— I knew that the metallic flavor could be tasted in your mouth from the air when the ground around you in a warzone was oversaturated with blood.

So much red, viscous blood.

Red like Devlin's.

Like Connor's.

Like Mickey’s.

Like Tommy’s.

Like Tates’.

The word spun around me.

“Darcy…” Her name was all I managed to get out, but apparently, being raised in a military family had prepared her for dealing with every kind of what-the-actual-fuck-scenario that could come up in a bar. She slid a lean, strong arm around my waist. Before I could voice my immediate concern that my slowly deadening weight would take her down and me with it, my right arm ended up slung over the shoulder of her attractive and much stronger bar mate as he reappeared.

Troy, right?

If I hadn’t been 95% sure that opening my mouth would lead to me throwing up all over the already questionably clean floor, I’d have tried it out. It was only right to know the name of the people saving you from becoming a splat on the ground. I knew Darcy’s name, so it was only fair for him and I to exchange formal pleasantries considering he was trying to help me stay upright and not shoving me out the door like a deleted scene from Roadhouse.

Unfortunately for Troy, life wasn’t fucking fair. If it was, I wouldn’t be this inebriated, or hosting my first, very public pity party.

To say that I was disgusted with myself was putting it mildly.

I didn’t do shit like this.

Occasionally blowing off some steam with friends, yeah. I was human, no matter how much A.J. used to tease that I was part cyborg because of how well I’d always been able to hold my alcohol. But letting the world see the shit that sometimes went through my mind at night when my guard was down too low? Never. Florida had just become my own personal fucking Hellmouth this time around.

My stomach heaved, but I managed to keep everything in as Darcy and Troy quickly hurried me out of the bar area and back through the wooden doors to the right side of it. My mind briefly registered a kitchen bigger than most home setups, though nowhere near as big as a true commercial restaurant’s kitchen. It looked clean though, so I was good with it. Especially when Darcy plunked me less than gently into a chair, then shoved a small metal pail into my hands. I gripped it gratefully, the rank acidity of bile and now wasted alcohol, gagging me as I threw up. I puked until there was nothing left, but I still couldn't get rid of the sick feeling polluting my insides.

Coolness spread over my neck as Troy laid a damp cloth over my skin. "Deep breaths, man. Darcy needs to look at your hands.”

His voice was deep, but there was a definite Surfer guy vibe that would’ve made it hard for me to take him seriously under any other circumstances. Thank God he called me man instead of bruh, or I’d have taken my chances at trying to launch out of my chair.

"No ambulances," I said again, my words so slurred that Darcy had to kneel down to hear me as Troy kept one big hand steadily braced on my right shoulder to make sure I stayed in the chair they’d worked so hard to get me into in the first place. He was close enough for me to catch a hint of his trendy, aquatic cologne. It made my stomach roll. It was nothing like the clean, yet warm and woodsy scent of Ben’s skin.

Ben…. He was the last person I needed to be thinking about now, considering how emotionally off-kilter he made me feel, and how physically unsteady I already was. Fortunately, the ever-helpful Darcy was up for the assist by interrupting my thought process.

“We need to call someone, Sam. And you need to give Troy your car keys.”

“No car keys. Didn’t drive…walked.”

I leaned back in my chair as Darcy and Troy exchanged a brief look before she nodded. “Ok, well that definitely makes you smarter than most of our regulars. But I still need to call someone. You can’t get home on your own like this, and I don’t trust you alone in a cab considering the land of modern day-creepers we live in. You’re bult like a beast, but horny sleazeballs still have their ways of getting the drop on people.”

I couldn’t help the grin that curved my lips. Awww, she’d gone from wanting to sex me up herself, to protecting my honor. It’d have been cute if she hadn’t been insisting on me getting a ride home.

“I’ll be fine, Darcy. I’ve got moves you’ve never seen.”

Literally, but considering my reality as a Delta operative could be encapsulated by one of the worst lines in a Julia Roberts movie, it apparently didn’t promote much confidence in Darcy who rolled her eyes.

“Thank God you’re gay so I can focus on how you’re quickly becoming a huge pain in my ass, and not on how hot you are. Look, I need to make sure you get home safely, and Troy needs to get back out there before the natives get restless. So, who am I calling?”

I wanted to argue some more, but Darcy had that mulish look on her face that was practically a female birthright, and one no man could ever win against.

I sighed. "Call..."

Who exactly? Max was in Afghanistan with no way to get here in a timely enough manner for Darcy’s liking, and I'd be damned if I'd call Sofia. The rest of my friends were either still enlisted in the military, or had retired a long time ago back to their original hometowns like AJ had. Shit… I hadn’t thought this out well enough.’

I met Darcy’s pretty, stubborn green eyes. I could tell she was one step away from calling the cops, and that was the last thing I needed after this morning.

"Call Ben... Benjamin Santiago. His number's in my cell." I fumbled in my pockets for the phone, then dropped it after it slipped through my uncooperative fingers. Darcy picked it up and made me unlock the screen before she scrolled through my contacts to find his name.

“Whose Ben?”

“A friend…”

Maybe. Sort of. Well, he was Sofia’s friend so in this situation he was going to become mine temporarily.

"Okay, but only because wanting you out of here safely trumps worrying about you suing us."

"Not going to sue. You gave me a bucket,” I said, gesturing to the pail of my sick which I was trying to keep away from my nose hairs as well as hers. I didn’t know if Darcy was one of those people who puked when someone else did.

She snorted softly. “Troy, go back out and take over for me. I might be back here for a bit.”

“Sure Darce,” he said, shooting one last glance at me before he left. A look, which I noted, much less lustful than his earlier one.

“You stay here,” Darcy warned as she took away my bucket with one hand, a disgusted look on her face as she set it down near a garbage can. She went to the sink afterward to wash and dry her hands before using my phone to dial Ben. She put it on speaker so that I could hear what felt like endless ringing. Just when I was sure his voicemail would come on, Ben’s smooth, gently accented words came over the line. I hated the immediate relief that I experiences from just hearing the sound of his voice.

“Sam?”

I could hear Ben’s initial surprise when he heard Darcy ask if he was Benjamin Santiago. He’d obviously recognized my number on his caller ID, but I heard the exact moment his tone shifted from confusion to concern.

“Yes, that’s me. Who is this?”

