Halos and Heroes - 20. Chapter 20

Part of the problem is how little we understand about the ultimate betrayal of the body when it rebels against itself...

—Charles Bronson

SOCIAL media loves to bombard us with visuals of positive affirmations and inspirational messages meant to sell us the idea that limitless happiness in the world is up for grabs, available to anyone who wants it simply because they have a meme generated, Pollyanna attitude. None of the heavy shit that comes our way, none of the struggles, none of the pretty fucking damning data in everyday news articles that consistently prove that bad things can, and do happen to even the best people, matter so long as you keep swimming and have, a ‘keep calm and carry on’ decal on your car’s rear window.

The people who desperately subscribe to that kind of ideological propaganda, have drunk the Kool-Aid that claims you can’t run from your past, but with some nightly wishing upon a fucking star, everyone has a shot at white picket fences. They obviously suffer from psychotic delusions, poor cardio practices, and have never had their retinas singed behind their closed eyelids in their sleep by the unholy cast of characters from their past who happily play versions of, ‘your so-called life’ with surprising pep in their steps despite being very very dead.

Because you killed them

Keep calm and carry on my ass.

Ben believed that I was getting better at casting out my own demons, and for a while there, wanting to believe that love really can conquer all if you just want it badly enough, I had too.

I was stupid.

Some demons might have the sense to stay away from a man involved with a priest, but there are always a few outliers with axes to grind, and shit to prove to the other demons, so they squat in the recessed corners of your mind, waiting for you to let your guard down. That’s when they remind you with mocking whispers that no one who’s heart and soul are weighed with stones from a rocky road of poor decisions, and the consequences of “necessary evils” can ever make it up that intense slope of a rainbow to the other side. Not without some long, intense struggles. And even if they do make it, there’s no guarantee that they’ll get to stay there. Happiness is allegedly what’s on the other end of the rainbow, but despite what we might want to believe, not everyone deserves that peace.

During waking hours there are a million ways of distracting yourself, so you forget about all the times that you’ve wondered if you’re one of the people who deserves to be happy. That’s when social media comes into play. However, all humans eventually need sleep. That biological need to recharge opens the door for your demons to come out for a game of chase, their teeth cutting truth that are painful, even if they’re only half real.

What woke me wasn’t the feeling of the sunshine on my face coming in through the drawn shades of the open window, or the scent of ocean brine. I opened my eyes because of the sound of laughter somewhere down the hall in the house. Sofia’s house, I realized, the reality of her guest bedroom coming into focus around me when I smelled the sugary scent of waffles and syrup, cut with the savory addition of bacon that appealed enough to my empty stomach to make it growl.

I knew that I was dreaming because when I looked at my hands on the sheets, when I turned my face up to the sun, everything seemed like it was in High Def- colors were brighter, sharper. But this wasn’t my usual nightmarish landscape colored in blood red and dark gore formed from a disgusting blend of every possible color. I being was greeted by the chirping of birds, not the sound of gunfire. My sheets felt cool and clean where they were pooled around my hips as I sat up, not soaked with sweat like they usually where when I managed to wrench myself free from a nightmare.

I didn't normally dream this lucidly, but I wasn't knocking it If I could stay in this near perfect version of a life where I might not be haunted by those demons in my past. So, instead of trying to force myself to wake up and return to a reality where I was still fighting towards accepting that maybe I could have a life where’d be able to put that damn decal on my SUV’s rear window., I exhaled. Then, I stretched back against the headboard and just enjoyed the sun like a lazy cat, reveling in the fact I could feel the heat as realistically as if I'd been awake.

Time didn’t matter in a dream, so it didn’t pass the same way. I didn’t know how long I sat in bed but eventually, I got up to brush my teeth, get a clean t-shirt and sweats on, and make my way downstairs toward the scent of breakfast, and the laughter that was more appealing than any side of bacon.

I hadn't even made it completely into the kitchen before I heard Emma yell my name. Her laughter echoed in my ears in little girl soprano when I caught her behind the knees and around the waist, flipping her over my shoulder easily after she launched herself at me like a happy, heat-seeking missile dressed in lime green shorts and a yellow t-shirt. I held her in place with one hand while the other tickled her ribs. I blew a noisy raspberry into her side, earning another shriek of laughter for my effort, before I leaned down to brush a light kiss across Sofia’s cheek when she handed me a cup of hot, freshly brewed coffee.

I carefully kept the mug away from Emma as I walked to a seat at the kitchen island. Adelyn was standing on the other side, wearing a hot pink tank top and jean shorts that actually covered her ass. She’d been looking at a magazine, but when I sat down, she glanced up and smiled at me. It took me a minute to realize what was different about her—other than the fact that she was actually that happy to see me or any adult this early in the morning. Not until she lifted a brow in the silent equivalent of a verbal teenage, “what?’ did I realize that her eyebrows weren’t their usual black, but a soft shade of brown. The same natural brown that her long hair currently was. The same color it used to be before she’d learned that teenage rebellion and box dye made good friends.

She was fresh-faced and makeup free, that thick brown hair piled messily on top of her head and held in place with an alligator clip. Without her usual heavy eyeliner, her blue eyes looked bigger, brighter, and open to hopeful possibility.

After Emma tapped out from the tickle torture with one little hand on my back, I sat on one of the bar height chairs and settled her on my lap at the kitchen counter. Adelyn pushed a plate over to me; a large main circle with two smaller ones for ears, along with a mound of fluffy, scrambled eggs—the same Mickey Mouse pancake breakfast she’d made for Emma my first morning back in Florida.

"Morning Uncle Sam," she said with a smile. A wide, open smile that wasn’t burdened with any of its usual snark that’d been drilled into her soul from years of a twisted childhood. She looked free and happy, like a kid who belonged on the happy end of the rainbow.

I’d do anything to keep that smile in place, even if it meant that she learned to weaponize it one day and used it against me for the rest of her life to get herself out of any trouble she ever found herself in, like sneaking out of the house for party and getting so smashed I had to pick her up. Emma already had my number.

I smiled as my younger niece snuggled closer in my arms while I tried to eat with the hand that wasn't holding onto her so she wouldn't fall.

"Look Uncle Sam, I drew you a picture."

I glanced down as Emma pushed a piece of paper into my line of sight beside my plate. Her usual blob shaped flowers formed a border around five figures that were actually identifiable as people. I followed the movement of her finger as she pointed out each one.

"That's Mami, and Addie." Both figures had long hair and were wearing colorful dresses. "And that's you," she said, smiling up at me proudly.

'I,' was wearing what looked like a kid’s vision of my military camos in green and brown splotches, with a heavy scribble of brown crayon for hair. She pointed at the left side of the drawing which was holding the hand of a much smaller character. I hid a smile when I saw the glasses and the crown.

"This is me. And that," she said pointing to the last figure that was a little shorter than me, "is Father Ben!"

I blinked, realizing that what I’d thought was a dress must be Emma’s interpretation of Ben’s clerical garb. In my defense, she hadn’t drawn on his white collar. He also had no hair, which was definitely something I planned to tease him about later. 'Ben' was holding my other hand. We were all smiling—big, curving red lines that took up half of our circular faces.

