Just trust yourself; then you will know how to live.

—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

AS TRUE to his word as he always was, Ben had immediately sidled into bed beside me when he’d made it home the night, he’d told me to let myself into his place. The mattress had dipped subtly beneath Ben’s additional weight as he’d pressed up against my body, bracketing it from behind. I’d heard him come in—being a light sleeper had its advantages— so I hadn’t startled when the entire front of Ben’s body had lined up perfectly along the length of mine when his lips pressed a kiss into the top of my spine, just below my nape. That simple, tender touch had reminded me just how well Ben pulled off this big spoon thing.

His skin had been warm and slightly damp, but the light, sweet vanilla scent of Ben’s body wash, not the slightly bitter edge of sweat left over from a day of balmy Floridian temperatures that no deodorant on earth could ever fully combat, was what had met my nose and wrapped around all of my other senses when Ben had cuddled against me. Emboldened by both the dark and the fact I’d been half asleep, I’d tugged the hand attached to the arm he’d slung heavily over my mid-section, up to my lips to brush a kiss across his knuckles. The gesture had seemed corny for half a beat, but then Ben’s breath had puffed warmth against my ear as he’d said, ‘I love you, Sam. I’m glad you’re here.’ His contented, low hum when I’d murmured wordless agreement, had vibrated into my body through my back where he was pressed so close, not even the soft breeze from the slowly sweeping blades of the ceiling fan could fit between us.

I’d gone to bed in just my boxer briefs since I tended to run hot at night, so I’d been able to feel all the athletic plains and angles of Ben’s chest and abs as our bodies slotted together like puzzle pieces. The individual knobs of my vertebrae had felt way too malleable, like they were willing to defy the physics of biology and literally bend in any direction that would allow Ben’s body to mold into the miniscule gaps, filling them in to imprint him as much into my spine, as he already was in my heart.

He'd been shirtless, but despite my pleasantly drowsy haze, I’d experienced a feeling of fierce, almost tangible resentment for the long, loose pants Ben had been wearing, which had been as definitive as the line of the waistband that’d kept me from clearly feeling more than the outline of his half-hard cock. Granted, I’d appreciated the soft material a lot more in the morning, after I’d seen how the worn drawstring failed to clench tight enough to keep the material from dipping low enough to reveal just the upper portion of the V cut of Ben’s narrow hips, and a sliver of tight, muscled torso between the pants, and the dark red t-shirt I recognized as one of the few solid-colored ones I owned, but I didn’t mind. That shade of deep red looked better on him than me.

With the differences in our heights and builds, we couldn’t share the majority of our clothing, but our t-shirts had become communal property. The plain black, gray, and white ones were only identified as originally belonging to Ben or to me, by how they fit us. If they pulled taught across the chest and shoulders on me, then they were Ben’s. The ones that were a little looser, and generally an inch or so longer on Ben’s narrower frame, were mine. Though I’d initially grumbled about him switching out our clothing deliberately because he liked to check me out in tight clothing—which Ben cheekily confirmed by telling me even priests could appreciate a good beefcake —I secretly liked our subtle, two-way claim. Just like I was learning to enjoy being able to roll right into the warm, immovable wall that was Ben’s back when my dreams began to shift away from their usual semi-manageable levels of what-the-fuckery, into darker distortions of memory. On those nights, I held onto him like children clutched their favorite plushie when they were trying to hide from the monsters they believed lived under their beds.

My dreams hadn’t been as insidiously vivid lately, remaining in the realm of just subtly unnerving. I wasn’t sure why, but when I’d mentioned it to A.J. last week, he’d suggested that maybe I was just finally relaxing enough for my mind to take the siesta it was supposed to when the world went dark. I wasn’t completely sold on that possibility, but for now, I ran with it. Feeling Ben pull me into his arms so I could lay my head on his chest with our limbs lazily tangled together, comfortably rumpled, had stopped feeling like a novelty and more like coming home.

Ben’s love might not be able to vanquish all of my demons, but it fortified my own resolve to not let them rule my life. Especially not after the next morning, when he’d repeated the words he said via text, and the night before, against my lips after he’d felt me stir awake and rolled me to face him.

My heart had skipped when his warm hazel eyes met mine with quiet content. I didn’t say them back, but I’d pulled Ben’s arm across my midsection and tucked my head against his shoulder, my body pliant and accepting as I’d mumbled that I’d “done a thing.” The ‘thing,’ had been putting his extra house key on my own key chain. My murmured promise to make him a new copy had been muffled by Ben’s kiss. After our caresses turned heated as we fully woke up, we’d made love with unhurried intensity until we both been fucked out and fallen back to sleep for a few more hours.

The plans for our usual daily morning run on the beach had been derailed that day, just like they had been on a couple of other mornings during the past few weeks when I’d woken up alone, washed my face and brushed my teeth, then padded down the hallway. My nose always led me towards the scent of strong espresso. On most days, that meant I ended up on the back deck where Ben was usually sitting with a fresh cup in his hand. There was always an empty cup for me as well, just waiting to be filled with the hot, cinnamon-spiked coffee that he kept hot in the small, insulated Thermos that kept watch over my cup like a loyal sentry, regardless of what time I got up.

Even though I’d started sleeping in on some days—getting up at 6:00 a.m. as opposed to 5:00 a.m. or earlier—I was always up in time to watch the sunrise with Ben. And each time the sky slowly woke up, warming away the evening shades of sapphire blue and indigo with streaks of sherbet orange over the water on clear days, I was reminded that even if my personal relationship with God was still strained, I no longer felt like his daily morning flashlight shown just to spotlight every past sin I’d ever committed.

The more time I spent with Ben, the easier I was finding that taking a breath didn’t have to be a deliberate act to weld myself into a moment so I could think clearly. Breathing was just a natural biological task that most normally functioning, well-adjusted people did daily without sparing even a thought as to whether or not it’d be their last. That realization was the most freeing fucking thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.

“Sofia just called the house line because you didn’t pick up your phone. I told her you were in the shower and would call her back.”

Ben entered the bathroom, shirtless, but wearing a pair of drab green cargo shorts that were long enough on him to identify them as mine. I’d recently gotten him a similar pair that fit him better, but he still tended to steal mine if I wasn’t wearing them. After he made his announcement about Sofia, Ben sat on the closed toilet lid to watch as I opened the glass shower door, releasing a hot puff of muggy condensation into the air. His gaze swept over me with lazy appreciation that was somehow more domestic than sultry when I took the fluffy white towel, he handed me.

“Everything ok?”

“She’s fine. She just wanted to let you know that she and A.J. are taking Emma and Addie out for breakfast, so you could text her cell or his if you need either one of them.”

Ben smiled against my mouth when I leaned down for a kiss. I'd brushed my teeth before showering, so the spearmint on my tongue—I’d started bringing my own toothpaste to his place for sleepovers because I just couldn’t deal with the cinnamon of his on a daily basis— mingled with the spicier scent in his mouth. At first it tasted strange, but then like the relationship between Ben and me, the oddness settled into something that was just right.

"They’re probably going to IHOP,” I said, rubbing my thumb briefly along the edge of Ben’s jaw before stealing a kiss. “That’s the only time Emma’s allowed to have sprinkles for breakfast without hoarding contraband containers. They serve sprinkle pancakes topped with cupcake icing and whipped cream. My teeth hurt just looking at them, but Emma gets all heart-eyed whenever we suggest going there for the pancakes. A.J.’s taken her and Addie a couple of times when Sofa’s late shifts have ended early enough for her to meet them for breakfast.”

Amusement curled my lips as Ben suddenly looked more interested in stacks of fluffy cars piled high, than he’d been in his ogling of me just a few seconds before. I probably should’ve been insulted that he was more interested in pancakes than what I had to offer beneath my terrycloth barrier, but his childlike love affair with all things sweet reminded me of Emma, so he got a small pass. I’d wean him off flavored creamer a little at a time, then move on to hiding the sugar packets. Baby steps.

“They probably have copycat recipes online,” he mused, almost absently to himself.

My smirk deepened as I rubbed my face dry, then toweled off my hair before I wrapped the towel tight around my waist. My hair was starting to curl around the upper curve of my ears in little wisps, and my sideburns were unruly enough that Tara had already scheduled me for a haircut tomorrow before Ben and I went to the club opening. She’d insisted that letting me out of the house with, ‘spiffy new threads,’ and, ‘an unkept, Conan-the-Barbarian fro,’ wasn’t happening on her watch.

I rolled my eyes at Tara’s harpy chant in my head, ecstatic that she was haunting only my thoughts. Having been married to Connor for her entire adult life, Sofia had already seen a version of the ‘Trammell Boys Private Bits Show.’ Tara on the other hand, would’ve definitely tried to tug out the knot in my towel just for She-Beast shits and giggles.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked as I peered into the mirror, assessing my own reflection with narrowed eyes. Ben hooked his chin over the edge of my shoulder after he moved to stand behind me, sliding his arms around my waist.

“Nothing. Just reconsidering the scruff. I got used to not having to be clean shaven all the time and prefer it, but the silver coming in up here,” I lightly tapped at my own temples with the pointer fingers on both hands – “is starting to be a lot more obvious in the heavier beard, and I don’t think it works.”

Ben grinned and raised an eyebrow in a gesture that was as pointed as the finger he used to indicate his own salt and pepper situation. The bathroom’s florescent lighting made the silver in both the thick shadow skating along the hard curve of his jaw, and the dark, loose waves around his face more obvious, but him no less appealing. I liked my men to look like they’d left their training wheels miles behind them.