“Hey. My name’s Darcy and I’m a bartender over at the Blue Rose Tavern. I have your friend Sam here with me. He’s okay,” she said, as if she was used to making that assurance to people before she gave them bad news. “He’s just had a little bit too much to drink tonight. He told me that he didn’t drive here, but I’m not comfortable with just putting him in a cab. He doesn’t want me to call an ambulance, so if you could come pick him up that would be great.”

“An ambulance?’

By this point in our acquaintanceship, I knew that Ben’s conversational skills were almost irritatingly top tier. But I could hear the sudden spike of his concern break apart his sentence structure as he obviously made a judgment call about the priority of the questions he needed to ask.

“He’s okay,” Darcy assured him again, her voice calm and confident, yet surprisingly soothing. I wondered if she’d learned that from her military daddy or just from that unofficial handbook of all good bartenders on how to get your customers to open up and keep things chill. “He accidently broke a beer bottle, but I’m about to get the glass out and fix him up good as new. I just need you to come get him as soon as possible. Is that ok?”

“Yes, of course. I just have to reschedule something here, but that won’t take long. Can you give me the address so I can look it up?”

Darcy quickly obliged by rattling off the address. Ben was quiet for a moment as if he was researching the location before he said, “I’ve got it. I should be there in less than a half hour.” He paused, then said, “Is Sam there? I’d like to talk to him.”

“It’s on speaker. He can hear you.”

“Perfect. Sam you and I are going to talk when we get there.”

Such a calm, succinctly spoken sentence. No threat at all, yet I suddenly felt like a naughty puppy slinking out of the kitchen with my tail between my legs after I’d been caught exploring the evening’s dinner trash. Yeah, I was in big fucking trouble and for some reason, any verbal chastisement that came from a mild-mannered priest seemed like it’d be worse than any of the physical beatings I’d ever received in my life from my father. Then again, Ben did have The Father, The Son, and the Holy Ghost on his side, so shit might get real soon.

Fuck.

“Ok,” I murmured because just like Forest Gump, that was all I had to say about that.

Darcy ended the call and put my cell on the counter by the sink. “Stay there,” she said again, before she momentarily disappeared. I dropped my head between my knees, my arms braced on my thighs. My head still felt fuzzy yet knowing that Ben was coming for me somehow made keeping down any remaining bile in my belly, and staying upright in this chair, doable.

My hands curled tightly into fists, the pain focusing me with sharp toothed clarity. By the time Darcy returned with that easily recognizable blue emergency first-aid kit under her arm, the cuts on my hands had almost stopped bleeding. She ignored me when I pointed that out. Instead, she instructed me to stop wriggling as she snapped on blue latex gloves. Then she rinsed my hands thoroughly with hydrogen peroxide before wiping down tweezers with rubbing alcohol. Those she used to carefully search my hand, pulling out a few small pieces of brown glass that were easy to see against the lighter skin of my palm. A second rinsing of my hands with peroxide came next, followed by the biting sting of rubbing alcohol— for good measure according to her. I silently suspected it was more about payback for throwing a wrench into her plans for a typical, easy night of paroling drunken patrons, but kept my mouth shut.

After wrapping my hands in fluffy white gauze from the first-aid kit, Darcy got up to get rid of her gloves. She tossed them into a trash can before moving to a refrigerator. She pulled out a bottle of water, then brought it and the large red plastic SOLO cup she took out of a cabinet—the kind that I recognized from my beer pong days—over to me. She handed me cup, then unscrewed the cap on the water bottle before handing it to me as well.

“Rinse and spin,” she said.

I rinsed my mouth out obediently with some water from the bottle, then spit it into the SOLO cup Before repeating the action until the water bottle was empty and the cup was full.

“I got all the glass out, so you should be fine,” Darcy said, giving her handiwork one last onceover after she’d taken away the full bottle, and my cup to toss them both into the same garbage can she’d pitched her gloves into. “Doesn't look like you need stitches, but I recommend washing and rewrapping your hands when you get home. Maybe put some Neosporin on them to hasten the healing and keep out any infection, unlikely as it is."

She snorted softly, a slim brow arching and holding in a very visual version of Adelyn’s ‘as-if’ commentary, when I glanced up at her, obviously mistaking my drunken blink to be a silent, suspicious commentary about why a hot girl bartender could fix up boo boos as efficiently as any field medic.

"All this," she said, waving a slim hand, "is a night gig to get me through med school."

“I wasn’t judging you,” I replied honestly. “My sister-in-law could stitch my brother and I up years before she became a nurse. I was just appreciating that you’re cool under pressure. It’s a compliment.”

Darcy looked mollified by that. She handed me a new water bottle and cup. Then she pulled a small bottle of green Listerine from the first aid-kit; an addition I knew for a fact didn’t come standard. She offered it to me. It was about half full.

“Use the whole thing,” she said when I quirked my eyebrow. “We keep extra bottles in our lockers. Working at a place like this, they come in handy more often than you’d think.”

“Thank you,” I said before I tossed the liquid back. It burned in that deliciously familiar moonshine way that was a lot more reassuring in its ability to remove the sick taste still on my tongue even after rinsing with an entire bottle of water. I swished the mouthwash around in my mouth, gargling just a little bit before I spit it out into the Solo Cup, then put the cup underneath my chair with the now empty Listerine bottle inside of it. “I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome. I’d offer you aspirin, but not knowing how much booze might still be floating around in that military honed six-pack, or that your Ben guy isn’t a slip and fall attorney, means all you get is clear and non-alcoholic liquids.”

“He’s not a lawyer.”

“Boyfriend? He sounded worried about you and that bit about you guys needing to talk didn’t sound like he was your father. Maybe a daddy though, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she said with a grin. “No judgement ether way.”

I cleared my throat to distract my ears before they had a chance to pinken. “Ben’s a family friend. I don’t have anyone else to call here. Like I said, I’ve been away for a really long time.”

“So? Caleb has friends here and so does my dad. They play Bingo and Canasta at the VA rec center downtown.”

“It’s complicated.”

Darcy shrugged, opening her own bottle of water before she straddled a chair backwards to face me. “You’re stuck here with me until this Ben guy gets here, so I get to choose the topic of conversation as I wait here with you. Not exactly the way I thought I’d end up getting you alone, but I’ll take what I can get.”

My lips twitched. “Even if any singular molecule in my body were straight, I wouldn’t give you the gift of me, because it’d be like handing you the keys to a condemned, no-tourism-will-ever-happen-here-in-this-lifetime, city.”