"Wow, this is amazing, Emma."

She dimpled. "Mami said she's going to put it on the fridge. It's our family."

I kissed the top of her head, then looked down at the drawing of Ben. Part of our family...

“So, one day in the future, however far off that is… when I asked you to marry me, are you going to say yes?”

Ben had asked me that but it’d taken meeting him in the first place to even make me consider the idea of marriage. Before him, matching rings hadn’t been a priority. A happy life where people weren’t trying to kill me—sometimes because I’d been sent to kill them—hadn’t seemed like an option. I’d been all right with that because I hadn’t known what life could look like outside of those limiting walls that ironically had fallen when Connor had died, and I’d had to come back to Florida.

I’d originally considered this just another mission—just another trial by fire that needed me to get in and out as quick and cleanly as possible, just like any other mission, even the ones that’d gone sideways, but still needed a resolution. I’d looked at bringing Connor home like a job so I’d stay detached and work at maximum capability. I was an operative, not a brother, not a brother-in-law, and definitely not an uncle. All of those things were more dangerous than any mission, because the possibility of failure was higher, so I told myself I didn’t give a shit, and drunk down that snake oil like mother’s milk.

Until I’d had a massive panic attack in a goddamn funeral home, and been dragged into the literal light by a priest…

Ben was a man who was more than his collar—more than a representation of everything good that should’ve judged who I was, and condemned me for the things I’d done. He should’ve kicked my ass into a closet and locked me in. Instead, he’d taken me outside and gave me a chance to breathe, because he was more the sum of his parts, and wanted me to believe that I was more than just my past.

Ben had saved me that day and since then, through his eyes, I’d gotten a glimpse of a second chance that I’d been fighting for harder than anything else I’d ever fought for in my life. Now, I had my family back. I also had Ben, a man who I wanted to add to my family. I wanted to make him part of my daily life. And maybe one day, we could add to our own family...

Yeah, I was gay, but a lot of people were and many of them had beautiful spouses and families. Adoption and surrogacy were both viable options. I’d just never trusted myself with the concept. Holding the fragile body of a baby between hands that had literally broken the bodies of more people than I could remember, had seemed wrong. Almost immoral. Men who’d done the things I had, didn’t deserve picket fences and happy endings. At least that’s what I’d always accepted as the hand that I’d been dealt by fate. Now however, with Emma snuggled into my lap, completely secure in the idea that she was safe because I’d never let anything happen to her, that I’d never hurt her, I was reminded that there’s always a point where we have to grow up and realize that not all of the things that we’re told, or that we’ve subscribed to at some point in our lives, have to define the rest of it.

Emma was right. I’d never let anything hurt her.

I allowed my eyes to close for a moment, briefly trying to picture Ben in the kitchen with us- relaxed and comfortable as he drank his morning coffee on a stool beside mine, possibly with a little girl on his lap who looked like a baby Ben with wild dark curls, but eyes as blue as mine and Adelyn’s… A baby smiling with the same surety that Emma was right now, because she knew that she’d always be safe with a daddy who’d kill all the monsters under her bed if he had to.

The imagery should’ve terrified me because believing that you had control over anything in the world was stupid. Hope was a dangerous thing. I knew that better than most people, but it didn’t mean I didn’t still want it.

I opened my eyes before I got sucked too far into the fantasy.

"We should all do something together today," Sofia said as she opened the refrigerator to get milk for Emma's cereal. "It's supposed to be beautiful out."

"Let's go to the movies!" Emma looked around at all of us, her ponytail bobbing with her enthusiasm. "Uncle Sam, you said we can have a big popcorn and get dressed fancy like you did with Father Ben. I want to see, Inside Out."

I didn't know what she was talking about, so I looked to Sofia and Adelyn for some help. Addie smirked.

"It's a Pixar cartoon about feelings." Her impish smile deepened. "Joy, Fear, Anger, Disgust and Sadness...Right up your alley, Uncle Sam."

Smartass.

But the hair, Sam… That hair gets a pass.

My lips twitched as I looked down into Emma's hopeful face, then nodded. "Alright, Queen Bee." I threw up my hands when Addie and Sofia groaned. "Hey! I promised her we'd do it up Pixar style."

"And you always keep your promises."

I could feel my expression soften as I gently dragged my thumb down Emma's silky soft cheek. "Yeah honey, I'll always keep my promises to every one of you."

And to Ben, and maybe even baby Ben…

"And love us and protect us, right?"

“Of course, baby. Always.”

Emma was smiling. They were all smiling. The entire situation was warm and cozy, but something suddenly felt off...

I’d lived in combat zones on and off for most of my adult life. I’ve grown used to the eruption of gunfire a long time ago, so much so, that it’d become background noise- a perverse lullaby I was immune to. At least that’s what I’d thought until the sudden sound of a gun going off once, then again in Sofia’s warm, sunny kitchen, deafened every sound except for Adelyn's scream cutting through the blast.

Ignoring the ringing in my ears, I slowly brought my hand up to my cheek when I felt warm splatter across my face. It tasted metallic between my lips. A flavor I was so familiar with that I’d have been able to keep back the dry heaves if I hadn’t looked down and realized the blood was Adelyn’s. I gagged on her name as I tried to shout it, suddenly hating the vividity of this dream and how I could taste and feel everything. Hated how I was living one of my worst nightmares.

Those blue eyes of hers looked even more vulnerable now with the life draining out of them as her slim body hit the floor. Sofia was already crumpled on the ground, a perfectly round, red hole oozing in the center of her forehead. I couldn’t help either of them, so I immediately reached for Emma.

My hands clenched on empty air because she wasn't on my lap anymore. Instead, she was standing a few feet away from my stool, staring at the man in the doorway who was wearing black BDUs and blue t-shirt that said, ‘Proud Daddy.’

Connor.

Emma’s face was lit up with an incandescent joy as she looked at a man who she hadn’t seen she was a baby. Connor wasn't looking at her though. His eyes were focused only on me, expression cold and detached as he swept me with a slow look. He had an army issue Sig in his right hand.

Run Emma! Fucking Jesus, RUN!

That’s what I wanted to scream, but I couldn't get the words out. My throat felt so parched that my tongue stuck to the Velcro-like roof of my mouth. I tried to spring out of my chair to grab her, but I was suddenly grounded by invisible restraints. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't move. It was like my recurring dream about Connor and Devlin all over again. I was never able to get to them either, but this, this was worse because it was Emma.

Still looking straight at me, Connor silently crouched in front of his daughter when Emma moved closer to him.

It's a dream, Sam, Wake up! It's only a fucking dream! Wake the sweet fuck up!

My subconscious was an insolent asshole that ignored me when Emma turned to look at me with trusting happiness, seemingly unaware of the carnage around her.

"Uncle Sam! Daddy's home!"

Run!

I knew I was screaming because I could feel the painful scratch in my throat, but no sound escaped as Emma turned back to Connor, and dashed into his arms with a happy sound.