I snorted. “Yeah, well we can't all have that suave-silver-fox-meets-badass-desperado, thing you always have going on."

"Don't hate on the hair. If it makes you feel better, my sisters would rather have your genetics than mine. Sideburns were a bad word in our house."

Ben stole a kiss before he brushed his thumb along my jaw. I watched the rueful quirk of my own lips in the mirror, then shrugged.

“I know it’s stupid vanity, but it’s also the first time in my adult life that I haven’t had to follow someone else’s version of what I should look like.”

“It’s not stupid. I used to keep a clean-shaven look when I was working because it was what appealed to most of my clients. But when I started my life over, I changed up a few things, including the outer packaging.”

“Less Saks Fifth Avenue, and more Salvation Army Thrift store?”

Ben grinned. “Yep. Sort of the reverse of when girls chop off their hair after a bad breakup.”

My skepticism was obvious when my brow quirked. Ben’s grin deepened. I wasn’t sure if he was just teasing me or not, but in my defense, the only woman who I’d ever been close to other than Vera Melone, was Sofia. Until a few weeks ago, my sister-in-law had never worn her hair any shorter than mid-back. Considering that her relationship with Connor had finally ended permanently—despite being over for years on an emotional level—and that she was currently involved with A.J., maybe there was some truth to Ben’s hair hacking theory.

“That’s really a thing?”

‘Yep. My sisters all went through at least one, ‘He broke my heart, so I’m going to impulsively cut off all my hair to show him!’ styles.”

“And is this for their benefit, or for the guy who’s not going to notice because his next girlfriend probably has long-ass hair?”

Ben’s breath puffed warmth over my ear as he snickered softly. “I didn’t say it was rational, but sometimes altering our appearance is all we have complete control over. It can be a sort of self-empowering reset.”

I tilted my head slightly to the side to let him have better access as his thumb scraped along my cheekbone, hazel eyes narrowing quizzically.

“What about leaving the beard, but just taking it down a lot tighter and making the lines more defined so you end up with a three-day old stubble look rather than your current, ‘I was defeated by my clippers, style?’”

“That sounds better than a guy who likes to drive his unmarked white van around elementary schools, which is the vibe I’m currently giving myself.”

“It’s also much hotter.” Ben waggled his brows at me, getting the laugh he was looking for. Laughter, I suddenly realized, that he didn’t have to work as hard at getting out of me as he used to. Laughing with Ben had become as normal as breathing. It was as natural as the taste of him on my tongue when he stole the kiss that he licked out of my mouth, before moving to open the small, wall mounted cabinet over the toilet to pull out an electric beard trimmer and a few attachments. He hummed contentedly as he laid everything out on top of the tank.

“Sit.”

When I lifted a questioning eyebrow, he gestured to the trimmer before he plugged it in.

“I can do it myself.”

“Of course you can,” Ben said reasonably. “But I want to do it. Don’t be squirrely. It’s not like I’m using a straight razor, and you have to worry about me going all Sweeney Todd on you.”

“I wasn’t worried about that. Obviously, you know what you’re doing.” I gestured to his neatly manicured, rugged jawline to make my point before I sat down on the closed toilet lid after adjusting my towel, so the knot didn’t come undone.

“It just feels…. intimately domestic…. And don’t look at me like that,” I said, because yeah, the words sounded ridiculous even to my own ears. God knew there probably weren’t many places on each other’s bodies that we hadn’t licked, sucked and fucked, in endless variations of that order, but that was fucking. Fucking was something familiar, something I’d done freely with other men without much hesitation past a reasonable sense of discretion. Fucking was a base, animalistic instinct. What I had with Ben, was a tender, comfortable domesticity that included sharing a bed more nights than not and making dinner together. Having him do this for me, felt like having all that intimacy rolled up into a ball, and bumped up a few notches.

“Hey, weren’t you the guy who just said that sometimes the things we want to control aren’t always logical?”

Ben clucked his tongue, but nodded. “True. Also true, being comfortable enough with each other for you to use my own words against me without hesitation, is intimately domestic.”

Smartass.

But not wrong. Hell, he was right.

Max and I’d never teased one another like this, had never been together like this. Sure, I’d allowed Max to trim my beard for me when I was recovering from being shot and still had trouble lifting my arm, but I’d never considered any of the times I’d felt him carefully scraping a razor over my skin, either intimate, or domestic. For Max and I, it was just another demonstration of dogged loyalty, no matter what else happened between us. A.J. wasn’t entirely wrong in calling Max and I co-dependent as hell. But I understood my relationship with Max. For better or worse, it made sense after so many years. What I had with Ben was an entirely different, unknown animal.

Ben was in love with me and even if I still struggled with the words, my heart returned every single sentiment of Ben’s whenever he murmured words of love and affection against my ear in whatever language he felt would mean more at the time. Right now, we were both in our prime. Strong, healthy and happy. Unfortunately, aging was a reality of human existence. Couples who stayed together long term, had front row seats to the passage of time and the effects it had on their own bodies, as well as their partners. Even old men without any hair on their heads usually had to shave their face, and they needed help from a caretaker, or an equally geriatric spouse. Letting Ben do this for me now when it wasn’t out of necessity, was intimate as hell.

Consider this practice.

“If you accidentally cut my ears off, I won’t be able to hear you when you’re being a smartass.”

Ben showed me all his teeth, smile saccharine. “Is that a pro, or anti ears-stance?”

I grinned. “Shut up. I trust you.”

“Do you? Completely?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe we should test that theory.”

The slow deepening of Ben’s smile had the same, ‘ice cubes rolling down my spine,’ effect, that Addie’s did whenever she asked me to take her out to practice her driving. But despite the wary look I spared Ben’s way, I obeyed when he gestured for me to stand back up and face the sink.

A warm, affectionate kiss was immediately pressed to the line of my left shoulder as a reward for my quick compliance. When Ben slowly stroked his hand down my spine, the light scrape of his nails added another subtle layer of tactile sensuality. Subtle was exchanged for obvious however, when his other hand reached around me to undo the knot in my towel with fingers that were as deft at freeing me from the terrycloth barrier between us, as they were at stroking me off at night in his bed until I came with his name on my lips.

When the towel pooled around my ankles on the floor, both my cock and my pulse jerked with the possibility of that exact same scenario happening right now. Disappointingly, Ben ignored my hopeful dick, settling those big, confident hands on my hips as he watched my face in the mirror.

“Willing to play a game?”

The glint of wicked mischief in Ben’s eyes had my commonsense mulling over the potential answer rationally, even as my stupid, lizard-brain-led-mouth, leapfrogged ahead.

“A round of capture the rainbow flag? Hide and seek with the Santiago salami?”

Ben smirked. “Both are extremely tempting, but no. We’re going to play a game of truth.”

“Didn’t we do that already at Maplewood?”

“This is a little different. No lies, only truths.”

Gooseflesh broke out along the skin of my shoulders and slowly spread out when the nerve awakening pleasure of Ben’s hand, drifted down my spine again. This time it dipped lower, the pads of his fingertips barely caressing through the cleft of my ass. He kept his eyes on mine in the mirror the entire time.

“Are you in?”

I nodded, my eyes narrowing in bemusement when he moved his hand and squatted down to gather my forgotten towel. He carefully folded it so it was a barrier between his knees and the unforgiving bathroom floor tiles when he knelt on it. His hands trailed from the narrow line of my hips, down my thighs, then lower along my calves, before finally stopping at my ankles. When his hands eventually made their way back up with an ascent as lazily paced as their previous descent, they took the inner path this time. My skin tingled with awareness as Ben’s hands paused mid-thigh after pushing my knees apart into a slightly wider stance of both stability and exposure.

I yelped when he leaned in and bit my left butt check hard, even as his fingertips spread it a cavernous length apart from the right. "What the—"

My breath caught when Ben pressed a kiss against that sensitive, furled patch of skin, his own scruff a more sinfully gratifying touch then even his fingers, though God knew that the man knew how to use his hands to convince me to do a lemming walk willingly, without fear of the cliff edge.

"The rules are simple. I ask you a question and every time you tell the truth, you get rewarded..."

The reward was obvious when I felt the slickness of Ben’s tongue swipe across my hole. I moaned and he did it again. Slower. So slow, that when he chuckled softly, I was sure goosebumps must’ve broken out along the bare skin of my ass as well as my arms. The warm huff of his laughter tickled my skin with an unexpected level of eroticism, and my hands tightened on the edge of the sink.

"The catch is that you have to finish shaving while we play. The beard really does need to be rejuvenated. The razor’s an electric, so no accidental Sweeney Todd moments are on the horizon.”

“You really expect me to concentrate while you’re doing that?“

“No, I expect you to have a conversation with me while I’m doing this. The concentration will be the easy part, Sam. I’m sure doing what you used to, gave you a very particular set of skills. Skills that you acquired over a very long career.”

My laughter sounded strangled as Ben teased that intimate, puckered skin between my cheeks with one unrepentant finger.

“Did you really just quote fucking, ‘Taken,’ at me?”

I felt Ben smile as he rubbed his cheek against the outside of my right flank.

“You need to dig deep and call on that old Samuel TrammelI, All-American Badass.”

I snorted. “If I screw up the lines, then I’ll end up having to shave it all off and I’ll be pissed,” I complained, trying to ignore my stupid dick as it bore into the porcelain sink.