“Ooo so you’re the bad boy mama’s like to warn us about?”

I nodded with a slight smile that probably barely reached my eyes as I took another sip from my bottle of water. “I’m a fu— fricking cautionary tale and a half,” I said.

Darcy swept me with a long look, then grinned as I caught myself. I had a sailor’s mouth, but I tried to watch it around women and children. In the bright, florescent lighting of the kitchen, Darcy looked a little older than I’d thought she was earlier, her heavy golden brown eye makeup creasing slightly deeper into the corners of her eyes than it would in someone in their earlier twenties. The warmth of her smile made up for it in spades though, as did the fact she was helping out a total stranger.

“Baby, you look like you’ve been ridden reaaaaal hard, and put up stupidly wet, but you’re not giving off serial killer vibes. You were too polite, and tipped waaaay too well despite having absolutely no motivation to get into my pants. You have a story to tell for sure, but I doubt it’s one you want to share while wearing my skin as a shirt.”

I couldn’t stop my smile this time, but still stalled for time by putting the still-cold water bottle on the back of my neck. “Not quite that interesting,” I agreed. “But putting this on my family wouldn’t be fair, which is why I didn’t have you call them tonight. My sister and her kids have a lot going on.” I left off the in-law part because saying that Sofia was my sister-in-law would mean that I obviously had a brother and that would get us into territory I didn’t want to navigate through with Darcy, no matter how decent she’d been to me. “And my best friend is in Afghanistan which is too bad for both of us. You’d like him.”

“Oooh another complicated Ranger like you, only straight?”

I offered her another crooked smile. “Max is a doctor. He’s also more of a diagonal. Open-minded as hell, which makes him great in bed.”

“Oh, so the two of you…”

“Are casual,” I said to answer her unspoken question. ”My person, but not my person. Not like that.”

Darcy’s right brow quirked, drawing attention to the silver barbell I hadn’t noticed till now. That single, minute movement was hard visual proof that I was rambling like a fucking teenage girl loaded up on peach schnaps; a situation I was all too familiar with because that had been Sofia’s drink of choice whenever she’d filched booze out from her parent’s rarely used liquor cabinet so she, Connor, Max and me could take turns taking shots in the park at night after we all snuck out of our respective houses. Sofia had never been able to hold her liquor and had always ended up cheerfully rambling in between singing to the flora and fauna before she puked on it.

“Ahh so it’s one of those, he-loves-me, he-loves-me-not situations? Those always suck ass. But if he’s the reason you’re drinking like this, that’s a can of worms you need to close quick because you don’t want to grow up to be Larry.”

This time my brow quirked and she snorted delicately, flicking a piece of lint off her top with a gunmetal gray polished fingernail. “The slightly balding guy in the wrinkled suit, who was sitting on the other side of the bar from you talking to the chick in the red halter top. She’s not a regular, but he’s in here at least 5 days a week. Doesn’t always tip great, but when he has beautiful company that’s a thousand times out of his league like her, my jar overflows so I’m good with it.”

“I’ll always tip well, but you don’t need to worry about the rest. It’s not like that between Max and me. I also don’t usually drink like this. There’s just a lot of stuff going on in my life right now, and I’m figuring it out.”

“Stuff you can’t tell your friendly neighborhood bartender?”

I smiled. She was persistent. “I'm sorry about the mess, Darcy."

She grinned, allowing me the dodge. "Don't worry about it. I knew you were trouble. Those baby blues and that smile...trouble."

"I'd have to agree."

Ben's voice brought both our heads up. Darcy’s carefully plucked brows arched as she looked between him, poised and handsome in his uniform of black and white, to me, slouched in a chair with the streaks of blood I’d somehow managed to get on my white t-shirt, dried to a rusty color. Troy was behind him looking amused. He waved at me, then made the sign of the cross in the air behind Ben’s head before he left the kitchen again.

"You don't want to call a doctor but you call a priest?” Darcy squawked, eyes rounding. “Please wait till you're outside to drop dead on me."

"He's not going to die," Ben assured her calmly, though he was looking right at me as he spoke. "Though he might wish he had in the morning."

“As long as it doesn’t happen in the bar, I don’t care if it’s a Joaquin Phoenix as emperor, thumbs up or down situation right now.”

“Aw come on, Darcy. I thought we were bonding.”

“Baby, if you hadn’t thrown it out there right off that you’re all about a stripped-down hot dog, I might’ve prayed for you. But you’re on your own now because the truth is setting you free into his capable hands.”

“His might be the hands that bring about my demise,” I protested.

“I left the holy water and crucifixes in the car,” Ben said, ignoring me when I saluted him with my middle finger like I’d been tempted to do earlier when he’d ambushed me with my nieces in the car. I had a feeling that was going to be the theme tonight. I also wondered what the penance was for flipping off a priest.

"Can we leave through the back?" he said, gesturing to a door. "I parked my truck in the alley."

"Sure, Darcy said. “I don’t want to sound like a bitch, but he was freaking out my customers and I need to help Troy out at the bar."

"Understood. We're going. Come on, Sam."

I closed my eyes to try and focus on anything other than the comforting strength of Ben’s broad shoulders as he looped my arm over them. His arm went around my waist and just like the last time we’d been in almost the same exact position, he smelled clean and woodsy. So good, that I wanted to wrap him around me like a warm, living blanket. The best kind a blanket. The type that you wouldn’t share even with your best friend on a night that hit the single digits.

Deja fucking vu.

Ben walked us over to a black Chevrolet pickup truck parked in the alley just outside the kitchen doors. Very American. Very reliable. I grinned as the old Chevy slogan popped into my head.

Like a rock.

“Nice truck. But just to be clear, is rescuing me going to be a recurring theme with you? Not that I mind, but if it is, I feel that I should have your favorite snacks on hand as a reward.”

Ben snorted as he got the front passenger door open with a tap to his key fob. He stuffed me inside with such lack of ceremony that I just barely avoided smacking my head on the upper metal frame of the door panel. He ignored my scowl as he started working on getting my seatbelt situated. I tried to help, but ended up just glaring at him when Ben slapped my hands away.

“I don’t know. Is doing something stupid a recurring theme of yours?"

I smirked and put my hands up in a cease-and-desist position once Ben had me properly strapped in.

Someone was feisty.

"Don't puke in my car," he warned, "or you will pay for the detailing, And I don’t go for the cheap vacuum and quick can shine either. Make a mess and your credit card will feel it."