"Hey sweetheart," Connor said, his voice sounding too much like the one I’d lost. "Miss me?"

Emma nodded. "Uh huh. Are you home now?”

“Soon,” Connor assured her. “I have to go on a little trip first. Want to come with me?”

Emma's head tilted to the side curiously. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere fun. You'll like it, I promise. Now say goodbye to your Uncle Sam."

When Emma turned in his arms to look at me, her expression was hesitant. "I want Uncle Sam to come too."

"Uncle Sam has other important things to do," Connor said. His voice was calm and easy. Nothing like the last time I’d seen him. This was the voice of a Connor who seemed to think he’d been the one betrayed, instead of the man who’d broken my heart.

"But we're going to the movies. He promised." Emma kept looking at me, her lower lip tucking up beneath her teeth. "You promised, Uncle Sam..."

"I know, Emma. I—" I paused when I realized words were coming out of my mouth, then immediately tried to move. The invisible restraints my mind had put on my body suddenly released, and I launched towards her.

My brother set Emma down on the floor almost gently. She started to run toward me. I was moving as fast as I could to meet her, but it felt like I was trudging through mud—too damn slow.

Connor raised the handgun and aimed it at his daughter's back...

No! Wake the fuck up Sam!

"Sam, wake up!"

"Run, Emma!"

She froze instead.

I'm dreaming. It's just a dream, just a dream!

"Sam, it's just a dream. Open your eyes!"

Like a seal had suddenly been broken, my steps sped up as the nightmare relinquished its mind-fucking hold on me until I was close enough to grab Emma's hand. I yanked her toward me as the gun went off.

In the past, that thunder like crack had always been associated with blood and pain, but I felt nothing. Panic swept me as I looked down at Emma expecting to see deadly injuries, but there was only confusion on her face, not blood on her body when I dragged her up into my arms as she hiccupped between sobs.

“Uncle Sam, I’m scared!”

“I know baby, but it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

Liar.

I ignored the chastising voice of my dreamscapes subconscious but got so absorbed in reassuring Emma that she was safe, that I forgot about Connor until I caught his movement in my peripheral vision.

Emma was knocked out of my arms and went sprawling to the floor as Connor barreled into me, the takedown rough enough to knock the wind out of my lungs. My head slammed into the floor, and I saw stars as I wheezed, trying to catch my breath. My attempts were thwarted when Connor straddled me, trying to pin my hands to the ground.

I could hear Emma screaming my name now as my brother and I grappled. Her fear was what focused me, giving me the strength to flip our positions. Connor struggled beneath me, but I was heavier and stronger. I always had been. I'd just never stood up to my brother with any real force other than the night I'd caught him with Devlin. Before that, I'd been content to let Connor take what he wanted from me to avoid confrontation. But I wasn't going to let him take my family away from me after he'd thrown them away.

My hand shook hard despite my intent, so the first punch missed. The second knocked Connor’s head to the right as I steadied my free hand by tangling it in the collar of his shirt. When I punched him a third time, the contact between my knuckles and the bones of his face vibrated up my arm, before sending the force back into Connor’s body with the fourth connecting swing. It was the most symbiotic we’d probably ever since the 9 months we’d spent in utero together. Except that now, instead of sharing a womb to begin a life together as brothers, I was putting an end to it.

For Emma’s sake. For Sofia. For Adelyn.

My face stung when Conor managed to squirm away enough to land an open-handed slap across my face. It hurt less than the knee I took to my balls, but after a brief scuffle, I pinned Connor down easily again, slamming my arm down across hi throat.

Desperate hands clawed up my arms as Connor tried to break free. I pressed harder on his windpipe, using my topside position to lean in and increase the weighted pressure on his neck.

Snapping a man’s hyoid bone was never as clean or easy as movies made it look. Neither was strangling the life out of someone. It would’ve been easier—for both of us—if I’d been able to get my hands on Connor’s gun. One shot, and I could put my fucking Boogeyman to bed by tearing my own heart out. Unfortunately, I’d lost track of the Sig, so I just kept applying pressure until Connor’s eyes fluttered, rolling back as his bloody face begin to change color with each passing second that life seeped from his body.

"Sam, please stop! Please!"

Those were the same words he'd spoken that night I'd found him with Devlin, but I was done. This was a dream, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t get some kind of damn closure. I had to try because I couldn’t keep doing this shit.

I moved my arm and replaced it with both hands, wrapping them around Connor’s neck as I began to squeeze, moving my head away from his flailing hands even as my vision began to blur from the tears leaking down my cheeks.

I’m sorry Connor.

He smacked me a few times, but then as gasping sounds started escaping his throat, his hands dropped, the fight leaving him. He shouldn’t have been able to talk at this point, but I still heard him when he said, "Sam, no… Baby… please."

Baby? The words didn't make sense and cut through the chaotic fog, more out of place than anything else in this horror house shit show. I didn't hear Emma anymore, and I wasn’t in Sofia’s kitchen. Hell, I wasn’t even in her house. I shook my head, caught somewhere between the disorienting delirium of sleep, and wakeful reality. When my name was murmured again, I froze because this time, the sound jerked me out of the nightmare completely. It also stopped my heart when Ben’s bedroom came into focus around me and I realized my hands were locked around his throat.

His eyes were closed, his skin pale and clammy, lips parted.

I couldn’t tell if he was breathing.

No.

“No,” I said again, but out loud this time as I immediately moved my hands away from his neck so I could feel for a pulse. I tried not to gag as bile rose in my throat when I saw the already mottled discoloration of flesh around Ben’s throat that was only marginally less horrifying than his bloodstained face.

“No, no, no! Ben, wake up. I’m so sorry! You’ve gotta wake up! Open your eyes, Ben! God, please, open your eyes!”

My own eyes were crowded with tears as I kept searching for a pulse. It was weak when I finally found it, but a pulse meant Ben was alive. That was all that mattered.

“That’s it. Just try to breathe,” I said, barely recognizing my own voice through the terror distorting it. “I’m going to get help. Just breathe.”

I didn’t want to leave his side, but I had to get off the bed to grab my cell phone from the nightstand. I dropped it twice before I managed to dial 911 successfully.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My boyfriend is badly injured. He’s having a hard time breathing. Facial bruising. Possible damage to his larynx. We need paramedics and police sent as soon as possible.”

I gave the dispatcher Ben’s address. My voice was thick and broken, like I’d been the one who’d been choked. It was a miracle that the dispatcher even understood what I said.

I’d been deliberate in my description of Ben’s injuries because women no longer cornered the market on domestic abuse, and I needed them here as quickly as possible.

I could hear frantic typing as the dispatcher asked, “Sir, are you also injured?”

“No. Just get the goddamn ambulance here now!”

“Sam?”

I missed whatever the dispatcher said next, because Ben’s voice, weak as it was, was the only sound that counted right now..

"Sam...” Ben murmured. His voice was rough and destroyed me like a nuke set off in my soul.

Ben no longer needed to convince me that there was a God. Heaven on high was all that'd kept me from killing him.