“If you’re good and don’t cheat at the game, I’ll do the harder defining and shaving work for you afterward. You just have to trim it down a little, and tell the truth.”

I eyed him over my shoulder, but the stare-down lasted less than 30 seconds after Ben licked up the back of my knee cap, murmuring, “Your choice, Sam,” into the crease where my ass met my thigh.

My choice. It was always my choice, but was it really when Ben already knew that I’d always say yes?

The model of Ben’s razor wasn’t the same as the one I used at home, but it was close enough for me to figure out the mechanics pretty quickly. Once I had the trimmer depth set to what I wanted, a slow exhale to steady my breath preceded the soft hum of the trimmer as I turned it on.

“Good boy,” Ben murmured.

“Not a dog,” I muttered, ignoring my dick, which was all on board with the gently possessive, approving note in Ben’s voice.

Judas.

“No, you’re not,” Ben said, pressing a row of barely there kisses up my left outer thigh as his strong hands glided up my inner thigh again to push my legs even wider apart. When he shifted slightly toward the left, his broad shoulder wedged between my knees to keep them where Ben wanted. “But you are mine. And I’m yours, which is why you trust me with your heart, mind and your…”

My tongue felt too thick for my mouth, but a thick groan still managed to eek its way out when Ben nipped at my sac.

“Start shaving. When you get to a part where a mistake won’t mean you need to become a fully shorn sheep, I’ll ask my first question. Remember… truths only, or you won’t get the good surprise.”

“Do I get to know what the surprise is ahead of time?”

“Nope.”

“Then how will I know if it’s worth it?”

“Do you really think any surprise I give you would be bad?”

I gulped when Ben’s response was to suck his own fingers into his mouth to get them wet before he stroked them slowly through my cheeks with a pointed look.

Nope.

“If you can hold out for the entire game, then you can take me right here, right now, however you want.” His smile unfolded with a languid wickedness till his expression was almost dreamy. “I prepped myself when I showered this morning… You were still asleep, but I figured just in case… You’d slide in so easily, Sam…”

“Fuck,” I murmured, my knuckles going as white as the porcelain of the sink where I gripped it. It wouldn’t be the first, second or third time that we’d switched off. I’d stopped keeping track of whose dick had been where because Ben was just as enthusiastically responsive when I was inside him, as he was when the situation was reversed. But every single time I was balls deep inside Ben still felt like the first time, so the appeal never faded. He knew that, and was dangling his ass in front of me like the holy grail. I just had to play along to get it. That part was easy. Not exploding before I even got inside him, was going to be the challenge.

“Not yet, but I hope you hold out so you can. I’m half-hard already,” he said, his grin deepening at the corners. “And while I can’t wait to get my mouth on you, I also really hope you’re more interested in getting your cock inside of me than coming down my throat.”

The impish light in his eyes darkened as he rubbed the warm, raspy edge of his jaw against my hip.

At some point, I’d sucked in a breath and held it without realizing it. Once Ben’s words registered, my exhale escaped in a hard whoosh. My tongue still felt too thick to answer, so I just turned to face the mirror and concentrated on trimming down the thickness of my beard within the current lines to make the prettifying part easier time for Ben later.

Focus Sam. You’ve handled yourself under more challenging conditions than this before with higher stakes.

That was true. Unfortunately, right now, all those life and death missions didn’t mean jack.

My wrist felt strained from the forced tension to keep it from shaking. After a few more hard-won strokes, I glanced down at Ben.

“I should be ok from here. I can get everything under my jawline and neck without using the mirror.”

“Excellent. Turn around.”

The trimmer kept up it’s gentle, consistently low hum as I followed Ben’s lead. Ben remained kneeling between my thighs, fingertips lightly stroking along my skin. Those hazel eyes were locked on mine as questing fingertips stroked higher, till they ghosted beneath my balls, then skimmed up the length of my more than half hard dick, to tease with lazy deliberation. My breath caught when they slid through the slit of my cockhead to gather up enough precome so the glide of his fingers back down to my taint, was smooth enough to roll my eyes back in my head and make me reconsider how important winning the game was. I could always fuck the stuffing out of him later.

“If you throw the game, you get nothing, Sam,” Ben said. Not for the first time, I was convinced he could read my damn mind.

“Fine, fine. Ask your first question.” I sounded more out of breath then grumpy, and Ben’s smile deepened.

“The casual ship has sailed, but do you see us getting serious enough that at some point in the future, calling you my boyfriend isn’t going to be good enough?”

“For you, or for me?”

Ben bared all his teeth at me for the cheeky response. I grinned, but obediently swiped the razor beneath my jaw when he gestured for me to keep going.

“Answer the question.”

“I don’t know, Ben. I’ve never had the luxury of looking that far ahead into the future before.”

“That’s fair. For the record though, I do.”

“You do what?”

“I do intend to introduce you to the people who are important to me, as much more than just a casual boyfriend. I want them all to see the man I see; one who shines diamond bright in my eyes. Though I don’t think a diamond would suit you. No… def something more unique, but just as durable…”

The entire time Ben had been talking, he’d been moving. My pulse refused to settle, no matter how hard I tried to slip into the almost meditative mindset that had always helped me to focus when I had to keep my head straight because shit got real. Between Ben’s words and all the soft kisses and tiny kitten licks that he scattered along my thighs I could barely focus on my task. When his tongue curled lazily around the flared head of my cock, getting me sopping wet until he sucked on a sensitive spot just below the tip, I was sure my blood pressure levels were reaching levels that might concern a physician.

By now, Ben knew exactly how much pressure to use to keep me on a razor thin edge of control. My grip tightened around the plastic body of the trimmer in my palm as my body tried to get enough strangled feeling breaths to my brain. He played with my balls each time he followed through on a downstroke, moving with a lazy precision that made me doubt with every passing second, that getting his legs around my waist and supporting his weight as I drilled him against the wall, was actually going to happen right now.

I couldn’t fucking care less.

"Sweet Holy Christ."

My head tipped back as I forced myself to sweep the razor under my jaw and along my neck. I didn’t need to watch myself in the mirror to know that my pupils had dilated. Everything Ben was doing to me felt high-def, and my attention was so laser focused on him, I was infinitely grateful the trimmer was an electric model. Otherwise, I'd have nicked an artery by now.

“I don’t know about the future, but right now…. Yeah… you’re becoming my family as much as Sofia and the girls, as much as A.J. and Max… so…you and me… fuck, Ben!”

I swore as Ben ran his tongue around and around the head of my dick to get me sloppy slick. Once I was dripping between his saliva and my precome, Ben shifted his focus to lick from the underside of my balls, all the way back up my shaft so he could suckle just the head of my cock into his mouth. Watching Ben nurse at my dick ignited something primal deep in my belly. My legs trembled and my balls tightened, both telltale signs that I was about to give up the good fight.

“You and me what?” Ben paused in his ministrations, but kept the mind-melting energy sizzling by rubbing the slick head of my cock against his cheek so it painted his cheekbone with a shiny streak that was more distracting than any scarlet letter.

“Shit and hell, Ben… please…”

“Sam, if you throw the game by not answering, that just means you forfeit getting to pound me into the mattress right now. It doesn’t mean I’ll let you come. Only the truth will set you free from a fate of blue balls.” His gentle tsk vibrated against the overly sensitive, tender skin of my dick as he let it catch against the corner of his mouth when he rubbed the slick tip across his lips like he was painting on gloss.

“You and me… that’s what I want. Since day one you've made me nuts,” I said, my voice such a dry rasp, it was a miracle Ben could even understand me. I don’t know if I can do long haul because I never have before. That’s the truth. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I want you in my bed, or me in yours, like all the time, even though happy endings have never been on my radar. I know better…but I can’t deny what’s between us anymore either.”

“Good answer." Seemingly inspired by my confession, Ben swallowed me all the way down to the root, then pulled off just a bit, pumping me fast with his other hand the way I liked.

The competitive streak ingrained in my DNA wanted to keep going, intent on winning, even if I was truly as happy for Ben to fuck me stupid right now as I was for us to flip the script. The logistics of pegs and holes and who they belonged to, didn’t matter as long as it was always just him and me.

The razor buzzed noisily when it fell from my hand, its electronic vibrations bouncing it around the sink as I tangled my hand into the soft strands of Ben’s thick hair, twisting just hard enough to stimulate the nerve endings with a whisper of pain, knowing he enjoyed that small sting as much as he loved me losing self-control. I barely refrained from fucking his face, even though Ben was a goddamn dick whisperer, massaging all the best places with his clever tongue and fingers. My knees were beginning to tremble and I pressed my hips back against the sink to steady myself, and keep from jamming my leaking dick down Ben’s throat hard enough to gag him.

As if he heard my mental struggle, Ben drew off and looked up at me, those hazel eyes drowning deep with blown out pupils. He kept one hand wrapped firmly around the base of my shaft, lips puffy from the erotic abuse he was putting them through. “So, one day in the future, however far off that is … when I ask you to marry me, are you going to say yes?”

It was game over for me when Ben swallowed me down before any intelligible words could claw free from my shocked throat. My release broke like a perfect wave against the shore, white tipped as I shot down Ben’s throat with a broken grunt. Every nerve ending in my body was shorting out, incoherence all I could offer when Ben asked me another question I couldn't hear because the buzzing in my ears was louder than the razor still doing the rumba in the sink.