I rolled my eyes and leaned my head back against the leather seat, which was comfortable. It was the cleanest vehicle I’d ever been in that wasn’t a rental, even if it lacked the new car smell. It was also a lot nicer than I expected a local parish priest to drive. Though, to be fair, I’d never really given a lot of thought to what kind of a vehicle a priest would drive, or if they even drove at all. It was similar to my childhood belief that my elementary school teachers all lived in the basement of the school and that their meals were all leftover lunches eaten in the cafeteria. Imagine my surprise the weekend I ran into my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Sweellig in the grocery store—the same teacher who’d written, ‘Sam has so much potential but refuses to apply himself,’ in every single report card, despite me keeping a solid B+ average—

while I was shopping with my mother. Looking back, it was hard to decide who’d been more uncomfortable about having their weekend intruded upon when school life met real life.

"I'm fine."

Ben snorted again as he shut my door and moved around to his side of the truck to get in and start up the engine, He had us carefully backed out of the alley and merged into the flow of evening traffic before I could think of anything even more belligerent to add to my already bullshit statement.

"You're not fine. Your hands are shredded, and you can barely hold your eyes open. You, my friend, are a hot mess."

"I buried my brother today. I think I deserve one free pass."

"Newsflash, Master Sergeant Trammel, but your family buried a father and a husband today, too. And where did you leave them?"

If Ben hadn’t followed the use of my full title with the rest of that sentence about my family, I’d probably trying to figure out how to conceal a hard-on I was 99.9% sure Ben wouldn’t approve of right now. Fortunately, mentioning Sofia and the girls was a bigger erection killer than a bucket of cold water would’ve been.

Damnit.

“Ben..."

“Zip it, Sam,” Ben said, his hands physically tightening on the steering wheel. I doubted he was normally a straight up 10 and 2 driver simply because he was over the age of 16, and under the age of 70, but right now it was a, ‘both hands on the wheel and eyes on the road because I’m really fucking irritated with you, driving mode.

"I'll take you back to my place to shower and change while you sober up with some strong coffee.”

“That’s very devoted shepherd of you, but I’m all right,” I insisted. “Just swing by the nearest 7-Eleven. I’ll fill up one of their extra-large Slurpee cups with coffee. I’ll be all set.”

“I serve better coffee at home and this plan is non-negotiable. You reached out to me for help.”

“A decision which I’m beginning to regret.”

“Things are always clearer in hindsight which is too bad for you. You’re stuck with me until I deem you fit to return to duty."

“The whole not returning to active-duty thing was what prompted getting really fucking drunk in the first place,” I pointed out. I'd have rolled my eyes if it didn't hurt so much. "Well, that and the fact Darcy was feeding me free whiskey shots like they were mother’s milk. I think even after I waved my rainbow flag, she was still hoping to get me inebriated enough for us to explore whether or I’m actually gay. Which, sadly for her, I am. Like super gay, and holy hell does it feel fanfuckingtastic to actually say that out loud for the first time in years. I guess that’s the silver lining of my, ‘I got honorably discharged from the military because my PTSD made them so uncomfortable they probably wet themselves a little’, cloud.”

“You’re hot.” Ben said mildly, though without any visible discomfort about saying that. “Having both men and women trying to get into your pants should come as no surprise to you. Unfortunately for her, my bed not hers is the only one that’s part of the equation tonight.”

I suddenly needed another barrel of cold water dumped on me double time, as my blood pressure immediately spiked. The first blunt admittance from him about finding me attractive had made my left eyebrow arch, since it was the one that didn’t require me to concentrate on the movement. That last sentence pretty much sent both of my eyebrows flying off of my head somewhere simultaneously.

My mouth went dry as I croaked, “Your... bed?”

Considering that Ben had used such complete, articulate sentences, my lack of more than a two-word response was rude by most conversational standards. In my defense though, my tongue was currently adhered to my palette as my mouth went dry.

“Listen, Ben, as much as I… Shit, I mean I really want to, but we probably sh—"

“You’re going to be in my bed, Sam. I didn’t say I was going to be in there with you.”

My ears flared into their new lives as mini supernovas of full-on heated sensation as Ben smoothly cut me off. Awkward wasn’t a strong enough word for the situation and I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but apparently stung pride was a snarky bitch.

“You said I was hot,” I grumbled beneath my breath. Because how wasn’t that an opening line, even in our currently screwed up situation?

“Because you are hot,” Ben said again, not missing a beat “Just like puppies are cute and people in hell crave ice water. They’re all just facts and none of them equate you and I in bed together. Not tonight.”

Well damn.

I cleared my throat because yeah, I’d caught that, ‘not tonight part,’ but considering how hard Ben had just shut me down, I wasn’t about to explore our possibly mutual attraction right now. Instead, I said, “I have a headache."

"There's aspirin at my place."

"Are we far?"

"About thirty minutes out, and yes, that's where we're going. Period. The end. Sofia has enough to deal with tonight. Close your eyes and we'll get there faster."

I doubted that. What I was certain of, was that I could’ve used a snow suit right now. Even though the temperatures outside were warm enough to fog up the windows along the base of the windshield even with the air conditioning blasting, the inside temperature of the truck cab felt like it’d dropped a good 20°.

“I’m sorry I interrupted ‘your night,” I said, suddenly remembering that Ben had told me at the funeral that he had plans for tonight. Probably not date night plans considering he was dressed for work, collar and all, but knowing my recently acquired, unfortunate sense of timing, it was entirely possible that I’d pulled him away from giving last rights to someone or something.

Christ.

“It’s all right. I was less concerned about rescheduling a weekly group prayer meeting then I was that you might be so drunk you’d wrap yourself around a telephone pole. Having to give you last rights would’ve made me a very unhappy man.”

“Darcy said I didn’t drive myself to the bar.”

“Darcy told me that you told her that you didn’t drive. That’s not necessarily the same thing as not actually driving.”

“Hey!” That stung more than anything else Ben could’ve said. “I’m not a liar, Ben. If that’s what you think of me, then you can just pull the fuck over right now.”

Been ignored my indignation, not addressing the angry outburst until we came to a stoplight that had just turned red. His hazel eyes when they met mine, looked dark and colorless in the din that was brightened only by the streetlights and headlights of passing cars.