The phone fell from my hand, as unimportant to me as the dispatcher's distant voice. I didn’t bother to try and attempt to macho away the trembling that turned my fingers into castanets as I brushed them across Ben’s cheek when my knees gave. I ended up kneeling on the floor by his bedside like I was preparing for an unnecessary confession—God had witnessed what I’d done, and my hands were stained with as much of Ben’s blood as his own skin was.

“Baby, it's just me. Easy.” The murmured words sounded like a practiced litany, probably because Ben had been saying them over and over when I was trying to rip his throat out.

The harsh cough that overtook him, rattling his entire body, emphasized his wheezing in between desperately gasped breaths. His flesh felt flushed beneath my mouth as I brushed my lips across his forehead, feeling them tremble against Ben skin.

“I’m so sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry. You’re going to be okay. I called 911. Helps coming. Just try to keep breathing. I’m going to open the door so they can get in. You’re going to be okay.”

I rested my forehead against his for a moment, telling myself that I needed to get the fuck away from him, but my legs refused to move.

And here he thought you were his hero...

Stumbling awkwardly to my feet, I managed to get into the master bathroom before puking until my intestines were close to scheduling a meet and greet with the now murky water. I dry heaved until I felt boneless, and it still wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough pain on the planet severe enough to count as my penance.

I tensed when I heard the door creak open. Turning my head slightly on the cushion of my arm where it was braced the cool edge of the toilet bowl, allowed me to watch Ben come into the bathroom. His gait wasn’t much steadier than mine had been. I didn’t even know how the fuck he’d managed to get up after how harshly I’d manhandled him.

Guess God occasionally lends out the whole “rising from the dead superpower” to his people as needed.

My irreverent laughter was a choked, jagged sound. “You… need to lay down…”

“What… I…need… is for you.. to come with me…”

Ben ignored the slow, miserable shake of my head as I closed my eyes. I didn’t move when I heard the faucet turn on, then off again, before the coolness of a damp washcloth spread across the back of my neck.

I could see the edge of Ben’s bare feet exposed beneath the hem of his sweats when reopened my eyed. He leaned heavily against the sink before turning the water on again. Absently noting that it was probably a good thing that we’d both gotten dressed when we’d gotten up an hour or so after making love to shower and eat dinner, distracted me from what Ben was doing for a moment. Once I refocused, and realized that he was trying to wash his face clean, another wave of nausea swept over me. So did a flash of anger that pushed the self-deprecation back and centered me long enough for me fumble to my feet.

I wasn’t angry at Ben. I was disgusted with my own actions. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon though. As the day went on, my guilt would eventually get worse because I’d broken the promise that I made to myself.

No one hurts Ben on my watch. No one.

My jaw twitched as I glanced at my wristwatch when I braced my hand against the cabinet over the toilet tank. Between the quicker response times of emergency services in suburban areas versus urban, and the fact that Ben frequently did work with the local police department, the paramedics and police would be here sooner than later. And while I had every intention of willingly going with the cops—even if it was in cuffs—I needed to help Ben. I also needed to get a shirt and socks on to go with the sweats I was already wearing. I was running with the same triage rules of putting on your own oxygen mask in an air emergency before you put the mask on the kids, and weaker people accompanying you.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised before I went back into Ben’s bedroom and got dressed faster than I ever had in my life. My sneakers were downstairs, but otherwise I was good to go.

Swallowing hard around the boulder sized lump in my throat, I returned to the bathroom. “Let me do that,” I said to Ben when I took the washcloth he was gingerly wiping at his face with, out of his hand.

I wanted to come across as reassuring. Steady. When Ben met my eyes in the mirror and they softened despite the sea of already bruised flesh around the left side, I knew that I sounded as wrecked as I felt.

Instead of obeying, Ben turned and slid his arms around my neck, tucking his face against my shoulder.

“Hold me,” he said. His voice, while soft, pulled off the authoritative note that mine had lacked.

“Ben, I’m sorry.”

“I know. Hold me.”

“The cops are coming… I’m going to have to go with them,” I said quietly, even as I laid the washcloth on the sink and finally wrapped my arms carefully around Ben’s waist. I ducked to rest my cheek carefully on top of his head so that I didn’t have to look at myself in the mirror.

I didn’t need eyes. My other senses were in high alert and being fully utilized.

I could smell the metal of Ben’s blood and my sweat. I could taste the guilt and fear that coated my tongue. I could feel the tremors that passed through my body to Ben’s, as well as the dull pain in my balls from where his knee had connected. I experienced all of that with crystal clear clarity just like I heard Ben’s soft intake of breath when he drew back to look at my face after he forced it up with his palm beneath my chin.

“What did you do Sam?”

“I told you…” I swallowed hard. “I called 911. You need to go to the hospital and get checked out to make sure that nothings seriously damaged. The police would want to talk to me eventually. I’m speeding up the process.”

“Why? You didn’t do this to me on purpose.”

“That’s not going to matter when the cops get here. And it shouldn’t. I could’ve killed you.”

I almost did. If you hadn’t called me baby…

I felt tears breaking free again.

“But you didn’t Sam. I’m… I’m alright.”

Ben sounded exhausted and his possibly damaged vocal cords forced his words into a whisper, even though I could still hear the fierce heat lacing it as he tried to get through to me.

“Look at me Sam. Please. It’s alright. Look at me baby.”

You should be comforting him, not the other way around. Get your shit together Sam.

“I should’ve left that day… when you startled me with the photos,” I murmured. “I should’ve walked out and never come back. I was supposed to protect you.”

“And you do Sam,” Ben said as he leaned forward to brush the gentlest kiss across my mouth that his split lip could manage.

I swallowed hard again. “From everyone Ben… I didn’t.”

Ben’s breath was warm across my face when he exhaled slowly. “It was an accident Sam. You’ve stayed at my place many times since then, and nothing bad has happened. This…It happened… and now… it’s over,” he said, his words labored. “You’re going to start seeing a counselor, and then we’re going to start… seeing… one together… as well. Not because… you did anything wrong, but so that… I know how… to help you. It’s… going to be okay, baby.”

“What’s going to happen is you’re going to stop talking now because there might be serious damage to your vocal cords.”

I raised my own hands to cover his, gently pulling them away from my face after I brushed a kiss across his forehead. Then I picked up the damp washcloth from the side of the sink. I wiped my own hands with it to clean the blood off of them, though the bruising on my knuckles and Ben’s face, were clear evidence to anyone with eyes, that something bad had happened today.

The sound of sirens getting louder in the distance made Ben’s jaw tick. His hand was gentle as he touched the side of my face.

"Quedate con migo. Please Sam."

“I have to go,” I said as I bent so that I could sweep Ben up into my arms and carry him down the stairs towards the front door. His fingers gripped my neck hard, obviously not wanting me to put him down. Unfortunately, I was doing a lot of things today that I didn’t want to do.

After setting Ben carefully on his feet by the console table so he could use it for support, I opened the door and squinted against the morning as I watched two police officers making their way out of their squad car. The EMTs were hot on their heels.

