Halos and Heroes - 9. Chapter 9

The secret to getting away with lying, is believing with all your heart; that goes for lying to yourself even moreso than lying to another.

—Elizabeth Bear

SOMETIMES being guided by a strong moral compass was a pain in the ass. Had mine pointed more south, I wouldn't have found myself standing outside the community center where Ben's support meeting was being held, trying to work up the courage to go inside. I'd be at home, hiding behind my original plan of avoidance with my youngest niece and a Disney marathon. Thanks to all of A.J.’s meddling, that ship had sailed, and now Ben was expecting me to be attend the meeting tonight. So here I was, encouraged only by the smiley face emoji that had followed the community centers address when Ben had texted me the information earlier tonight.

I’d stayed away from any form of liquid courage, so I was running on three things; sheer bravado, the three pieces of cinnamon gum that I had in my mouth—a purchase made to remind me of just how good the simplest things could be around Ben—and the supportive thumbs up that Sofia, A.J. and Emma had given me from around the kitchen island before I’d left. They’d all been sharing the pizza Emma had invited A.J. to stay for even after I’d had to leave. I’d probably have some thoughts on that later, but for now, their encouragement helped me to focus on the task at hand—also known as getting my sneakered feet to propel me closer to the doors of the building—because I didn’t want to go home and face their disappointment that I’d bailed on Ben.

I sighed as I popped my gum like a sulky teenager. The plain brick building was guarded by a chain link fence and some town mandated trees. From the outside, the community center looked innocent enough. Four walls. A roof. A floor. Not a place that would suck me in and spit me out incoherent and dejected. But I knew better. Checking my phone and seeing another text from Ben saying that he was glad I'd chosen to give the group a chance, was all that made me walk through the front door instead of bolting back to the car.

Inside, the lights were on in strategic patterns, no doubt leading me to the main meeting area like a trail of cookie crumbs. I knew what happened to Hansel and Gretel in that story, so I was in no rush to reach the doors at the end. As I wandered down the hall, I set the timer on my cell phone to go off in half an hour. If I needed to flee the group before then, I'd have to come up with another excuse, even if it meant breaking my plans for a dry nightcap with Ben, after the meeting was over.

A mural against the far wall caught my attention. Photographs in black and white, as well as color, had been cut into various shapes to create a cluster that formed a massive photo puzzle. The shots range from semi-professional looking action shots, to fading Polaroids and slightly grainy images that had obviously been printed on an average-at-best, home printer after being downloaded from cell phones. Ben’s face peered at me from a group shot with a bunch of kids at some kind of state fair. In another picture, dressed in formal black, complete with collar, he presided over a baptism. He appeared in more than half of the photographs, and no matter the situation, he always exuded warmth, confidence and that easy smile I was becoming stupidly fond of. My favorite was the photo of him wearing a giant buffalo chicken hat, hamming it up with a group of teenagers who were holding up a sign that advertised some kind of BBQ event last year.

"You made it."

Startled, I glanced up to see Ben standing a few feet away. I hadn’t heard him approach. That reality made me uneasy. Once upon a not so long time ago, he’d never have gotten the drop on me like that. I was off my game tonight. Seeing him in the flesh wasn't helping matters any.

Ben was wearing jeans in a wash so dark they looked black, paired with a basic black t-shirt, and his usual black sneakers. The outfit was lightened only by his white clerical collar. It was a very monochromatic look, but it worked for him with his dark hair strikingly highlighted by his natural silver. In contrast, I’d opted for my new jeans with a plain white t-shirt. Minimalist and easy, but it also offset the fluorescent purple, pink and lime green friendship bracelet that had adorned my left wrist since earlier this afternoon when Emma had made it for me and put it there after making me promise not to take it off. Sofia had whispered to me in passing that the lanyards Emma had made it out of were a nearly indestructible plastic, so I’d be tagged until the damn thing wore off from age.