“I don’t think that you’re a liar, Sam. That isn’t what I meant and I’m sorry if it came off that way,” he said quietly. “ What I do think is that you’re a man who’s had to live a life of finite self-control in order to survive all the things that’ve been thrown at you throughout your life. That strategy worked out for a very long time, but now you can’t always account for all the new variables that are being thrown your way and you’re struggling to neatly compartmentalize them all. That sometimes means that stupidity happens.” He ignored my bristling.” Stupidity like being careless with yourself when there are so many people who care for you, and who’d be devasted if something were to happen to you.”

My throat worked and I didn’t need a mirror to know how florid my face would look had we been under brighter lighting conditions. Ben wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t stop me from being pissed off about it.

“I told you to stop fucking shrinking me.”

“And I told you that the F-bomb gets special monetary consideration,” Ben shot back. “So far we’re up to at least four at a quarter a pop. At this rate we might be able to afford donuts for the kids at Maplewood in the morning. The night is still young, and I’m just as determined to not let you self-destruct, as you are to do the opposite.”

We stared one another down stubbornly for a few more seconds until the light turned green and Ben had to return his attention back to driving. I stared straight through the windshield for a few more lights, both of us silent. I broke the standoff first, but only by silently turning my head to look over at Ben, tracing the contours of his face with just my gaze. His jaw was set tight, and he looked annoyed as hell with me. I expected that. What I didn’t expect, was the other deeper emotion beneath it; an emotion that tugged at my stupid heart and took the angry wind right out of my sails.

Disappointment.

I'd disappointed Benjamin Santiago. And for some goddamn reason it mattered to me.

Dammit it all to motherfucking hell and back.

Ben...I'm sorry,” I said again, but I heard the genuine, contrite note in my own voice this time.

“Don't apologize to me, Sam. I'm not the one who's going to have a serious hangover tomorrow."

"It won’t be my first one,” I said with a slight shrug. “At least tonight, I’m ending up in the bed of a guy whose first and last names I know. That’s a positive even if he already told me no touch… tonight.”

I wasn’t sure what demon possessed me to add that last part on, but hey, he was the one who’d said it earlier.

Ben’s body stiffened slightly, and when we came to yet another red light, he tipped his head slightly to one side as he looked over at me. My throat went dry when he swept me with a slow appraisal and a hint of something more in his eyes that made Darcy’s earlier come ons seem like kindergarten level, circle yes if you like me, nonsense. I had to fight hard against the sudden temptation to lean over and see if what I felt building between us—that subtle buzz that was like a small electric shock when you dragged your feet backward over a rug—was actually there, or if I was just drunk. I knew for a fact I was still drunk, but by the way my mouth tingled when Ben stared at it for exactly three agonizing seconds—I counted—before he looked away, I didn’t think I was imagining the spark of chemistry between us either.

"You're a mess," he said, his tone finally gentling, more like the man I’d first met before he’d had a reason to break out the big guns because I was waving around my stubborn stick. "I knew I should've checked on you before I went to the prayer group tonight, maybe see if I could convince you to come with me.”

“There’d have been a lot of kicking and screaming.”

“Most of the women in the group are over sixty-five and have enough grandchildren between them to create two opposing co-ed little league teams. They’re used to tears and either ignoring them or bribing silence through snacks. And after working with the kids at Maplewood for the last eight years, handling you just a matter of figuring out how to make all that height and muscle easier to drag along. I might need to invest in a lot of rope. Maybe a dogsled that has wheels.”

My lips twitched. "Maplewood?"

Ben clicked his turn signal, waiting for the stoplight to change. "It's the halfway house for teenagers that I run. Never a dull moment there. Like I told you at the funeral, I was in the middle of something there the night you called and wasn’t able to call you back."

I swallowed around the dryness in my throat. It never failed to surprise me how dehydrated I got after drinking my weight in booze. "What happened?"

“One of our older kids, Cayden, got into it with his roommate. It’s the second time in two weeks. He's been having a hard time adjusting, but we have a strict policy about no fighting because we want the home to be a safe space for everyone who has nowhere else to go. We tend to get a lot of kids who have run away from bad foster homes repeatedly," Ben said, leaning over me to get to the glove compartment. He tossed me a small plastic box of cinnamon mints before turning back to the road. "So, we work with the local police department and social services to give them a second chance. Cayden’s a special case. He's a former Marine who was wounded in action. He wasn't even in for two years before his entire unit was taken out by an IED. He one of only two survivors but lost all the hearing in his right ear."

"Damn. How old is he?"

"He'll be nineteen next month. He emancipated himself at sixteen and joined the marines at seventeen as a way to get away from his abusive home situation with his mother and her boyfriend.”

"I have t-shirts older than that."

I'd been a year older when I enlisted and still remembered those first few years when you didn't know your ass from your elbow. It’d been rough, but I’d had Connor, which had helped. "He doesn’t have any other family?"

Ben shook his head. "He's told Tara, one of our counselors, that the only good thing his family did for humanity was to have only one kid. His mom is an alcoholic who refuses help, and his stepfather isn’t any better."

I was beginning to relate to this damn kid, and not in the upbeat, Big Bother kind of way. “Tara from the funeral?"

Ben nodded. "She's a child therapist as well as a mutual friend of mine and Sofia's. Good people. The kids adore her and generally find her easy to talk to, but she's having a hard time getting Cayden to open up about his home life and whatever keeps setting him off at Maplewood, so it's got to be bad."

"I know that feeling," I murmured.

"Did your father drink?"

The question was asked casually. Ben's tone gave me the impression I could change the subject if I chose to and for that small courtesy—and the fact he'd come to pick up my stupid drunk ass—I said, "He was a 'recovering' alcoholic who never reached the stage of making amends."

"Sofia’s told me that you and Connor had a difficult time growing up."

I tensed a bit, but shrugged as I looked out the window, watching the world go by in streaks of color against the dark sky. “If you're politely trying to ask if our dad smacked us around, yeah, he did. At least until we got old enough to hit back harder. Two to one put the odds in our favor."

Sympathy softened Ben's tone even though I couldn’t see his face. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"No need to be. He's out of the picture, lost in a bottle somewhere," I said flatly, finally popping three of Ben's mints into my mouth. I recognized the spicy sweet scent as the same one I sometimes caught a whiff of when I was close to him. "Is the kid going to be all right? Cayden?"

Shadows shifted on Ben's face, hiding his expression when I glanced over at him, though I could hear the regret in his voice. "If he keeps getting into altercations with his former roommate, we'll have to ask him to leave. I'm trying to avoid that because I think he needs a stable home right now." He paused, thick brows knitting together in thought. "Maybe you can drop by Maplewood one of these days and talk to him."