The bright morning rays turned Whelan’s hair into a fiery halo around his head- he looked like an avenging angel.

I doubted a police sergeant worked a local beat, so I’d have bet anything that he’d specifically taken this call when the BOLO had gone out. He’d have recognized Ben’s address.

I put my hands up immediately after I stepped back enough to allow them in. The paramedics were right behind Whelan and the other officer who was a head shorter than he was. They looked about the same age, but the second cop was stockier, obviously not having the same self-control around baked goods that Whelan did. He did have eyes though. They all did, and not one pair of them didn’t widen and when they zeroed in on Ben’s face and neck first, then switched their focus to my hands, which were lightly laced behind my own head where they could clearly be seen.

The tubby officer’s hand started to move towards his gun anyway. That didn’t surprise me. What did, was Whelan’s quiet command for Officer Grady to stand down. He kept his gaze on me though, even when Ben curled his fingers into the hem of my t-shirt, pressing into my side hard like he was trying to intervene, and told himself up at the same time.

Instinct made me want to loop an arm around Ben’s waist in support, but commanding officer or not, I didn’t trust that Whelan’s authority would outweigh Grady’s itchy trigger finger if his emotions got the best of him. I didn’t know what his relationship was to Ben, but I knew that Andrew Whelan had feelings for Ben so right now, keeping everyone calm, was all that mattered. I had my own eyes and nothing about this situation’s optics were good.

"This isn’t what it looks like, Andrew," Ben said, addressing Officer Whelan. "It was an accident. Sam has PTSD. He was dreaming and woke up startled and confused. I'm all right."

“You don’t look alright, Father Santiago, so we can figure this out down at the station,” Officer Grady interjected, his voice a crisp tenor that was about as warm as a polar bear’s ass. “It’s standard procedure in a domestic case.”

“It’s not a domestic case. Sam’s not abusive to me,” Ben snapped at the exact same time I said, “ I was the one who called you. I know the drill. Let’s go.”

“No! Sam, don’t do this. It was an accident.”

“We’ll decide that at the st—”

“Officer Grady, I told you to stand down,” Whelan said again. His voice was still calm but this time there was a definitive note that didn’t allow for any arguing from a junior officer. Grady balked, simmering with silent anger. Whelan ignored him as he swept me with a long look.

“You can lower your hands Sam. We don’t need cuffs, right?”

I shook my head slightly. “I told the dispatcher to send the police. I knew you’d have to talk to me. But if you’re more comfortable with cuffs, that’s fine. I don’t care.”

Whelan nodded. “Then we'll just have a talk down at the station for you to give your side of what happened while Ben gets checked out at the hospital. That work for you?"

I nodded. Getting out of Ben's house was all that mattered to me right now. Whelan didn't use the handcuffs on his belt, but the light press of his fingers on my shoulder felt like granite as we walked out to his parked vehicle with Grady on our heels.

"No! Sam, don’t do this,” Ben said, struggling against the paramedics who were trying to gently restrain him and get him into the ambulance. He managed to stumbled away from them, his hand curling over the edge of the squad car’s passenger door, his raspy tone desperate.

"I know you're scared Sam, but I'm not letting you run from this. You said you loved me. Prove it. Tell them what really happened."

Whelan gently blocked Ben when Grady shoved me none too gently into the backseat of the police cruiser. There was no expression on Whelan’s handsome face other than concern for Ben.

"Ben, you need to go with the EMTs and let them check you out. We'll take it from here."

"I'm fine, Andrew."

"Your eyes are dilated and your mobility is off, so it's likely you have a concussion," the female paramedic interjected as she came up the walkway with her partner. "We have to take a few scans, just to be safe."

Ben's expression turned stubborn. "I'm not going anywhere unless Sam comes with me."

"I'm sorry, but we have to follow protocol once police are called to a scene like this Ben. Sam will be okay," Whelan reassured him. "I'll question him myself, and we'll figure this all out."

"Sam didn't do anything wrong," Ben insisted, his hands beginning to shake as if his legs were finally going to give out. It was a miracle he hadn’t already collapsed by now, especially with how much he was wheezing as he tried to talk through his labored stutter.

"He's upset and not thinking clearly. What he needs is to be put under the care of a physician, not arrested."

"He's not under arrest, Ben," Whelan said, finally looking torn between his civic duty, and loyalty to his friend. "We just need to have a talk." He turned to me. " Do you need medical attention Sam?"

To Ben's increasing frustration, I shook my head. The distress in his voice was easily audible even through the closed windows when Officer Grady shut the door on me.

"Sam, I'm calling Tara to meet you at the station. Do you hear me?"

I heard him, but I pretended otherwise. When Officer Whelan got into the car, his sympathetic gaze met mine in the mirror.

"Go," I said, relieved as fuck when somebody finally did what I asked them to.

* * *

The police precinct was almost on the other side of town, reaffirming my suspicions that Whelan's arrival at Ben's had been a deliberate choice. By the time we arrived, the sun had already warmed up the day. For the last hour, I’d been sitting in a holding cell while Whelan took care of some things that’d needed his immediate attention. I hadn’t been officially processed Whelan had assured me that me being in the cell didn’t mean I was under arrest. I’d told him I didn’t care, which was true. I was the only one in the cell anyway, and it gave me a relatively quiet place to just shut down and go into that blank mental tunnel that kept me focused, by being as emotionally detached from the situation as possible. It was how I’d maintained and met my objectives when I’d been in the military. In that headspace, I didn’t have to think about Ben’s handsome face all bloodied and bruised. I didn’t have to relive the panic, and heartbreaking sense of loss that’d stolen my breath when I thought he was dead, and that I was the reason. In the solace of the holding cell’s silence, I didn’t have to remember that there was still some of Ben’s blood beneath my fingernails.

This was just a temporary reprieve that would end the moment I had to open my eyes and deal with the fact that as much as I’d been beginning to believe we were all starting a new chapter of our lives, and moving forward towards a stronger future, I was the piece of the puzzle that’d keep our new program from becoming a reality.

I was the bad code.

When the door to my cell opened with the angry, grinding sound of metal scraping against itself, I knew that my moment of escape was over.

Whelan was standing there when I opened my eyes. He gestured for me to get up, and I complied in silence, sliding the leg I’d pulled up to my chest with the tread of my sneaker propped on the bench, down to the floor for steadier footing despite my body still feeling off, like it didn’t want to merge with reality again.

“I apologize that you’ve had to be down here this long Sam. I had to do the boss thing for a bit and you had the look of a man who needed a minute. I’m familiar with that look.”

Whelan’s tone was even. Not soft or gentle, but there was a surprising empathy in his brown eyes when I met them.

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine here for as long as you need me to be.”

“You might be, but Tara Fitzgerald just showed up and she’s definitely not. Her tone is rising by octaves in a masterpiece of wrath as we speak.” He offered me a droll look. “I sent her to talk to my captain, So she’s okay for right now. She’s involved with the outreach program we have going on for street kids and runaways with Maplewood, so he knows her well. He’ll be able to talk her down long enough to give us a chance to have a conversation of our own.”