Ben seemed amused by it when his gaze swept me, lingering on that tragic wrist. His lips twitched as he met my eyes and smiled. He approved. Whether that approval was directed at the bracelet, or the fact I’d come, was up for debate. It was unlikely it was for my appearance. My outfit was generic at best. And while Ben’s salt and pepper hair was in a casually tumbled mess of soft curls across his forehead, looking like they’d been semi-styled with some intention, my own hair rocked a slight, natural wave from being in need of a cut. It probably translated as bedhead, because I’d just carelessly dragged my fingers through it. But since Connor had never worn his hair this long, and been nearly religious about shaving clean cut, I was ok with the shaggy hair. I was also cool with the scruff starting to grow in heavier along my jaw and cheeks, though it looked like a pubescent attempt beside Ben’s perfect shadow that seemed to be perpetually at 5:00 pm, regardless of the actual hour.

"Hey." Not my finest line ever, but at least I wasn't in the middle of a panic attack, or in an alcohol induced stupor.

"Hi. I'm glad you came. I thought I’d be getting blown off via text right about now.”

I felt my ears heat when he grinned. I cleared my throat hard to dislodge the embarrassment, but the heat of my blush quickly evolved into a different kind of heat when Ben stepped closer to me. He hooked his fingers through one of my belt loops and pulled me close enough that his other arm could slide around my waist. He moved effortlessly, naturally. My eyes closed, and my mouth went pliant under his the moment they touched. The kiss was slower and gentler than the passionate ones we’d exchanged in his kitchen yesterday morning, but it held just as much promise for better things to come. It wasn’t quite a toe-curling effect. More like the low vibration of excited energy before a childhood birthday party, when you were already fantasizing about savoring a piece of celebratory cake that would taste better than any other cake in the world, because it was meant specifically for you.

The soft sound that fled my throat when Ben pulled away, sounded suspiciously like a petulant wine to my ears. The brush of his thumb against my cheek mollified me, though his next words kicked up my internal cringe meter, sweeping me from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.

“You have no idea how happy I was when you responded to my text. I set up the back deck of my place with some citronella lamps to keep away the vampiric mosquitos, as well as some more pillows and lightweight blankets so we can enjoy the evening. I also made some hibiscus sun tea earlier. We can mix it with fresh mint and lime seltzer for some mocktails tonight if you’d like.”

Ben’s smile was warm and genuine. I felt like a monster for potentially wiping it away, but I wasn’t going to lie to him. Not because he was a man of God, and I was worried about fire and brimstone. That ship had probably sailed the moment I’d kissed him like I wanted to eat him from the neck down in his living room the night he’d rescued me from the bar. I didn’t want to lie to him for no other reason than that I hated lying to anyone I cared about. It was a very short list to begin with, so the fact Ben had even made it on there, said a lot.

I sighed. “About that… All cards on the table…” Ben’s curious expression made me sigh again. “I didn’t send any of those text messages. A.J. did.”

Ben blinked, then just looked at me like he was trying to process what to do with that new bit of information. “Oh….”

My sigh sounded even more defeated the third time around. “I wanted to text you back, but I wasn’t sure what to say. He snatched my phone like a brat, then texted you before I could take it away from him. I’m sorry.”

“I see…”

Ben was quiet for another moment, but then the left corner of his mouth quirked. “Well, I guess the good news is that you must’ve told him a lot about what happened between us, because those texts were very convincing as 100% Sam approved material.”

I groaned, because sighing just wasn’t a strong enough sound effect at this point in the game.

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell him everything. Not the more…”

“Intimate details?” Ben said, supplying the word when I struggled to find it.

“Yeah… He knows we kissed and talked… and then kissed some more, but he has a freaking filthy mind, and I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea about you, or about us. I just gave him enough to fill in the blanks so he wouldn’t write a porn version of events in his own head. He likes reading fanfiction shit, so I don’t trust leaving him to his own devices to write the script for my private life.”

Ben’s brow lifted. A small smile curved that same left corner of his full mouth a little bit deeper. To my mortification, the smile turned into a grin, then a full out laugh. I tried to run, suddenly eager to get to the support group. Being forced to process my past trauma, and peel away years of bad-code-conditioning, had to be better than failing at communicating like a normal human being. Unfortunately, Ben caught me. Curling his long fingers around my wrist, he tugged both my arms forward, swiftly wrapping them around his trim waist before he moved his own left arm around my neck. The knuckles of his right gently caressed the hard ridge of my jaw.

“You were trying to defend my honor….” His grin deepened, hazel eyes shining with satisfied glee. “You didn’t want your best friend to think you’d corrupted your friendly family priest.”

Oh, for shit’s sake.

I shrugged. “We didn’t sleep together… no need for him to believe we did.”