I felt my left eyebrow lift. "And say what?"

"I don't know. Just talk. You and Cayden both have a military background. That's a common denominator that none of the other counselors or I share with him. Maybe you can find out what’s driving the tension between him and Eli. I have some suspicions but can't do anything if Cayden doesn't let me help him." Ben's lips tightened into a grim line.

“Is he acting out in any other way? Fighting with anyone else?”

“No. That’s the weird thing. He follows every other rule. Helps the younger kids with their homework. Does all of his chores without needing any reminders. He’s good with everyone except Eli who’s a year younger and probably twenty pounds of less muscle than Cayden. He’s just scrappy.”

I popped another mint into my mouth as the previous ones melted into a glaze on my tongue. "Ben, considering that I owe you one times at least 3 so far, I’d love to help, but I'm not good with kids."

"I disagree. I saw you with Emma."

"She's barely seven. It's easy to be a hero to a kid when Care Bears having tea with Barbie make them happy." I turned to look out the window again. "Besides, if someone is messing with this kid bad enough that he’s breaking the rules because of it, I'm afraid my moral compass points due south on this one anyway."

Ben's reflection in my window cocked his head to one side. "What do you mean?"

I bounced my fist lightly in staccato tempo against my knee. "When Connor and I were growing up, a lot of the local kids thought that because our old man beat us, it was open season." I turned back to meet Ben's steady gaze as we came to yet another light, this one seeming to be ab extra lone one judging by the long line of cars in front of us and how few got through each cycle. It was the perfect place to open up all those closets of awkward shit I didn’t want to talk about.

"We had to set a few straight before the rest thought twice about messing with either of us."

I expected a preachy response, but just Ben nodded. "I get what you're saying, Sam. I just can't let something like this slide."

"So, don't. Just make sure you find the real guilty party."

Ben swept me with another look, then smiled. "I bet you were the kid who stood up for the underdog in school."

"Once in a while. I don't like bullies." I paused, then quickly went on before the subtle change in Ben's expression could be verbalized. “And no, I didn’t know that Connor was hitting Sofia or Adelyn. Not until I came back to Florida a week ago. If I had, his funeral service would’ve been held a lot sooner and without any honors.” My jaw tricked at that ugly truth. “I loved my brother despite all his damn flaws, but you just don’t hit girls. They’re smaller and weaker, no matter how strong or athletically fit and capable they are. And when they belong to you, when they’re your friends or family, they’re even more precious.” I paused again, swallowing hard. “And I screwed up by not protecting them.”

I didn't expect the hand Ben reached out and curled over my knee. It shook slightly from the vibrations running from my skin to his.

"I knew he hit her," he said, glancing over at me. "Tara and I both found out by accident and no matter how often we told her to leave him, she wouldn’t.”

"Sofia's always been loyal like that. She sticks," I said, distracted by his hand still on my leg. I'd have to adjust to the fact that he was a toucher. We hadn't gotten much of that growing up.

"Sometimes you need to know when to walk away, Sam."

"And other times you should keep your ass right where it is."

"Are we still talking about Sofia?"

I shrugged noncommittally. Ben watched me quietly for a moment before he inched the car up another two car lengths at the ridiculously long light. “We didn’t want to call CPS because we knew that there was a good possibility that the girls would be taken away from her, especially with no other family members able to step in.” His long fingers squeezed my knee just a little harder as if to still me when I physically flinched “That’s not on you, Sam. Sofia didn’t want us to call you, so Tara and I settled for just dropping in unexpectedly and frequently whenever we knew that Connor was home on leave. When he stopped coming home, it just made things a lot easier.” He paused then said, “hey.”

Just that one word had the power to make me glance up at him, albeit with reluctance. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty Sam,” he said, his tone gentle. “I just wanted to reassure you that Sofia and the girls were taken care of to the best of my ability and Tara’s while you were gone. And Tara is a lot scarier than I am. Don’t let all that blonde hair fool you.”

I nodded, my lips managing to quirk into what was probably the world’s smallest smile. “The ink alone makes me know better than to believe she’s just a Barbie girl living in a Barbie world.”

Ben chuckled. “Good call.” He moved his hand from my knee after another light squeeze. “May I ask you something?”

“Can I say no?’

His lips twitched but he nodded. “Of course.”

I sighed because well, shit, he’d gone out of his way to help me out more than once and it wasn’t like I didn’t know what he wanted to ask me anyway. It was the million-dollar question everyone, including Sofia and Adelyn wanted the answer to.

“Go ahead.”

"Sofia told me you two fell out of contact a while ago." Ben paused. "Though we've just met, I can't understand why a man who believes in honor the way you do, stayed away from your family for this long."

“And you want to know why?”

He nodded slightly. “I’m curious, but in all fairness, I only asked for permission to ask the question. I didn’t say you had to give me an actual answer.”

Damn this man and his almost supernatural ability to make me want to open up to him.

I sighed again. Max knew all of the details as did A.J. because he’d physically been there that night when I’d caught Connor and Devlin together. But it rarely came up in conversation with either of them unless Max was pissed when I felt guilty over Connor’s death, so I’d been able to shove the secret into a deep dark hole where I didn’t need to see it or think about it, much less address it. That had worked for years, but tonight, being here with a goddamn priest, giving my first confession ever even if it wasn’t in the traditional sense, made it pretty clear that this avoidance shit wasn’t working anymore.

“I’ll tell you, but it needs to stay between us, Ben. No one except my two closest friends know what happened, and I intend to keep it that way unless you can promise you won’t ever tell anyone, especially not Sofia. I might need to tell her the truth one day, but right now we just have way too much other damage to work through.”

Ben didn’t hesitate, his gaze never leaving my face thanks to that obscenely long light and even more offensive amount of traffic on the road considering the late hour. “Anything we talk about tonight, or any night, always stays between us unless I’m worried about your safety. As long as you don’t tell me you have plans to hurt yourself or someone else, consider me both a rock and a safe space. You have my word, Sam.”

He paused then held up a finger, signaling for me to hold my thought for a second as we finally moved up enough to make it through the light which meant Ben had to look straight forward again. I didn’t mind. It was easier to talk about the ugly when he wasn’t looking at me with that genuine empathy I wasn’t comfortable with. “Cliff notes version, Connor had an affair with someone I was seeing at the time.”