My body applauded Ben's quick thinking when he stood with more grace than I could’ve managed from that position, then pulled me into his arms. His breath warmed my skin as he brushed a teasing lick to the seam of my lips before kissing me so hard and deep, I tasted myself on his tongue when he boldly licked into my mouth with the fevered heat of a thousand suns. I could feel his dick through his shorts, hard against my hip, but he didn’t rock up against me to get any friction for his own release. Instead, he pulled back, his expression warm with lazy satisfaction, obviously feeling no need to escalate anything.

"Hmm… you broke first.”

“I did, but if you think that this—” I dragged my fingertips slowly down his chest, then lower, though I made sure to steer clear of his dick in my mentally boneless state – “was the booby prize… Well, I hate to break it to you baby, but this was at least bronze star level.”

Ben chuckled against my mouth. “You're amazing at telling the truth." His fingers stroked my jaw. "You also missed a few spots, but I promised to finish the rest of it for you and I’m a man of my word.”

“So am I.”

That assertive, completely trusting note in my tone made Ben meet my eyes with a questioning, almost hopeful gleam in his own.

“I know that…”

“We didn’t finish the game, but I didn’t throw it either. You’re just as master of my dick.”

I cleared my throat hard to try and distract myself from the heat I felt streaking throughout my body like a flurry of internal meteors when Ben grinned at me so widely, I could admire each one of his teeth back to the molars. There wasn’t one damn filling visible. If I hadn’t fallen for him so hard, I might’ve gone against my natural instincts and let him keep ingesting sugar that’d rot them out eventually. It’d allow for blowjobs without any fear of accidental biting, to be put on the table much earlier than our golden years because of his removable dentures. Unfortunately for Ben’s dentist, I did love him. Enough that even though he’d caught me off guard by throwing out the idea of matching jewelry with the same casual air that he might’ve used to ask about tomorrow’s weather forecast, I wasn’t running.

“I most certainly am,” he said, lips curling into a smirk. “But what was it you wanted to say? I felt like it might be a moment.”

“It would’ve been an epic moment, but now you’ll have to wait until you actually ask me that question to get my answer.

Ben’s sharp inhalation told he’d picked up on the fact that I’d responded straight on with my ‘until,’ instead of deflecting with an ‘if,’ as a place holder.

“Sit.”

There was a rough undercurrent in Ben’s voice when he made the command, but the slightly glazed look in his eyes didn’t register as anger, or any other emotion that came on the heels of insecurity. The way he was looking at me right now, was just pure visual representation of Ben tattooing his name across my all too willing ass.

I smirked but made no argument as I plopped down, my bare butt cooled by the closed lid of the toilet seat. My mind still too pleasantly wrecked from the orgasm that’d probably curled some of the hair on my head as well as my toes, to argue or to retrieve my towel. Not that I wanted to argue anyway. There was no need, considering that I was already way more relaxed than a guy who’d basically just told his new boyfriend that he expected a single-knee performance in their future, probably should be. Especially one who was as emotionally constipated as I’d been for a good part of my life.

The gentle rub of Ben’s fingertips against my jaw were as feather light as the brush of his lips when they skated across my left temple. I leaned into the warmth of his mouth for a moment, then slowly exhaled, letting my eyes drift closed so Ben could work his voodoo.

“That’s it. Just relax while I touch up the spots you missed, then fully map out the lines for the final shape. Do you have any preferences?”

“There’s only one guy whose eyes I want on me tomorrow night, so as long as he thinks I’m hot, we’re all good.”

“Anyone who doesn’t think Samuel Thomas Trammell is fine, from the moment they open their eyes every single morning, noon and night, is in the minority not the majority.”

“As long as you hold the majority vote, have at it,” I said, shifting just long enough to grab the trimmer from the sink. I turned it off before handing it to Ben. “Mold me into whatever image will make you infinitely grateful for the fact you have a job where you can hide what you feel whenever you look at me, behind a pulpit.”

“As much as it delights me that you appreciate the size of what God gave me, I think that anyone who looks at me when you’re somewhere in my immediate vicinity, would tell you they don’t have to look below my belt to know how I feel about you, Sam. My heart is right here at eye level on my sleeve.”

Ben laughed when I rolled my eyes. There was something deeper than delight under his humor, and it pricked my soul with enthusiastic anticipation, like the eagerness kids felt every single day once the countdown to Christmas began. It was a sound that would’ve gone straight to my dick for the start of round two if I was fifteen years younger. For now, it just made my pulse skip even as I made a strangled sound of mock protest for the cheesy line that somehow managed to come off as wholesome, simply because Ben said it.

“Stop squirming. I know you’re too relaxed to be this ornery after you just came your brains out, so just sit back and enjoy being spoiled a little.”

“A big head’s probably considered twice the sin when it belongs to a priest.”

Ben ignored my helpful PSA.

“Shush, and close your eyes,” he scolded, amusement obvious in his tone even though I already had my eyes closed and couldn’t see his smile. I did feel the air shift around me when Ben moved closer, his breath a sweet and familiar heat over my face as his fingers brushed my cheeks and jawline like he was taking topographic measurements. I stayed still when he started moving the trimmer with practiced expertise over my skin. With just a few strokes, Ben evened out the trim job that I’d started while we were playing our game of truth, then switched out the blades.

He worked with his usual same calm confidence, humming under his breath like he always seemed to whenever he was concentrating on a task. I recognize the lyrics from a pop hit I’d recently heard on the radio. Remembering his confession about an unholy obsession with pop bands made my lips twitch just short of a smile. Thankfully, Ben had the skill to maneuver around any of my unintentional facial expressions, so my lips remained a permanent part of my face.

“Am I still picking you up at Sofia’s tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, the clothes Tara picked out for me are there. Emma wanted to help me get dressed. Addy too. I think she’s on my side for once and wants to make sure I don’t end up bedazzled at the last minute by her little sister.”

“That’s cute. Emma has her very own GI Joe action figure to dress up. I’m sure you’ll have a very rapt audience of plastic fashionistas judging the final outcome. It’s a shame they don’t have moveable fingers for enthused applause.”

“Barbie is still life to Emma, but I’m hoping Adelyn is more on level with Tara’s vision. Though to be fair, I don’t even know what Tara’s final vision is. She switched out the shirt and pants we’d originally agreed on for the stuff she piled onto the counter at checkout just as I was getting ready to pay. It’s still slacks and a dress shirt, but the colors are diff—”

I didn’t have to see my amusement register in the mirror, because I felt my eyes crinkling heavily at the corners when Ben quickly moved his hand away from my chin, to lay it over my mouth instead, his brows dipping low in gentle chastisement.

“Don’t tell me what you’re wearing, Sam. I told you I’m looking forward to the surprise.”

“You’re really into the whole slow buildup to the unveiling, aren’t you?”

I didn’t say anything along the lines of, ‘I can only imagine what you’d be like on your wedding day,’ because we’d already touched on that topic, and the toes I’d dipped into that particular pool still hadn’t quite recovered from the unexpected foray.

“There’s nothing like slowly unwrapping your partner at the end of a date after they’ve been driving you crazy all night.”

“Women definitely believe that. It’s why they do the whole lingerie thing. But I honestly don’t know one straight man who wouldn’t trade undoing a million of those little tabs and laces on a corset, for simply tugging his own t-shirt up and over his girl’s head. Easy access, and a clear claim.”

I paused, feeling my face twist in horror as I suddenly remembered Tara’s frilly VS gift to Sofia and A.J.

“Did Tara tell you about her grandmaster plan for tonight?” Because a change of topic was definitely needed. I didn’t need to imagine any unwrapping of my sister going on.

“Tara? No. I didn’t know she’d decided to go after I confirmed with Roman that Sloane will be working tomorrow night. He’s bringing in most of his bar and waitstaff from Alegria to help out with the Deseos grand opening. They’re all seasoned and know how to keep things flowing smoothly. Sloane’s one of his best bartenders.”

“Did you know about the bad date?”

“I was the one who met up with Tara at the coffee shop after Sloane left and ordered her another chocolate croissant in supportive condolence.”

“No croissant for you?”

“I don’t like chocolate. My iced caramel macchiato latte worked just fine.”

“For you maybe. Knowing Tara, she’d have happily taken a third croissant off your hands.”

Ben’s grin turned sly. “I sent two more home with her.”

“Softie. No wonder you’re her favorite.”

“There’s plenty of me to share.”

“Is there? Because when I invited Tara to join us for some temporary three amigos time until A.J. and Sofia can get there, she turned me down flat by saying you’d probably pray for my junk to shrivel up and fall off before you willingly shared. Considering she doesn’t have parts I’d be interested in visiting with, it was a pretty strong stance to take. She must be pretty damn sure.”

“Well, she’s right that I wouldn’t share you with anyone in a romantic sense, but I’m very fond of your ‘junk,’ so shriveling will never be on the menu. A chastity belt might be up for debate one day.”

I grinned. “I didn’t think you were the jealous type.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire, Sam.

I ignored the tsking of the angel on my shoulder because the devil was running the show right now and he wanted to hear Ben admit he was human.

“Then you haven’t been paying attention. Or maybe you were just too busy giving poor Andrew Whelan the hairy eyeball to notice the faces I make every time your complicated, long-time relationship with Max comes up in casual conversation.”

“Oh, I didn’t miss that. But regardless of whether Max is here or not, the arrangement that we used to have, is now a moot point. I’m with you.” I hooked my pointer finger loosely through the belt loops on his cargos. “I’ve also made some peace with Whelan the Weenie. Other than his interest in you, he’s not a bad guy.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I’d like the two of you to become friends one day. Andrew’s a good person. He lost a partner in the field when he was a rookie, so he can probably understand some of what you’re going through with the nightmares if you ever want to talk with someone I’d consider as safe a confidant as I am. No pressure of course. It’s just a thought.”