I shrugged again. “Ben said he’d call her.”

“And he’s a man of his word. One who’s had a friend of yours call the precinct half a dozen different times to make sure that you haven’t been arrested. I told Mr. Morgenson the same thing I told Ben, and Tara when she arrived— we just need to have a conversation.”

“Ok,” I said. If A.J. had called, it was probably because Ben could barely talk.

And that’s your fault.

I felt the knots in my stomach starting to overlap on one another, tightening into a thicker mass. “You should just arrest me. You saw Ben’s face, and you can see these.”

I held my hands up for illustration purposes. My knuckles were reddened and already beginning to bruise in an outward visual of how stiff they were, though they ached less than my heart. Like I’d said to my friends and Sofia when I’d told them about my altercation with Michael at the club, bruises healed. The emotional mess beneath them… I had absolutely no idea how to handle that other than the way I’d intended to end things before Max had intervened with his bullet finding mission in Afghanistan. After today, I highly doubted that anyone would let me have access to a firearm.

“And that evidence supports that Ben was assaulted,” Whelan agreed with a slight nod. “But I’ve been a cop long enough to know that things aren’t always black and white. I don’t think there was malicious intent here.” He paused for a moment, leaning against the open side of the door. “I made some calls and got your military personnel file sent over. What wasn’t heavily redacted is mostly very impressive commendations—two purple hearts, a bronze and silver star, and the distinguished service cross.” He whistled low. “Like I said, this isn’t a black and white case. As far as I’m concerned, that’s all evidence of a man who’s willing to risk his own life to save others. Men like that don’t just turn on their boyfriends without reason.”

“PTSD isn’t a get out of jail free card, Whelan.”

Whelan nodded again. “It’s not, but Ben doesn’t want to press charges and honestly, I don’t want to either because I don’t think it’s going to help the situation.”

“Officer Grady would disagree.”

“Officer Grady isn’t the commanding officer here. Come on.” He gestured me forward out of the cell. “We can talk at my desk. I think we could both use a cup of coffee. It tastes like shit, but it’s hot.”

I followed Whelan back upstairs to his desk without another word. There wasn’t one pair of eyes that I didn’t feel drilling into me as we passed through the sea of desks, but I kept my own gaze on the broad expanse of Whelan’s back until he pulled out a chair for me in front of a desk that was almost obsessively neat compared to the ones around it.

“Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

I silently obeyed, not moving until Whelan returned a few minutes later with two Styrofoam cups of coffee. I accepted the one he offered to me with a quiet thank you, then took a tentative sip as Whelan sat in his own chair on the opposite side of the desk.

My experiment resulted in the immediate return of my cup to his desk. There weren’t enough detachment skills in the world to separate my taste buds from the sludge that tasted worse than Whelan had warned, but I probably didn’t need a caffeine charge right now anyway.

“I thought bad coffee was just a stereotype, like every cop washing it down with a donut was.”

“Most stereotypes are unfortunately rooted in some truth,” Whelan said with a slight quirk to his lips before he took a sip of his own coffee. “Like I said, it’s hot and once you’ve drunk enough of it, it becomes an acceptable acquired taste.” Whelan’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “So, you’ve been diagnosed with PTSD?”

“Not officially, but you have my record and you saw Ben.”

“I did. Are you in any programs here in the states? Seeing a therapist?”

“Not yet. I planned to, but kept putting it off, and I know that was stupid. I guess I didn’t want to acknowledge what this really was. Naming it makes it real. Though obviously, what happened today….” I swallowed around the sudden thickness in my voice. “That made it real too.”

Whelan didn’t look surprised at my confession as he took another sip of his coffee. “And now that this happened, are you going to follow up with a therapist?”

“Yeah of course, but… you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t go near Ben again. All this shit… my shit… I never should’ve let him be near it in the first place.”

“You really think that’s the right call?”

Whelan lifted a red eyebrow when I shrugged, then dared to take another sip of the horrible coffee as penance.

“Sam, I’ve been friends with Ben for a long time, so I know him well.”

“Not as well as you want to,” I muttered under my breath, mostly to myself, though I knew Whelan had heard me when his lips twitched in mild amusement.

“Definitely not as well as I wanted to at one point,” He agreed. “But he doesn’t want me. He wants you. He chose you, and I can swear without any doubt that if he didn’t trust you, Dr. Melone wouldn’t have called and warned me that Ben’s been fighting the doctors like hell to get let out of the hospital so he can be here with you.”

“He’s safer there.”

“Maybe for right now, but he obviously loves you. The feeling is mutual or you wouldn’t be so destroyed over this. So be straight with me here and let me help you.”

I inhaled deeply, holding the breath for as long as I possibly could before I was forced by the burning in my lungs to release it. “I’d never deliberately hurt Ben. He’s my heart,” I said, feeling my throat lock up again. “But he’s still in the hospital, possibly with some serious injuries because of me.”

Whelan didn’t say anything to acknowledge what I’d said. Instead, he rolled his chair closer toward his desk, rustling through the top drawer until he found a small white card that he offered to me. The simple gesture reminded me of the day Ben and I’d had first met, and I curled the card tightly in my hand without even looking at it.

"It's an organization that helps veterans get back on their feet," he said. "They counseled my cousin when he got out of the service." Whelan’s brown eyes were calm, empathetic. “I’ve also got the name of the support group I go to when you’re ready for that next step. They cater to law enforcement and veterans.”

Ben had mentioned Whelan losing his partner in passing, but he hadn’t given me full details. I didn’t have any right to ask for them now so I didn’t, but Whelan was obviously a good cop because he read my expression within a heartbeat.

“I lost my first partner during a call when I was a rookie,” he said, rubbing his thumb in a slow circle that traced the mouth of his coffee cup. “We were responding to a domestic. The husband ran and while I was calling a bus for the wife who’d been stabbed. Pete went after the husband. We knew we shouldn’t separate, but he was thinking with his heart not his head, and it got him killed.”

“Shit… I’m sorry.”

Whelan nodded slightly, accepting my condolences. “We didn’t know the husband had a legal CCW.” He paused for a moment, eyes unfocused. I let the seconds tick by in silence. When Whelan finally looked at me again, his eyes held a hint of what must’ve been intense pain at one point, but it wasn’t all encompassing, and his tone was calm. Steady. He’d obviously figured out how to move forward and God, did I envy him.

“Pete was down by the time I got there. Died in my arms before the bus even got there.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, considering my words. The fact that he’d lost his partner to a domestic case made me feel like I needed to give him something to show I understood and wasn’t that kind of man, no matter what I’d done to his friend. “I lost most of my first team in an ambush in Afghanistan. I know it how it feels. Did you catch the perp?”