‘Uh huh.” Ben’s fingers teased on the side of my neck, setting off a row of tiny sparking flames that could probably go from a simmer to a full out blaze with embarrassingly little effort on his part if he wanted that.

“Did you tell him what I used to do?”

I nodded slightly. “It sorta of came up in the conversation. I’m sorry, Ben. But A.J,’s solid. He’ll take the secret to his grave. You don’t have to worry about him judging you. If anything, it’s what’s motivating some of his matchmaking. For a straight man, he’s ridiculously interested in the queer end of things. It’s like the guilty pleasure of reality TV for him.”

Ben chuckled. “It’s ok Sam. He’s one of your people. I expected that sooner or later, both he and Max would know. Sofia and Tara are my people, and they both already knew. I’m not upset. I’m just surprised that after sharing information that would make it more plausible that I was the one trying to seduce you, that your first instinct was still to try and protect my reputation.” He grinned. “It’s… sweet.”

Oh hell.

I cleared my throat. “I’m so—"

I didn’t get to finish my apology for acting like an overprotective high-school boyfriend, because Ben suddenly kissed me.

Hard.

And Oh. My God… This kiss was everything he’d brought to the table in his kitchen yesterday morning, plus so much possibility for the future.

I’d been kissed before. I’d been kissed a lot. And until this moment, all those kisses and erotic touches had been good, but they’d still paled in comparison to both my very first kiss with Max on the roof of his parent’s house, and the first time we’d fucked in the basement on that ridiculous puce green, shag area rug. Those had been the highlights in my life that I’d measured every other romantic and sexual encounter up against.

I didn’t know how Ben was in bed, but I knew how he kissed. Fuck, did I know how he kissed. And as much of a betrayal as it felt to admit it, not even my first kiss with Max could hold a candle to what I was feeling now that Ben was claiming every inch of my mouth possessively, seemingly not giving any number of fucks about the fact we were standing in the middle of a hallway where anyone could walk by and see us making out.

Good Goddamn!

Ben looked slightly dazed when I pulled back first to see his face. His eyes were half-lidded, his lower lip slightly puffed. I doubted I looked any less debauched.

“Um… we should probably get to this group thing, right?”

“Yes, we probably should.” Ben rubbed his thumb gently across my lower lip to free it from the hold of my upper teeth. “After I tell you that you’re a walking temptation, Samuel Trammell. Smart, noble, capable, smoking hot, and... endearingly sweet.”

I knew I was blushing again, but the slow, genuinely happy smile curving Ben’s mouth was a balm that soothed the worst of my embarrassment.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. His fingers tangled with mine before he raised our joined hands to his lips to kiss my knuckles. For a hot second, it was tempting to throw my own summary of Benjamin Santiago out at him; Smart, compassionate, funny, worldly, surprisingly suave, and too damn sexy for my sanity. Fortunately, my tongue cooperated with my brain’s command to zip it.

“You’re welcome. Let's go meet the gang. You came on a good night. Almost everybody was able to make it."

And that was how I found myself standing in the middle of a room holding Ben's hand, just like Emma had predicted at the funeral. The hand holding had started out as a romantic gesture, but it’d become an appropriate, gentle shackle when nine sets of eyes had riveted themselves on me ,and I’d been tempted to take off. There was no hostility in any of the faces, but I still tensed. I'd known that listening to Ben about this group was a bad idea, but the man's smile was lethal. Just one could convince you to do anything, like rob a bank, or face down a roomful of civilians you couldn't just shoot to make your life easier.

"Hey, everybody, say hello to Sam. Sam, this is everybody. We have nametags but don't usually wear them in here. Maybe we can just go around the room and quickly introduce ourselves."

Ben smiled like it was the greatest idea in the world, keeping hold of me as one hand went up. It was attached to a slim wrist that jingled because of the army of bangle bracelets looped around the woman’s arm. I recognized Tara's straw fedora before I did her face.

"Hey, Sam. Nice to see you. Father Ben should be named Peter, for all the fish he reels in."

Beside me, Ben snorted. I grinned. "Yeah, it went something like that. Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late. You brought our fearless leader with you. We couldn’t start without him.” Tara winked at me.

“Have a seat.”