“You’re a thinker.”

Ben smiled. “I obviously haven’t told him anything about you and your own losses.”

I nodded slightly. “Maybe one day I’ll ask him out for coffee.”

“That sounds like a good idea as long as it’s just coffee. I know where coffee dates can lead you, Samuel Trammell.”

“To waxing on and on like an eloquently asinine a-hole about how badly people screw up the English language? Yeah, that’s real sexy.”

“You’d be surprised. If you take a few pages from A.J.’s book and wax on in a romance language, you could drop the entire coffeehouse to its knees.”

My lips twitched but I held back a smile as he worked the trimmer along the sensitive skin around my mouth. “We’ll see. I still can’t quite wrap my head around a group situation, but I’m already talking to Tara off the record once a week, sometimes twice. Though, to be fair, when she comes to see me at Sofia’s, we don’t usually talk about anything serious because we’re usually talking in some kind of code. Little ears are built like satellites to absorb all incoming information, even when they’re not in the same room.”

“It’s frightening what kids can pick up on when you’re certain they’re not paying attention,” Ben agreed. My youngest sister, Catherine, teaches kindergarten. She’s always telling me stories about the things that come out of her student’s mouths. I told her she should gather together every teacher friend she has so that they can swap stories and put out a book. It’d definitely be a bestseller if they marketed it as a manual of parenting strategies.”

“Or cautionary tales. You could donate your own stories about the kid with the day-drinking mom, and the one who has a big-tailed daddy.”

An audible crackle of bones and tendons readjusting, broke through the sound of Ben’s laughter as I rolled my shoulders back to ease up some of the stiffness from sitting still for so long. When I was settled again, Ben turned my face side to side critically, made a few last adjustments, then put the trimmer back in its drawer after he rinsed the blades clean and set them on the side of the sink to dry. When he gestured for me to get up and look in the mirror, I absently laced the fingers of my left hand through his to keep him close as I rubbed the ones on my left hand across the now carefully defined lines and angles of my jaw and cheekbones.

Ben had gone heavier than the light 3-day stubble he’d initially suggested, going with a more manicured, hybrid goatee version of what my beard looked like after ten days of not shaving. It was still thick enough to be low maintenance, without giving creeper vibes. The silvery strands that had stealthily popped into my chin scruff were better balanced with the thicker, visual metallic imagery at my temples that seemed to have gotten more obvious since I’d moved back to Florida. It was almost like my own body was pointing out that now that I didn’t have to silently question the universe daily about whether or not I’d reach forty, I should look the part. A few months from thirty-five, I was finally free to stop looking over my shoulder and sleeping with some kind of weapon beneath my pillow at night. I was free to age and celebrate the damn process. Looking good while doing it—which Ben had made possible because the new look was as much of a statement as Sofia’s haircut— was just a bonus.

“Looks good. You’re officially hired as my personal face manicurist.”

Ben grinned and leaned into steal a kiss, still holding my hand. When he pulled back, his free hand pushed my hair away from my temples with gentle fingers.

“Tara told me that she’s taking you to get a haircut later today. Don’t go for the buzz cut.”

“That’s not happening,” I assured him. “Neither is Ashton Kutcher, Jared Padalecki, Justin Bieber, or any other former teen heartthrob’s hair style.”

“Good man, though I approve of the new, tatted and Christian version of Bieber. He’s proof God’s for everyone who wants Him.”

I got another kiss before Ben released me and made a shooing motion, so he had space to clean up the bathroom while I went into his bedroom and changed into a pair of my sweats, and the nearest clean t-shirt at the top of the pile of freshly laundered clothing on the bed. The shirt ended up being one of Ben’s, pulling tight across my chest and shoulders. Still warm from the dryer, it felt almost like a hug, which was a wholesome180 from our bathroom hijinks.

Ben came into the room while I was running fingers through my hair. Considering I was getting it cut in a few hours, I didn’t see any point in fussing with any kind of product.

“You never finished telling me about Tara’s master plan for tomorrow.”

“It’s a pretty classic, ‘get-the-attention-of-the-girl-who-made-you-feel-your-own-mortality,’ 101.” I grinned as I tossed him a wayward sock on the floor that needed to go into the hamper he was currently standing beside.

“I don’t think she’s ever been turned down, at least not since high school, so it’s a bit of a mind fuck for her. I feel like she genuinely likes Sloane, but for a therapist, she’s being a stubborn pain in the butt about doubling down on the playing off her feelings card. And coming from me, that’s saying something.”

Ben smirked as he moved to help me start folding. She’s human before she’s anything else, but I agree with you. I tried talking to her about it too, but like you said, she’s being stubborn.”

“As a bull, which means tomorrow night’s game plan includes a cherry red cocktail dress that matches both her lipstick, and the strappy stilettos I’m convinced she’s going to break her neck in, even though she keeps assuring me that she knows how to walk in heels, but generally chooses not to, ‘support the patriarchy’s vision of feminine ideals.’ ”

Ben smirked. We both knew that Tara preferred to go barefoot whenever possible, so the heels were a stretch.

“So, instead of just talking to Sloane, she’s planning to seduce her instead?”

“Oh, no, she plans to flirt with every other woman who buys her a drink. Drinks that Sloane will probably be making, since Tara will be situated on her side of the bar when she’s not out on the dance floor shaking her milkshake along with everything else.” I snorted when Ben grinned. “A.J.’s agreed to keep an eye on her, and to tank the mission if the douche chills get too real. As men, we’ve both done enough stupid crap in the name of love and hormones to recognize a bad idea.”

Ben looked amused. “That sounds like a plan. Did Sofia get the day off?”

“No, but she was able to swap shifts with another nurse who wanted the day off for her kid's birthday, so she and A.J. will go together if his meeting lets out in time. Otherwise, she’ll be on Tara sitting duty until he shows up later.” I shrugged. “I suggested we all go together, but A.J.’s, ‘Hell no!’ was pitched as high as Sofia and Tara’s protest when they chimed in. Team Ben is still going strong. Apparently, they want us to have a date night.”

“I’m completely on board with that. I’ll never say no to a date night with you, even though I’ve enjoyed being invited along on your family outings. The carnival was fun. I’ve never actually seen someone eat as much cotton candy in one sitting as Emma did. It was disturbingly impressive.”

“To be fair, A.J. did help her polish off her remaining ice cream cone so she had extra room in her belly.” I grinned. “A move made purely to earn extra brownie points with Sofia. He hates sprinkles almost as much as you and Emma like them.”

Ben made a tsking sound. “A love of sprinkles means you’re young at heart.”

“Maybe, but when you’re actively trying to make your new romantic interest forget that you’re almost four years younger than she is, it’s not the best strategy.”

“I didn’t know A.J. was actually younger than you are. I assumed he just had a baby face.”

“He does, but he also just turned thirty-one last December. He doesn’t care about the age difference, but it came up last week when the kids were talking about birthdays and now Sofia’s self-conscious.”

“Four years is nothing. Considering you and A.J. share a similar background, he’s an old soul.” Ben’s lips quirked, amusement warming his eyes.” Just one who can hold court with people under the age of ten and feel right at home.”

I laughed. He wasn’t wrong. Emma’s little friends Brian and Taylor had practically become fixtures at Sofia’s, even accompanying us on a few of our family day trips that both Ben and A.J. had also joined us on, including a recent trip to a minor league baseball game. Neither Emma nor I had been impressed with the game itself. I wasn’t into baseball, and she was into Barbies, which was why we’d been put on snack duty with Brian, who believed hot dogs at baseball games tasted, ‘way better than when Mom boils them gross at home.’ Taylor had stayed with A.J., Sofia and Adelyn, completely in her glory on the car ride home as she’d clutched the home run ball that she’d managed to catch in her battered mitt. It was a far cry from Yankee status, but according to her mother who’d called Sofia to thank us for including Taylor, the ball had taken a place of honor on her nightstand beside her little league trophy.

“I suggested that Tara take her out shopping for something she’ll feel confident in at the club. A.J. has surprisingly good taste, but I told her you’d said you wanted to be surprised when you saw me tomorrow night, so A.J. would probably feel the same way. I’m just hoping Tara will tone it down enough for Sofia not to be scandalized if Tara trades her pretty ‘mom wedges,’ for a pair of ankle-twisting heels. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in high heels.”

“She should be alright with a bit of practice, depending on the height. There’s an art to walking in heels. You need a certain level of swagger.”

Ben relayed that information so casually it was obvious he hadn’t shared it to intentionally get a reaction from me. However, the moment the words registered in my ears, they were ringing like pinged satellites.

“You’ve walked in heels before?”

Ben’s right brow rose, lips curving with visible amusement as he continued folding the mini mountain of clean clothing on the bed.

“Only for certain clients behind closed doors when I was working.”

When I continued staring at him silently because my tongue had plastered itself to the roof of my mouth like Velcro, making words an impossibility, he smirked.

“Why does that surprise you, Sam? People have varying levels of kink ingrained in their psyche. When they’re paying for someone to embrace those kinks and normalize them, you never know what will happen. Wearing heeled leather boots with the leather halter top and shorts romper one client purchase for me for some of our sessions, was tame by the average standards of depravity behind closed doors.”