“We did. He’s locked up on a life sentence with no chance of parole. Pete’s wife remarried a few years ago and has a couple of kids now. Life does move on Sam. You just have to be willing to help it happen.” He gestured to the card still in my hand. “Call them. You spent years protecting your country. Now it’s time to take care of yourself, and the people who love you. Don’t let pride or self-loathing get someone you care about killed. This is a hard day. Tomorrow, you get to start over with a new one. It won’t be easy, but it’s gotta be done. That’s just the way it is.” He took another sip of his coffee, then tossed the cup into the trash. “If you ever need to talk, call me,” he said, handing me a business card from the little holder on his desk after he scribbled what I assumed was his cell phone number on the back.

“We don’t get to walk away from the people we love, who also love us, just because it seems easier.”

I nodded, then slid the card into my back pocket. We weren’t on the same page, not by a long shot, but I could appreciate that he’d tried. Ben had been right. Whelan was a good man.

“Thanks.”

Whelan nodded, then glanced over my shoulder. "We have an incoming," he said, rising to his feet to offer a hand to Tara who shook it. They exchanged perfunctory formalities before Tara turned to me.

"Are you all right Sam?"

"I'm fine, Tara. You didn't have to come down here."

She ignored me. "Officer Whelan is Sam under arrest? We have an attorney on standby if he’s needed. A.J. called in a favor,” she said to clarify the situation for me before she looked back at Whelan. He shook his head.

"No Ms. Fitzgerald. Sam and I were just having a chat. I think we understand one another now."

"Good. I'm taking him home then. Thank you."

"Not a problem. Sam, remember what I told you."

I nodded in acknowledgement to Whelan as Tara led me to the exit away from all of the curious eyes that were focused our way. It was possible that they were watching her more than me at this point. I wouldn’t have blamed them. The fierce look on her pretty face made my balls wish they had a Teflon coating over them. I kept walking though, following Tara until we got outside. When she whirled around in the parking lot, I’d steeled myself for the fury of her fists. I didn't expect the hug she forced on me instead.

She held me tight until my only choices were to push her away or hug her back. As soon as I went with option two, she kissed my cheek, then loosened her grip and pulled back just enough to see my face. Hers was water blurred around the edges, so I wiped a rough hand over my face, smearing the wet.

Tara’s hands cradled my damp cheeks. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

"I'm not the one in the hospital, Tara. You should be with Ben."

"Max is with him. Ben sent me to get you because he knew you'd be beating the crap out of yourself over this. Honey, it was just an accident." Her own eyes were suspiciously shiny, and her voice was even gentler than it’d been in the diner when I’d told her about Connor and Devlin. "We all know that. You need to go talk to Ben so that he knows you're all right. They admitted him quickly, but he was still fighting the doctor's recommendation to be kept for observation.”

I felt my heart in my throat when I swallowed. “How…how is he?”

“I can’t give you an official diagnosis yet because of HIPAA, but Max is playing his doctor card so he’s making some headway. Hopefully we’ll know more by the time we get back. What I can tell you so far, thanks to that wonderfully horny, southern doc I love so much right now for coming through hard on Ben’s behalf, is that things look worse than they really are. But we’re going to the hospital so you can see that for yourself.”

I shook my head. Fatigue and misery made me crave a drink so badly for the first time in weeks, that my teeth ached. "I can't."

"You can, and you're going to." Her arm slid through mine as she half walked, half dragged me to her convertible with surprising strength. "Get in the damn car, Sam."

I obeyed with reluctance. I’d never lay a hand on her or any woman, and I knew there was no other way she'd let me get past her. As if to prove my point, Tara kept one hand on the wheel, the other wrapped tight around mine on the twenty-minute drive to the hospital.

In the ER, Tara got Ben's room number from the front desk, though I probably could've figured out the way myself. I'd never been to this particular hospital, but after years of checking in with cracked ribs, black eyes, and a host of excuses on our lips when we were kids, Connor and I'd known the standard landscape of a hospital better than most frequent travelers knew the layout of their favorite hotel. This time the shoe was on the other foot, and it made me sick knowing that I was the reason Ben here.

I looked anywhere but at Ben when Tara led me through the door of his room, focusing instead on every insignificant detail from the small, skinny windows, to the linoleum floor that had been scrubbed and buffed so hard it shone like glass under the fluorescent lights. The soft blip of the machines monitoring his heart rate and blood pressure overrode the distant sound Tara's voice became when I finally forced myself to look at Ben who was half reclined in the narrow hospital bed.

The mottled bruising on his throat was more obvious now—an obvious impression of fingerprints that turned my stomach. His left eye was stranded in a sea of heavy bruising, and his right wrist was wrapped tight with an ace bandage.

My knees immediately went out, and I sagged heavily into the nearest chair. Concern was written across Max's face when he squatted down in front of me, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved green t-shirt, but his expression lacked all the teasing that was his default when he was around family and friends. Composed even without a white coat, he was full on professional, his body language giving not one person in that hospital any reason to doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. Doctor mode was coming through for Ben, just like Tara had said.

"Sam, it looks worse than it is."

“That looks pretty fucking bad to me.”

“I know, but the black eye and split lip are superficial. You’ve had enough of them yourself to know they’ll heal within a week or two. There is some trauma to his vocal cords, but it’s relatively mild, and will also heal. So will the sprained wrist. He’s okay, man.”

“Only because he fought back hard enough to keep me from killing him.”

My voice wasn’t loud, but we all heard it. Tara and Max exchanged looks, obviously not knowing how to handle this even with kid gloves, but Ben took control of the situation before either of them could get another word in.

"Tara, I love you, but please get out, and take Max with you. I need to talk to Sam alone."

Tara nodded silently though she shot me a look and silently mouthed, ‘we love you. It’s going to be ok.’

"We'll be right outside," Max said, squeezing my shoulder before he followed Tara and closed the door quietly behind them.

"Quiet, Sam," Ben said, his eyes narrowing before I could form a single sentence. His voice slightly less rough than it had been earlier—probably helped by the glass of water on his little rolling side table—though not by enough to make the rushing of my blood in my ears any quieter. "Anything that comes out of your mouth right now won't be something I want to hear, so just take a breath and come over here."

His voice was strained, but calmer than the expression on his face that warned me against protesting. I exhaled hard, then moved forward on leaden legs towards the hospital bed. As soon as I was within range, Ben tugged me forward into his arms with a strength I didn’t expect considering what a mess he was.

He hadn't been here long enough to take on the clean, sterile odor of the hospital, so I could still catch comforting snatches of his usual woodsy scent when I buried my face in his shoulder. That, combined with the steady thump of his heart beating solidly in his body, reassured me he was alive, and that I hadn't fallen completely down the rabbit hole yet.

Ben’s hand smoothed down my back. He said something in Spanish, but my brain was too tired to translate.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. “I’m so fucking sorry Ben.”

My face was wet, but I didn't bother wiping away the tears the way I had in front of Tara earlier. There weren't enough tissues in the world to clog the leaks.

"Sam, look at me." Ben's fingers on my wrist stopped me from moving away. Even though he looked like shit and his voice was hoarse from the bruising on his vocal cords, it was a clear command I immediately obeyed because I owed him that much.

"This was nothing more than an unfortunate accident, and we're moving on. Period. The end. Do you understand me?"