The invitation came not from Tara, but from a man who looked possibly about my age, though his receding hairline made his actual age questionable. He gestured to the two empty seats beside him. I assumed one was for Ben, since they were the only two chairs left, except for one on the other side of the circle, but glanced at Ben first to make sure I was reading the room correctly.

"Sam." Ben voice was soft. I realized he hadn't let go of my hand and focused on the warmth of his palm as I met his encouraging gaze. "Just join us. You don't have to talk today if you’d prefer not to. You can just hang out and enjoy the fellowship. No pressure.”

"Come on, soldier boy. We only eat newbies on their second session," Tara said.

Varying levels of laughter encouraged me to the seat beside Ben after he released my hand. His face immediately creased into that open smile that always knocked me on my ass.

"You know Tara. That's Hank. Then we have Veronica there, and Cayden beside her..." He continued on with the introductions, but I only heard half of it because the sudden surge of my heart rate distracted me with a cold chill.

I was sitting in a room full of people who ranged in age from a rusty-haired kid—who was so pierced and tatted that it almost distracted from the fact that despite his broad shoulder span, his leanly lanky build was that of someone who hadn’t yet grown past his late teens or possibly his earliest twenties, into the adult version of his body—to the slender woman seated two places down from Hank on the right. Her sparse, cotton candy puffed blonde hair, blue jumpsuit, and dark blue eyeliner under tired green eyes said she was pushing seventy, though she was trying to give off forty. None of these people posed any visible threat to me, yet just like at the mall, I was beginning to be taken over by that panicked feeling I was really beginning to hate because it was becoming so familiar.

There was no physical danger here, but I couldn’t say the coast was clear of emotional landmines. I’d been raised to keep family secrets. In the military, that trend had continued. I confided in Max and A.J., but past that, I kept my mouth shut. No one needed to hear me whine about being dealt a shitty hand in life. A lot of people were worse off.

I closed my eyes and forced in a deep breath, trying to convince myself that the panic attack would subside. When I opened them again, Tara was looking right at me from her spot across from my seat. She was the only one who seemed to notice that there was something going on with me. The rest of the group was listening to Hank, who was telling a story about the loss of his ten-year old son, Ethan, in a car accident. Hank was planning to go to a baseball game in the fall and get every possible overpriced ballpark food he could because it was what his son had always done when they went together.

It was a touching and heartfelt story.

I couldn't stand a word of it.

I was set to run as soon as I could get my brain and legs to cooperate, but then, Tara inclined her head slightly toward the door. My eyes narrowed in confusion, but I caught on when she got up. The ankle length skirt on her colorful sundress was long enough to cover her feet when she walked, giving me just the briefest glimpse of bright pink toes when she pivoted, then headed for the door.

My legs felt wooden. I glanced over at Ben. His subtle nod gave me permission to follow her. The moment I got outside, the air felt bearable again. I leaned heavily against the brick wall, keeping it at my back for support.

"Feeling better?" Tara was all gentle concern. "You looked like you needed a Calgon moment."

"Sorry. I wasn't expecting that many people."

"Because you think you're the only one with issues?"

I stiffened. "I didn't mean to offend anyone, Ma'am."

Tara waved a dismissive hand. "I'm impossible to offend unless you call me Ma'am again. Take a breath, soldier boy. I get why you ran. It's not easy going through the seven stages of grief, especially the real first stage no one talks about—being a self-centered wuss." Her hand lightly touched my arm when my jaw twitched. "But better a wuss who shows up even if he’s afraid to face his feelings, then an asshole who hides and wallows in self-pity. Believe me, I know. I was said asshole." Her expression gentled. "You look like you need to recharge. There's a good diner across the street."

"Thanks, but—"

"You're totally not interested in women. I know, and that's perfect, because I'm feeding you greasy spoon fare, not my girl parts. Like I told you the other day, you and I need to have a chat, and this seems as good a time as any. Needy and vulnerable is kind of how I make my living."

“Right… Ben said you’re a therapist.”

“Uh huh. I specialize in working with teens who are balls of emotions. Most of them are also reluctant to the idea of therapy and prefer to rage at the world, and/or self-destruct. Since you don’t seem to know your ass from your elbow right now, I feel like you fall under my purview. Consider this an unofficial intervention.”

Her am looped through mine and she grinned as I helplessly allowed her to lead me like a toy duck on a string because I didn’t know how else to handle a tiny blonde dynamo.