How I managed to catch the pair of rolled up socks that Ben tossed my way one-handed, was a display of pure muscle memory. My rational brain was currently hanging on to every single one of the 3D visuals that Ben’s words were inspiring. If I hadn’t been closer to thirty-five than twenty-five, little Sam would’ve been rising with a determined glory the Old South would’ve envied. As it was, there was enough of a stirring below the waistband of my sweats to encourage my brain’s ability to compute erotic visuals from just the few verbal scraps that Ben had offered up.

“You mentioned having photographic evidence of your past life… Are there photos of that particular outfit anywhere?”

“Uh huh. But do you really want a glimpse backwards? I’m not that man anymore.”

“I know but considering that you embrace both my past and present to look forward into the future, this is me taking a page from your book. But if you don’t want to show me, that’s okay too. Just know I wouldn’t be judgey. I can’t promise horny will be off the table, but there definitely wouldn’t be any judgment.”

Ben chuckled. “Sam, I don’t believe in covering up or throwing away your past. Our mistakes are the ink that fill our pens as we write future chapters in our life stories. So, while I no longer have the outfit I do have a few photos.”

He gestured to the still tall stack of clean laundry on the bed that required folding and sorting. I noticed that he’d divided socks, underwear, and t-shirts into six neat piles—three apiece for our clothing—proving my suspicion right that he deliberately wore my shirts instead of his own.

“Finish folding and sorting, and I’ll find the box of photographs where I keep those, and other random extras from our church events so that I can give you any I have of the girls too.”

“If you have any of them posing with you, I’d like those as well. For the main photo wall in the family room, but also for my room. Sofia secretly brought me one of those big collage frames and loaded it with photos of her and the girls, but it has some empty slots left. I added one of the Melones, and one of Max, A.J. and I at the beach a few years ago. There’s also a shot of A.J. Sofia and the girls, that I took at the carnival, and a silly photo that Adelyn snapped of Tara and I in Sofia’s kitchen a week ago, when Tara was trying to convince me that Twinkies are their own food group.”

She hadn’t won that one.

I shook my head, then offered Ben a lopsided smile. “But…. I don’t have any of you in there…”

Ben smile was pure sunrise sunshine, bright over a clear open sea.

“We could always take a selfie outside when the weather is nice.”

“Yeah, I’d like that. But I’d also like one of us with Sof and the kids, if you’re okay with that. Everyone in the frame is or has become family to me.”

Another brilliant smile that was accompanied by a subtle, uncharacteristic blush from Ben, proceeded a kiss which curled my toes.

“I love you,” he said, but before I could stammer out an awkward response, or blush in silence until I exploded into a fiery blaze, Ben kissed me again, then left the room.

I could hear him in the hallway, opening the softly squeaking linen closet door, shuffling around while I tried to keep my fingers busy with folding laundry. Idle hands would allow my mind to wander into the realms of, ‘Why the fuck can’t you just say it back?’ I needed those types of questions rolling through my mind as much as I needed a hole in the head. I definitely didn’t need to dwell on the very clear answer my brain was reluctant to admit to.

Because most of the people you’ve cared for in your life have died, and it’s hard enough believing that you can keep Sofia and the girls safe without adding one more person to the mix whose loss would break you…

I exhaled heavily and tossed a rolled sock ball into the corresponding pile. A.J. and Max were trained to handle themselves in hostile and dangerous situations. Even Tara could hold her own with her kickboxing experience, at least until the calvary arrived. But Ben, despite being male, was almost as soft a target as Sofia and the girls were, because he embraced pacifism.

Another sock ball was sent the way of its predecessors with a bit more force than necessary. I needed to get a grip and focus on the scent of now familiar scent of Ben’s body wash, and fabric softener. They could play interference between my sanity and the nagging olfactory memories of blood, sweat, spilled viscera. Once you smelled death, it imprinted itself into your brain and could never really be scrubbed clean. Lady Macbeth had been haunted by visual reminders of the blood she'd spilled. All of my senses worked together in fucking kumbaya harmony to make sure I never forgot what it looked like, felt like or smelt like after you’d cut a man’s throat, or gutted him before he could do it to you first…

I exhaled slowly, folding temporarily forgotten as I closed my eyes. Ben had a past, but it was nothing like mine. We came from very different worlds. Proof of that was in the nicely decorated, warm vibe of his home, and the fact that his defaults were forgiveness and love, not violence.

But you’re in his home right now, and you fit just fine in both his arms and his bed until you started going down this damn rabbit hole again. You can’t control the world. Sometimes it does bad things, Sam. But nothing bad is going to happen right now. Get it the fuck together, man.

A.J. had pointed out my inability to control the world more than once. I knew that he was right, but that didn’t stop bile from rising in my throat at the idea of not being able to protect my people. Ben was one of those people now.

The hand on my left shoulder landed with the gentlest touch, but I hadn’t heard Ben come back, too lost in my own thoughts to turn off my default reflexes when sheer, primal emotion kicked my training into a fight or flight response, and I reacted without clear thought for where I was.

The large shoe box of photos that Ben had been holding, went tumbling to the ground, photographs in both color and black and white, scattering across his camel-colored carpet when I turned, operating on autopilot. I reduced his hand to a five fingered lump of useless nerves when I closed my own hand tightly around his wrist, crushing the pressure point to immobilize him as I slipped beneath Ben’s arm and used the fluid momentum to pin him hard against the bedroom wall. His arm was caught between us and twisted at an almost unnatural angle. I could’ve snapped it in three different places with barely any effort.

My breath was coming as fast as his was, but I couldn’t see the rise and fall of my own chest, or the skipping of my pulse in my throat the way I could feel Ben’s as it fluttered against the flesh of the arm I had pressed hard against his throat.

I wanted to throw up as the rush of adrenaline was slammed with a tsunami of guilt. My eyes felt suspiciously warm and damp, but Ben’s hazel eyes, though wide, were clear. He was startled as shit, as he should be, but his eyes lacked the fear most people wouldn’t have been able to hide after being ambushed by their boyfriend on a beautiful summer day while they were doing the domestic laundry thing.

“Shit,” I said, swallowing hard around the panic rising in my own chest instead of in Ben’s eyes where it should’ve been. My tone was wrecked even to my own ears, but before I could move away and figure out the fastest way to leave, Ben very slowly raised one hand so I could see what he was doing, like you’d soothe a feral animal, before he gently laid it against the left side of my jaw.

I was sure he could feel my teeth being ground into nubs from the tension coiled throughout my own body, but I didn’t move when Ben’s other hand came up to curl long fingers around my arm slowly to push it away with zero effort because I wasn’t resisting. My breath released hard in a noisy whoosh. I leaned into Ben’s touch, feeling his lips brush my throat when I turned into the hand, he was still cradling my face with.

“Ben, I—"

“Was startled,” he said, cutting me off with a mild tone laced with enough calm, unrelenting steel to remind me of Vera Melone. She was a honey and molasses cake baked with razor blades when she needed to work sense through my stubborn head, and I saw her fierce, unwavering love and loyalty in Ben’s expression right now.

Vera would love Ben.

I opened my mouth to finish the, ‘I’m sorry,’ that Ben had cut off before, but what came out instead, ill-timed, yet 100% true, was, “I love you, Ben… I need to go.”

It wasn’t a confession appropriate for any romantic film rolled out of Hollywood, but Ben’s jaw tightened as he moved his free hand to the other side of my face, eyes searching mine before he leaned into kiss me softly. When I didn’t kiss him back, he nipped my lower lip hard enough for my lips to part on a hiss so he could kiss me properly.

“I know you do,” he murmured against my mouth. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

“Ben…”

“Hush. You’re fine. We’re fine. I just happen to have fallen for a guy who has Spider Man reflexes.”

My lips twitched, but I knew there wasn’t even a hint of a smile in my eyes. Ben had forgiven me. I wasn’t anywhere near that yet.

“Spider-Man’s much more well-adjusted. Probably because they keep remaking the damn movie. When one guy gets too lost in their spider web drama, writers and directors just swap him out for an updated model better received by current audiences.”

“That’s all well and good for the future Peter Parker’s of the world, but I’m happy with this current model. The lightning reflexes will help around Christmas time when we have overeager little hands handling fragile glass ornaments.”

My huffed breath sounded more desperate than amused, and Ben’s expression softened.

“This isn’t funny, Ben…. I could’ve hurt you.”

Could’ve. That’d been my immediate, desperately hopeful assumption, but even as the words left my mouth, I found myself looking at Ben’s throat, just in case. Thankfully for my sanity, it was smooth and unmarked. I couldn’t stop years-worth of ingrained reflexes because of my fucking PTSD but thank God I apparently still had enough muscle control to avoid blindly following through on a violent impulse.

“But you didn’t hurt me, baby. I was just startled. I shouldn’t have come up behind you like that.”

I snorted, my soul suddenly feeling as ugly as the sound. “Ben, it’s your house, and I knew you were coming back. This is my damage, not yours.”

“PSA, Samuel Thomas Trammell, you’re mine, and I’m yours, so this is our damage, which we’ll handle together, just like we’ll handle any other challenges that pop up in our lives.”

Ben kissed me again, harder this time, refusing to relinquish my mouth until I stopped protesting. When he drew back, his thumbs settled into either side of my unhappy mouth to gently push my lips up at the corners into a forced smile.

“With those reflexes came self-control. You could’ve hurt me, but you didn’t.”

“No, I just scared the shit out of you because I turned on you like a freak.”