I nodded once. Ben loosened his grip on my arm, lacing his fingers through mine instead. "You were calling out in your sleep. What was the nightmare about?"

I didn't even try to come up with a sanitized version. "Connor killed them," I whispered. "He shot and killed Sofia and Addie. Then he tried to kill Emma. I fought him… I fought you “and then I woke up and almost gave you a tracheotomy."

God, I felt like throwing up all over again.

"That sounds intense, and I’m sorry you had to go through that," Ben said quietly.

“I’ve never dreamt about them before, Ben. The dreams have always been about Connor and Devlin, losing my team, or about people I had to kill…. never anything like this.”

Ben swallowed and made a soft throat clearing sound like a singer about to take center stage. I could barely hear him and had to lean closer to make out his hoarsely spoken words. “I’m not a therapist and according to Tara, dream ‘science’ is ‘mostly bunk’. But I’ve had my share of stress related dreams, especially when I’m starting to feel comfortable about something that previously troubled me. The mind can play tricks on us, Sam. I don’t know why you dreamt about your family this time, but it was just a dream. You’re ok. So are the girls and Sofia. So am I. And like I said before, we’re going to get help together because this affects both of us. I want to be here for you as much as I possibly can. It’s all going to work out. It’ll just take time.”

He squeezed my hand gently. I chewed my lower lip as I dropped my gaze to stare at the linoleum. "It's not all right. When we're together...everything I’ve always known as fact falls out from under me, and I forget about the fucked-up reality of my life."

"I know that you're upset, but—"

I pulled my hand out of his, cutting him off. "There's a ninety-nine-point nine percent chance of this happening again and next time, we might not be having this conversation because…” I couldn’t even finish that sentence. “I need to figure this out on my own.”

“Why?” Ben reached over and turned my face back toward his with a gentle hand. "Sam, I'm tough enough to handle this, and so are you if we do it together.” When I didn't say anything, the confidence in his expression faltered. "Unless… this… isn’t as real for you as for me?...”

I should’ve lied to him, called it a fling. A mistake. Anything to break his heart so he’d let this go. But I was too damn selfish to let him believe that.

My voice was almost as raspy as his for a moment. “No…It’s real. I love you Ben. More than I’ve ever loved anyone who wasn’t related to me.”

"Then why are you resisting so much? If we're partners, then we have each other's back in good times and in bad. That's how it works."

He looked frustrated. I could relate. My eyes stung and I pulled away from him completely as I got to my feet, running my own hands through my hair.

"Even if we can get past this, then what, Ben? If I'd been at home and it'd been Emma who’d woken me..." I exhaled hard because that was almost worse than me hurting Ben. Imagining her little body small and broken because of my hands… Never.

"I thought I was doing better, but I've been bullshitting myself as much as you."

"So, your solution is to run away again? To leave Sofia and the girls? To leave me?"

“Until I figure this out, you’re all safer being as far away from me as possible.”

Ben didn’t look happy, but after a few seconds he nodded silently in reluctant compromise, probably only because he felt as exhausted as he looked.

“So, take some time. I get that you need breathing room right now, but when you realize you can’t do it alone, your family will still be here. He paused, his voice gentling. "I’ll still be here. I love you Sam."

"Don't Ben. I can't handle that right now."

“Too bad. You love me and I love you. I'm not giving up on us just because you have some backward idea of self-sacrifice."

"You make it sound so fucking easy—"

Ben cut me off this time. "You're the one trying to make this easy on yourself. You think if you get me angry enough I'll walk away and just leave you to choke on your guilt in the bottom of a bottle. Well, fuck that Sam, because it's not happening."

His voice might not have been physically strong, but the anger was loud as the toll of a bell. Ben blinked, looking just as thrown off by his uncharacteristically vehement reaction as I was, but he recovered before I could wallow in the fact that I'd pushed him to that limit. He paused and took a sip of his water with a shaking hand, like if he was trying to ease some of the heavier wheeze that’d entered his voice.

“I'm not saying it's going to be easy to pick up the pieces. Relationships of all kinds take work. It's hard and it's messy most of the time, but all of us— me, your family, we want that with you." He didn't take his eyes off me for one second. "You told Michael that night at Deseos that I was yours... Was that true?"

“Of course it was, but I also told you that I protect what's mine Ben, even if it's from myself. Keeping you, Addie, Emma and Sofia safe... That's all that matters to me. And I promised Cayden and Tara I'd do right by you. The best way I can do that right now is by leaving you all the fuck alone."

"That's not your choice to make. If you leave right now, you're going to regret it."

I already did, but I forced myself to walk to the door, ignoring that every step felt like a knife through my heart. I gripped the knob on the door tight enough to make my palm throb. "I'll deal."

"Now you're lying to me, too? This is stupid! I know you want me and your family Sam. Fight for us like the soldier you are."

My breath lodged in my throat, but I forced my voice to harden when I turned back to meet his eyes. "I'm not a soldier anymore."

The pain in Ben's face was crushing, but I made myself walk out of the room. This time he didn't call out to me, though I heard a liquid crash, as if he’d thrown his cup at the wall.

Neither Tara nor Max was waiting for me outside Ben’s room, and I didn't stop to wonder where they could be. I just kept walking down the hall, half in a daze. I made it to the emergency exit at the end of the hall, then into the stairwell before my knees buckled. I slumped against the wall and slowly slid down until my ass hit the concrete. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the painted brick. I don't know how long I sat there before I heard the door creak open, and Max appeared, alone this time. He joined me in silence on the floor, letting our bent knees touch.

Max never said a word, just placed his hand on my shoulder. He was a grounding point in this newest hell storm, just like he’d always been when I was younger, and my father had lost his shit. Like he’d been when my mother had died, and again when Connor had been killed in action. Now that I’d thrown Ben away for his own safety, it only made sense that Max was the one here with me while all the old aches resurfaced under that gentle, familiar touch, and cracked me wide open like a goddamn egg.

All the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

I recognized the irreverence of my own laughter. The only thing funny about this situation was that I'd actually believed for a while, that Ben and I could make this work.

My head dropped between my knees when I gave up the good fight. The tears I’d shed earlier had just been an appetizer. This was the main course that I’d held back for most of my life because my father's boys never cried unless he was the one giving them something to weep about. Right now, I didn't care about what that miserable sonofabitch might think as I let out decades of rage and pain.

Max never tried to comfort me and tell me that things were going to be okay, or any other soothing bullshit. We'd never lied to one another. He just let me come apart like I hadn't for Connor or Devlin, or even my mother when she'd died.

It could've been five minutes or an hour. Time had stopped meaning anything to me once I'd walked out of Ben's room. When Max silently helped me to my feet, and slid a steadying arm around my shoulders after the ugly sobbing stopped enough for me to take a breath, we went out the back exit, then headed towards his car in the parking lot when we got to the main floor and out of the hospital building.

I didn't want to face Tara’s loving sympathy, or listen to the million reasons she'd come up with to justify why I should go back into that room. Like I'd told Ben once, sometimes you had to decide whether to keep your ass where it was, or just walk the fuck away