Ben didn’t say a word, but being a priest didn’t mean he wasn’t also human, so I could only imagine how many directions his brain was bouncing around in.

Mind definitely blown.

“Yeah,” I said to answer any possible unspoken inquiry he had because the one word covered a lot of territory with one broad stroke. “Until then, I didn’t know he was gay, or bisexual. I still don’t honestly, because we never talked about it after a friend, and I walked in on him and Devlin in bed together while we were all on a mini reunion vacation together. But honestly, that wasn’t what broke us. It was what he said about me and our family that just shattered apart all the pieces I’d spent my entire life trying to repeatedly glue back together each time I found a new crack.”

I paused to inhale deeply before exhaling slowly. I scrubbed the heels of my hands back and forth over the thighs of my jeans until my palms felt slightly abraded by the denim material. “Connor said that because of what we’d seen and done in Afghanistan, I couldn’t be what they needed here because our past might come back to haunt us, and they could get hurt.”

I leaned my head back against the seat. "Suffice it to say, that fucking wrecked me, and I walked away thinking they’d be better off. They obviously weren’t, but that’s about as deep as I can get into it right now while I’m still drunk. Since I still owe you a couple of favors for saving my ass as often as you have, if you want to grill me once I’m sober, and end up looking at me in ways that might persuade you to finally to break out the holy water, feel free. We should also start a running tab for my F-bomb droppage.”

Ben nodded. “Fair enough, though I can assure you that in my lifetime to date, I’ve heard things that would make even your war hardened soul run away eeeping like a little girl being offered frog kisses.”

Even in profile, the teasing quirk of Ben’s sensually full mouth was obvious when I snorted.

“I’m serious. Why do you think there are so many scenes in cop shows and movies where priests have to listen to confessions of murder because the perpetrator knows they’re bound to silence by the sanctity of the confessional? Thankfully I’ve never been put in that position, but my point is, I’m sure there’s very little you could tell me that would make me look at you with anything other than empathy and admiration for the strength you’ve shown by having to bear all these burdens alone for so long.”

I squirmed a little in my seat because I was about as comfortable with any kind of praise as I was with getting emotional with anyone.

“I'm sorry I interrupted your night,” I said again, just to change the topic. “Like I said before, my friends are either still in Afghanistan or retired and all over the country, so my options were limited. Sofia and the girls don't need to see me like this, especially after what happened at the funeral. Thanks for the assist by the way. Picking me up of course, but also for earlier. You’re probably the only reason I didn’t get arrested or at least reprimanded. Officer Whelan…he seemed like he knew you well and trusted your judgement…"

Ben’s lips twitched and he shot me a brief, mischievous look like he knew exactly where I was going with that, but he wasn’t going to answer a question unless it was a bluntly verbalized one. When I stubbornly didn’t, he grinned before paying attention to the road again.

"Seargent Whelan is a good man,” he agreed. “He doesn’t like pulling rank in public but it’s a small town and smaller police force so he rarely has to. And it's okay," Ben said as he made a left onto a narrow street. "I'm like a bartender—I keep late hours. Not everyone can do nine-to-five confessions."

"So, you just go around town rescuing men plastered to the front of bars like bad siding?"

"Some people do macramé. I go on holy hunts for the spiritually haunted. It's my 'thing.'" Ben smirked, making another left turn.

I was so far out of the familiarity of Sofia's neighborhood that I'd never be able to get back unless he gave me directions. "Are we almost to your place?"

"Yes. It's right along the coast. I like watching the sunrise over the ocean in the morning with a cup of coffee on my back porch. You can also get to the beach right off the back steps. The entire strip is a private beach for the homeowners in the community here, so it’s pretty quiet; a nice place to think when you just want to be one with nature."

My eyebrow cocked. "You can afford waterfront property?" I was sure I sounded a little skeptical. Florida had plenty of beaches, but there hadn’t been an overabundance of affordable options in most places, even when I was growing up, and Ben’s unofficial uniform when he wasn’t wearing his clerical collar, seemed to be pretty close to my own preference of jeans and t-shirts. Though it might be worth exploding a few hearts due to increased palpitations if I could ever get him into a pair of black BDU’s and a tight tank top.

I cleared my throat before I could go anywhere else with that thought. I wasn’t even sure if I was staying in Florida and yet here I was, dressing the guy like my own personal date night dolly. Thankfully Ben didn’t seem to have read my thoughts as he responded to my question.

"When I bought the place, I had some money saved and it was affordable. Still is, if you're looking for a place to set down roots."

"Sofia and I haven't really talked about anything concrete yet past making the guest room in her house mine for a while. But considering how much Adelyn is struggling with having me around, I don’t want to put any more pressure on any of them, especially not on her. Right now, it’s sort of a survive the night and see what the morning looks like. situation.”

“I get that. Sometimes one day at a time is the best plan of action.”

We pulled into a small neighborhood with an old painted sign indicating the name of the complex. It was too weathered to make out more than the word "Beach." As Ben had said, his neighborhood was right on the waterfront. Inky-black water spread out on all sides, and I could hear the soft lap of evening waves against the dock post. Hints of salty sea brine and ozone snuck into the truck because Ben didn’t have the truck on recirculate mode. Even at night, the ocean views were amazing. But as we crept down past the pier to a strip of small homes, I began to get an idea of why Ben might’ve gotten his place for a bargain.

The older ranch and bungalow styles reminded me of the neighborhood I'd grown up in. More dilapidated than the new, sleek beachside condos out by Sofia, the wood and stucco exteriors of most of the buildings were in serious need of a face-lift. A few were missing clay tiles from the roofs. Wooden shutters showed serious wear from salty sea air and sand, and most had private decks that looked about as safe as walking on a balance beam with both eyes closed in my current inebriated condition.

We stopped in front of an older, but attractive beach house that looked out of place among the other less maintained building surrounding it. There was a small porch light on, so I could see that the house was painted a calming sage green, and that the boards of both the steps and deck were painted a light, grayish color. There were a few large, neutral colored mosaic planters scattered around the front deck in attractive clusters. Big tropical plants erupted from the tops in happy abandon. There was also a tiny metal bistro table at one end of the deck with two chairs, one on either side of it.

“Is that where you drink your morning coffee? It’s a nice setup.”