Ben ignored me as he repeated, “You didn’t hurt me. Focus on that fact, and don’t use this as a reason to run away. It’s just a reminder to both of us that sometimes I need to be noisy outside of bed too.”

This time, my lips creased into the slightest of smiles. I still wanted to figure out an exit strategy, but Ben wasn’t done with me yet.

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can take a self-defense class, Sam.”

He was so earnest that I didn’t have the heart to tell him that no moves he picked up in the average community center self-defense class would do him a lick of good against someone with my training. Still, my brain argued, a properly structured course with someone who actually knew what they were doing, wasn’t the worst idea. Hell, it was better than the alternative. If I’d trusted my own mind, I’d have just taught Ben myself, but after today, I couldn’t be neutral enough to spar with him even under the safest conditions.

“A.J. runs self-defense training courses through his security form in Alabama. I’ll ask him to work with you next time he’s here and you both have some free time. Sofia and Addie too. Tara can help supervise.”

Ben wound his arms up and around my neck, his fingers sinking into the overly long strands at the nape of my neck, threading through them until I released my breath in a deep exhale.

“I’ll text him later today to see what we can set up.”

“Ok,” I said, though I was pretty sure we both knew I meant, thank you, Jesus.

“But I want you to do something for me too.”

I had a feeling I knew what he was going to say and wasn’t thrilled, but I nodded anyway.

“I want you to look at the list of names of counselors I compiled for you who specialize in PTSD and choose someone to talk to. Not tonight, or tomorrow," he clarified. "I don’t want to ruin our time together with you getting stuck in your own head, but soon.” His hands moved to my face to cradle it firmly, making me maintain eye contact with him. “I’m not afraid of you in any way, Sam. I’m afraid for you. Your pulse is still racing, baby.”

I swallowed hard. “I… Ben I was fine and then… I just wasn’t and I—”

“Had an intense reaction which isn’t unusual for people suffering with PTSD. And it’s fine. I’m fine, Sam.”

“It’s not normal.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not for the average person, but it’s not uncommon in veterans and law enforcement who’ve been through traumatic experiences. Which is why there’s help out there if you look for it. And you’re going to. Not for me, or Sofia, or the girls, but for yourself. Do you understand me?”

My second gulp was no less audible than the first one. “Ok…”

“Good. Now help me pick up these photos so we can get some D3 out on the deck with iced tea. I have the unsweetened kind in the fridge for you.”

I nodded, but this time I was the one who initiated a kiss that lingered. When I pulled back, I leaned my forehead against Ben’s.

“That wasn’t how I meant to tell you.”

Ben didn’t bother asking for classification of that particular statement. As usual, he seemed to have a personal, ‘Sam Speak,’ dictionary installed in his brain to use for translation as needed.

“First times are rarely perfect, Sam. Name one person you know who has an amazingly unawkward loss of their virginity story.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose when a low chuckle finally eased out between my lips which felt dry when I rubbed them together, trying to get sensation that wasn’t terror, moving through my body again.

“Fair enough. I’m still going for a do-over though.”

“And I’ll welcome the second try as much as I will the 100^th and beyond.”

Ben’s hands patted my ass to get me to move. We silently gathered the photos as quickly as possible. I managed to contain my urge to look at them as I dropped the fallen photos into the box. The mundane act gave me time to come the rest of the way down from the high of my endorphin dump.

Ben left me alone on the back deck’s wicker couch with the box on the colorful, cushioned bench beside me, while he went to grab our drinks. By the time he returned with them, the warmth of the mid-morning sun had melted some of the icy fear that’d gripped my heart earlier. My first thought as I took the glass away from Ben when he smiled, was that it wasn’t even 10:00 am and we’d already had a full fucking day; a sexy good time in the bathroom, my mini makeover, some discussion about the need for ASAP therapy for me, and self-defense against my damn demons which needed Black Ops level exorcisms, for Ben. And now, we were sipping iced tea on his porch with a beach view like we were trying out for a couple's timeshare commercial.

I snorted softly. What did it say about my life that neutralizing dangerous, high-level targets, and rescuing assets, felt less weird than this?

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Sneak a look inside yet?” he asked, gesturing toward the box that still had the lid on.

“No. I was waiting for you just in case you consider any of the photos too personal to share.”

Ben’s eyes met mine levelly, the gold flecks brightening the swirls of green beneath the filtered sunshine. “I’ve never kept secrets from people I care for Sam. I won’t start with the man I’ve fallen for.”

I felt my own expression soften. “Fair enough,” I said again, my voice calmer than it’d been earlier. After taking a sip of my blessedly unsweetened iced tea, I handed Ben the box.

“Surprise me.”

“You might not want to have any liquids in your mouth when I show you these.”

The tease in Ben’s voice pushed back the remaining tension that I’d been carrying on my shoulders like an unwelcome pair of albatrosses. I immediately set my glass on a small metal side table, then rested my hands palm up on my knees as if to say, Ok, I’m here. I’m open. Hit me with your best shot.’

Can things really be this easy?

“Have at it.”

Ben grinned, flipping open the box with a dramatic flourish. Then he dug around for a few minutes, pulling out photos that looked like random youth group and landscape shots before putting them all to the side. He finally handed me three photos.

My lips curved into a smile when I saw the wide grin of a much younger Emma as she stood wrapped in a bright pink towel and a floppy hat, at what looked like a local pool based on the background. Her little hand was securely held by Adelyn, whose lips were curved in an uncharacteristically unguarded smile. The second photo had been taken at what looked like a picnic in the small courtyard outside of Ben’s church. Addie was sitting with a group of kids on the grass, including Cayden. Unlike the pool shot, her hair in this one was as inky black as it was now, but the eyeliner wasn’t as thick, and she was wearing black cargo shorts and a hot pink T-shirt without any profanity on it.

That was the kid who I’d been getting glimpses of lately. I was determined to bring her all the way back. I might struggle with exercising my own demons, but maybe seeing me actually do something about them could help Addie with hers. The last photo was of Emma holding up an obviously handmade Mother’s Day card, her little face painted with hearts and flowers. She didn’t look as young as she did in the first photo, and she was missing a lot more of her front teeth.

“These are great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I know there’s a few more in here so we can pull them out in a little bit. I’ll put them in an envelope for you to take with you when you leave. But you specifically ask me for the blast from the past shots, so here we go.”

When he handed me two more photos after I set aside the ones of my nieces, I knew for certain that there was a God. If only Satan existed, Ben would’ve been inspired to show me these first, and I’d have had to claw out my own eyes. There was no way my instant hardon would’ve faded by the time he offered over the photos of the kids. It’d have been like part two of my ‘praying’ scandal, when I couldn’t meet Addie’s eyes for a solid day and a half.

Ben had told me about this photograph, but seeing a barely legal looking Ben with smooth caramel skin and coffee dark hair just long enough to catch a curl—though not as long as he currently wore it—posing with a lazy, come-hitter smile curling his mouth, was so much more than my brain had been expecting. His hazel eyes popped in their frame of artfully applied black eyeliner, full lips just shiny enough to make me suspect he was wearing a neutral lip gloss. In the black leather romper whose shorts were cut high enough to show off plenty of the black fishnet stockings where they weren’t tucked into his stiletto heeled leather boots, Ben looked like an entirely different man than the one I knew. A very, very hot man, though I felt a sudden desire to pop whoever had bought him that outfit, in the mouth. My jealousy of Whelan had been replaced by a nameless, faceless, once upon a time, pervert.

On another person, the outfit might’ve read as cheaply slutty BDSM, but even in a photograph, it was obvious that Ben had known how to work with his God-given assets. His impish smile on that almost choir boy sweet face, managed to convey the kind of sex appeal that’d send you straight to hell with a smile.

I swallowed hard. When I glanced over at Ben, he offered me a slow version of that same smile. It was even more appealing on his older, lightly lined face. A face that had seen some serious shit of his own, but still managed to come out stronger on the other side. I wanted to be like Ben when I grew up.

“You need to give Adelyn pointers on how to properly apply eyeliner…. Damn, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes danced with proud amusement as he glanced at me over the edge of his glass. “I don’t have that outfit anymore. I do have the tux though, and it still fits.”

He gestured to the second photo he’d handed me. Ben was standing on the steps of what looked like the metropolitan Museum of Modern Art in New York City. He was standing amidst a crowd of elegantly dressed patrons, half turned in profile as if he was looking at someone who was just out of frame. It was 180 out from the other outfit; all black-tie class. Clean shaven with his hair cut shorter and neatly styled. The tux fit his frame so well it was obviously not an off the rack purchase.

“If you plan to wear that to Roman’s grand opening tomorrow, we won’t be leaving the house.”

Ben dimpled. “Not quite. That’s in the back of the closet for a rainy day, or if we want to play pretend. Consider it my version of a French maid outfit.”

I chuckled as my gaze slid back to the first photo. I’d always assumed I wasn’t into leather, but apparently, it’d just never been sold to me in the right way before.

When I offered the photos back to Ben, he gently pushed my hand back toward me. “You can hold onto them. Consider it a visual reminder that while we all have a past and retain parts of it in the future versions of ourselves, change doesn’t have to be a bad thing, even if it might seem a little drastic at first.”

I nodded slightly, then tucked the two photos beneath the ones of my nieces. “I probably have one of myself in uniform somewhere if you’d like to trade?”

Ben grinned. “Did you really think I’d say no to that?”