“No, the backside of the property is larger, so I had a huge veranda built that wraps around the back and left side of the house. There’s more seating room out there for entertaining and there’s also a porch swing, which is where I actually sit when I drink my coffee.” He smiled. “I just like the front deck to be visually inviting to anyone who drops by for a quick chat. No nine to five hours remember?”

I nodded.” It… stands out among the other buildings…”

I thought that was a tactful way to ask if Ben was sure his surrounding neighbors weren’t meth heads or absconded members from some kind of cultish commune, but he grinned, obviously reading my expression.

"It's an up-and-coming neighborhood."

"In crime statistics?"

Ben looked amused as he killed the engine. "We're in a recession. A lot of the older neighborhoods went downhill with foreclosures, But it’s safe. Just needs some TLC. It’s also home, and you’re more than welcome to hang out here as long as you need to in the morning. You can enjoy some coffee with me out back.”

He got out of the car after I did, then set that car alarm with the traditional double tap.

"Thanks, Ben, but once I sober up, I have to call a cab. I have to get home at some point tonight. Sofia and the girls will worry if I’m not there in the morning.” Well, Emma would worry. Addie might host the bash of the century and end up speaking in tongues.

"I called Sofia on my way to pick you up."

Suspicious tension immediately settled between my shoulder blades. "What did you tell her?"

"Aside from the truth?"

"Dammit, Ben."

He ignored my irritation. “If you want me to say something different, make other choices. I won't lie for you. We both know she deserves better than that. She also knows that you’re safe with me. Come on."

I followed under protest because I didn't have much say, seeing as I had no idea where the fuck I was.

The wide foyer had seen better days, a complete contrast to the exterior of the house. Whiskey colored carpet that might’ve actually been a few shades lighter when it wasn’t so saturated with water that it squished beneath my feet with an unsavory sound, made the area smell slightly musty. The air in here also felt more humid than outside.

"Sorry about that," Ben apologized, when I tested a piece of flooring with my boot to make sure it wasn't me that was off balance. "We had a big storm a few weeks back that flooded this area, and I haven't had time to completely strip it down yet."

"Don't worry about it. I'll feel less guilty if I puke here than in your car."

A sound that could've been a laugh or a sigh escaped Ben as he bypassed the stairs and led me toward the main living area. Two steps down into the sunken living room, I found myself in a sanctuary that was a hundred-eighty degrees out from the mess in the foyer.

Ben's living room was less of a show room than Sofia's was, but the rugged, hand-carved wood tables that were stained a warm gray, and the dark brown leather couches looked both tasteful and comfortable. Instead of stark white walls and the ominous wooden cross I'd envisioned, I found myself ensconced within warm neutral colors, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that took up two full walls and the better part of a third. They were jammed with framed photos of friends and family, and other little tchotchkes that told the story of his life. On a pine green accent wall hung artful black and white photographs and small paintings of both religious and mundane themes. They gave an eclectic vibe to the room, and a glimpse of the world through Ben's eyes.

I paused at a beautifully shot photo of a homeless woman kneeling in prayer, clasped hands held high above the sea of trash bags around her. Captured in black and white with heavy contrasts in light and dark, only her face was out of the shadows, revealing reverence in her expression. Ben's initials were sketched in the lower left corner in black ink.

Again and again, I found his initials hand sketched in the paintings and black and white photo prints lining the wall. My favorite photograph was of a group of children laughing on the church grounds. Droplets from their water balloons splattered the photo, capturing happiness in each drop. Emma's face was among them, her eyes smiling at me as she released her balloon to flight.

I traced her face with fingertips that trembled from the alcohol slowly being broken down by my body. "This is a great shot. You're a photographer too?"

"No, just a hobbyist. I like capturing the world in moments that we can preserve even when our minds play tricks on us as we get older. I cover all of our local church events. That was our annual Fourth of July party last summer. The kids had a ball."

"Looks like it."

I could feel the warmth of Ben's body as he sidled up beside me. "There are copies of that picture somewhere. I'll get you one."

"Thanks. Sofia gave a few of their school photos, but nothing this current."

"We do a lot with the youth group, so I'm sure Emma and Adelyn pop up in there a few times. You can go through my prints whenever you like."

"Now?"

"If that's what you want."

Ben looked up at me from beneath the sweep of his lashes, an unconsciously sensual movement that completely distracted me away from our current conversation. Forget the photos. Despite it being at least an hour without taking into account the slowdowns on our way here since my last drink, I was still feeling the effects of the booze and that broke down my inhibitions. It also released that rush of sexual awareness and arousal that always hit me hard when I drank too much, which was why I avoided getting inebriated in public unless I was with my very straight friends who didn’t know I was gay, or with Max who I could go home with to address the horny situation.

Unfortunately, right now I didn’t have either of those two options and it was a problem because I suddenly wanted Ben so deep inside me that I wouldn’t be able to shake the feeling for days. It was probably the worst idea I’d ever had about anything in years. Hell, it was downright stupid. Every ounce of common sense I still possessed told me to back the fuck up, but I’d never been good at following orders outside of the military.

When I leaned in, my right hand followed the lead of my left, so they both rested on the wall on either side of Ben’s body. Those expressive hazel eyes widened slightly, but he didn't move away, or give me the one-handed shove that would be all that was needed to plant me on my ass for taking this kind of liberty.

Walk away. Walk away. Walk away.

My head led the chant, but my body didn't want to follow that drummer. Instead, I stood there and just met those soulful eyes with my own. I’d made the first move on a crazy whim, hoping that his quietly spoken, ‘if that’s what you want,’ had been a discreet pass. But the longer we stood there in silence, inmoving, a wave of what humiliatingly felt akin to stage fright, suddenly gripped me.

I swallowed, still tasting an odd blend of Listerine and Ben’s cinnamon mints on my tongue. I started to pull away, thinking I’d misread the fuck out of this situation, but Ben’s hand moved and curled firmly in the hem of my t-shirt, getting enough of the material wrapped around his hand that the warmth of his knuckles grazed the flat planes of my abs. I knew his hands weren’t actually cold because it was warm in the house, but they felt absolutely frigid in comparison to the heat that immediately flooded my body, lighting me up from within when he took control and pulled me in closer to him. I instinctively leaned down enough to make up for our height difference. My eyes closed when Ben brushed the pad of his thumb gently along my jaw.

"She was right," he murmured, his own cinnamon scented breath so warm across my mouth, I knew he could only be an inch or so away. "You are trouble," he said.

Then he kissed me.