I laughed and shrugged before I could feel my smile slipping into a more serious expression. I didn’t say anything, ignoring Ben’s curious look when I pulled out my cell phone. While he watched, I texted A.J., reading the message aloud as I typed.

Sam: I need a favor man. Two actually. One, do you know anyone in this area that works with guys like us who have screws loose because shit got too real? And two, would you be willing to run a private self-defense class for Ben, Sofia, Addie, and Tara if she wants to join in?

Ben’s brow arched even higher, but he was silent when the phone pinged almost immediately with A.J.’s reply, which I also read aloud.

A.J.: Yes, to both. Some of the best people I know have screws loose, and the drummers they follow have led them to success. And girls who can kick ass are hot. So are priests, so we’re all good. You okay?

I held Ben’s gaze as I switched to the voice to text feature on my cell. “Yeah, I think I will be….”

***

One wolf whistle and a cheerful "ooooh," marked my entrance into the kitchen when I came downstairs after I finished getting dressed to go out with Ben. It’d taken me nearly a half hour, which felt insulting to my usual five-minute routine, but Tara had been, ‘helping,’ so I blamed her for the slowdown. To be fair, she was also responsible for the eventual outcome which I knew Ben would approve of, so both she and the extra twenty-five minutes got a pass. Especially because if Emma had been the one picking out my clothing, I'd probably have ended up wearing something as bedazzled as her own favorite t-shirt. As it was, the descending gradient pattern of my Prussian Blue, long sleeved dress shirt— which was fitted enough that I’ve never have been able to conceal a weapon beneath it— and my modern fit, black linen slacks, felt alien to me after years of fatigues and casual tactical wear. But I’d given Tara carte-blanche, and she’d run with the bitch. I considered myself lucky to have won the battle of black slip-on shoes with a sneaker like tread instead of loafers without socks, since I’d lost the argument of leaving only the top two buttons of my shirt undone as opposed to the three Tara had insisted on with a snarky reminder that Ben was a priest, not a puritan.

My shoes squeaked against the linoleum as I did a little twirl for an encouraging Emma before sweeping her up onto my hip for a kiss.

She giggled, patting the subtle stiffness of my freshly trimmed and gelled hair. "You look fancy, Uncle Sam. Will you dress up with me one day?"

"Of course, honey. You’re probably the only person on this planet other than Ben who I’ll get this fancy for. We’ll go out for a night on the town. Chick-fil-A nuggets and a Pixar movie with the biggest popcorn they have.”

Sofia looked amused as I set Emma down on the floor again so I could twirl her in a circle until she got dizzy and giggled. I hated dancing in public, but Vera had taught me the same way she taught Max. He had natural rhythm that I sorely laughed, but my 7-year-old dance partner didn’t realize that as I spun her behind my back, then tickled her ribs until she yelped out a giggle.

Sofia freed me from an encore by sweeping in to spin her daughter toward herself with an innate, fluid grace that would’ve made her very popular on the dance floor if she hadn’t been going with A.J. Not that I doubted Tara would also be keeping an eye on her throughout the night whenever she wasn’t actively trying to get Sloane’s attention.

Sofia wasn’t dressed for a night out yet, still in her pink hospital scrubs. She’d gotten home about an hour ago and had been eating dinner with the girls before making cookies with Emma from one of those pre-made cookie rolls that all the best parents kept in the back of the fridge. Tara had ushered me upstairs to shower and change shortly after the cookies had gone into the oven.

"You spoil her," Sofia said. Unfortunately, the scolding had absolutely no influence on me because her warm, wide smile took all sting out of the words. Beside her, Tara was taking a bow as Addie gave the highest possible teenage praise of, “You did pretty good, Aunt Tara. He doesn’t look like a dork.”

I winked at Emma when she came to my defense, telling Adelyn to be nice.

“Hey, I need to be able to spoil somebody. Addie turned me down flat when I made her the same offer, even with the addition of snow caps. Broke my heart.”

Adelyn snorted as she emerged from the freezer with the gallon of cherry vanilla ice cream that she’d been hunting for. Apparently homemade ice cream sandwiches with fresh cookies were on the dessert menu tonight. Ben would approve.

“I turned you down because going out on a Disney movie date with my uncle is almost as bad as all my friends thinking that you’re hot. We’d end up with half of my class suddenly wanting to be my best friend and come over all the time.”

“They can come over whenever they like. Friends are good. So is having a boyfriend whose place I can hide out at whenever they’re here.”

Tara and Sofia snickered.

“He’s already got his hands full with the gloriously hospitable, and equally thirsty, Girl Scout moms, Addie,” Tara said.

Adelyn smiled. I rolled my eyes as Tara added, “We should set up Emma’s next Girl Scout cookie stand in the church parking lot. If we get Sam into a Girl Scout t-shirt, women’s size small of course, the cookies will sell themselves.”

Adelyn didn’t see when Tara mouthed, ‘DILF,’ at me silently, but Sofia did. I filled a glass with water for her from the fridge as she coughed her scandalized soul out into her own hand.

“You guys are so weird,” Adelyn offered with helpful teenage scorn, before she scooped ice cream onto an upside-down cookie, the topped it with another freshly baked cookie that she gently pushed down on until the ice cream melted enough for the sandwich to become a manageable size to bite into. She put it on a plate for Emma, then made one for herself after Tara, Sofia and I, all declined to indulge. I wasn’t an ice cream fan. I knew Sofia could take it or leave it depending on the flavor. If Tara hadn’t practically been poured into her red cocktail dress with its halter neckline, and hug curving silhouette that managed to convey. ‘Sex-on-a-stick’ despite the knee length hemline, she probably would’ve taken Addie up on her dairy delights offer. Unfortunately, there wasn’t room in that dress to hide a nickel, let alone any lactose bloat.

The dress matched her lipstick, and the bloom of the poppies tattooed into her skin. The rest of her makeup was subdued. So was her hair, which had been tamed into a mass of thick waves rather than her usual, self-described, ‘curly or die’, blonde mop. I wasn’t into women, but between the wicked smile she shot my way when she caught me looking, and the perfectly executed twirl she pulled off in nudes stilettos that made her legs go on for days, and would’ve flared the skirt of her up around her thighs if it hadn’t hugged her body so snugly, I hoped Sloane had control over her lady-lizard-brain. I didn’t have a clue why Tara—who was usually all about communication—was going the bull-headed, teenage boy route of bad romance, but if she did actually like Sloane as much as I suspected that she did, I didn’t want her to be hurt by a one-night hookup just for the sake of making a point.

“Graceful as a baby giraffe,” I said, my tease earning a truly elegant twist of Tara’s wrists as she flipped me off with both hands behind Emma’s head. Boos of discontent were hurled at me from the other female members of my audience.

“Keep being mean and I’m going to make you wear the other shirt that’s sheer enough to show off your n-i-p-p-l-e-s, just like every other bad news boy in South Beach.”

Emma didn’t catch on to the spelling thank God, but Addie cracked up, biting into her ice cream sandwich so hard that a piece of cherry vanilla ice cream flopped out of the back and onto the counter.

“Nice,” I said to Tara as I went for a paper towel, my cheeks probably a similar color to the cherries in the ice cream.

“He’s totally turning colors, Aunt Tara,” Adelyn said, her smile as gleeful as one of Satan’s minions as she licked her sticky fingers.

“Well, we are rainbow warriors, so he has a plethora to choose from.”

Sofia looked amused as Tara and I continue to squabble like siblings, before Emma finally broke in with, “What are you wearing tonight, mami?”

That was suddenly the question of the hour and every pair of eyes in the room, including mine, turned in interest towards a now beet red Sofia.

I knew for a fact that Tara had helped her pick out whatever she was wearing tonight, so our blonde bestie was stirring the pot to get Sofia out of the insecure shell Connor had pushed her into when she said, “It’s a very pretty dress, Emma. Pink and lacy. All the good things.”

Sounds like that pink lace number you tried sneaking out of the house in when we were sixteen, Sof. The one with the cutout right—"

In full, berry bubblegum color, Sofia swatted at me when I started to gesture toward my own chest.

"Your Uncle Sam’s getting old," Sofia cut in with a warning look when Adelyn looked between us with unabashed interest after putting some sprinkles in a bowl for Emma to dip her now deconstructed sandwich into. "He doesn't remember things very well."

“I remember what you were like at sixteen,” I said, taking my life into my hands as I waggled my eyebrows at Sofia. “Your mom was moooody, Addie. Couldn't look at her sideways. Your uncle Max used to call her Spanish Spice, because of her epically bad taste in girl bands.”

I laughed when Sofia’s swung at me again, then pulled her into a hug so I could drop a kiss to the top of her head. “But she was just as smart and beautiful as she is now.”

“Nice save,” Tara said as she slapped me on the back of the head after I let go of a smiling, but still pink Sofia, who shooed me out of the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

“A.J. sent me a text a little while ago that said he was just finishing up his business dinner, so that’s probably Ben.”

“Ooh part two of the Trammel family male review has arrived,” Tara said, cackling when I discreetly returned her earlier flip off one-handed, then went to the front door. I didn’t bother looking through the people. It was too late for any kind of delivery, and A.J. had also texted me about ten minutes ago, telling me that he, Sofia and Tara would meet Ben and I at the club. Process of elimination meant my date was on the other side of the door.

Smiling, I opened it with Ben’s name on my lips in greeting. A greeting that morphed from warm excitement, to startled surprise when instead of my boyfriend, I saw my best friend standing on the other side of the door.

“Max…”