"C'mon. I told you I don't eat people, but that can always change if I don't get a burger soon."

* * *

After Tara turned the waitress away from our table for the second time because I hadn't made up my mind about my order, I set the menu down. I wasn’t familiar with this place, even though none of the furnishings, including the worn vinyl booth we were sitting in, looked brand new. "What's good here?"

"Are you a vegan, or anything else that may hinder my enjoyment of a slab of still softy mooing cow?"

My lips quirked. She obviously wasn’t, ‘that girl’; the size 2 who’d order a side salad and pretend she wasn’t secretly fantasizing about her boyfriend’s more delicious, greasy food choices. "Burgers are fine with me."

"Perfect." She flagged the waitress back down with the ease of someone who was familiar with the routine. "Two 'Black & Bleu' burgers cooked medium rare, with a double side of Matt's famous onion rings for me instead of the fries, please. No kissing happening on this date."

She handed our laminated menus back to the waitress with a smile, then took a sip from the straw in her glass of root beer. "So, are you ready to tell me your story, or are you just in it for the food and stable seat under your ass for a little while?”

I blinked. She was gorgeous, sharp, and a fucking category five hurricane, in full vivid color. "That's direct."

Tara grinned. "You're a big, tough guy. Former Ranger, right? You can handle it."

"We might have to disagree if you're the one dishing it out."

"Meh, that's what all the boys say." She gave herself a little shake that rattled her bangle bracelets again. "But you forget I saw you in action at the funeral." Tara made a rude noise. "Some people shouldn't be allowed to breed. Are you okay? We didn’t really get to talk much at Sofia’s house yesterday"

"I'm fine. No charges were pressed."

"That doesn't surprise me. Father Ben does a lot of charity work for the police department through the church. Your police report probably got 'lost' in the same place socks disappear to from the dryer."

I carefully tore off the narrow strip of blue paper that was holding together my silverware ,which was bundled in a napkin. I set the silverware to the side to make space for my plate when it eventually arrived, then started rolling the paper into a thin, tight tube that served no purpose other than an acceptable way to fidget in public.

"I wasn't expecting him to intervene like that."

"He must've felt you needed a protector. Though I'm not really sure why since you're the definition of ‘Army Strong.'"

She eyed my bicep. Instinctive human vanity made me flex a bit even though she wasn’t even remotely my type, and I felt about as sexy as milk toast right now.

"How long were you in the military?"

"Almost sixteen years. I was honorably discharged before I came back to Florida for Connor's funeral."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Sam. Is that what brought you to the group?"

I smirked. "I think you saw what brought me to the group—the kicking and screaming were over by the time we walked in. What about you?"

"The same. The rest of the crew has heard my drama so many times, they'll love you for the fresh meat alone. But you should watch out for Helen.”

“Helen?”

“The thirsty blonde with the tattooed blue eyeliner,” she said, describing the woman I’d noticed earlier. "She’s really sweet, but she’s also 65, freshly divorced, and will cheerfully tell anyone who listens, about her newly liberated libido.”

I grinned. “I’m gay all day, every day.”

Tara bared her teeth wolfishly in return. “Bet you a buck that won’t stop her. She’s admirably self-confident. I should get her to run a group about female sexual empowerment with me.”

I felt my lips curl into a smile at the same time my heart rate began to decrease. I wasn’t good with opening up to people—as anyone who knew me could testify to—but Tara seemed to be a person who would boldly open every single cabinet and cupboard you liked to hide in, then chop off the locks with an ax, or possibly an electric chainsaw. Bold, and completely unrepentant about her take-no-prisoners approach. I knew she was a shrink, but so far, I couldn’t imagine her as the type who’d ask you to spill your guts without some very active listening on her end of things.

“I’ll give you five if you tell me what brought a shrink to a support group, and about the ink,” I said, gesturing towards the bold colors on her wrist that swept up her arm, to her shoulder, and upper back.

“Hey, all properly trained people of the therapy ilk have their own therapist. We might've become counselors to help people who need someone to guide them towards self-navigating their pain, but that doesn’t mean we don’t also occasionally need our own outlet to unload the combo of all that crazy on top of our own.”

I chuckled. She took another sip from her soda after the waitress came to refill my water glass.

"I’ll tell you, if you’re sure you can stomach tales of more woe, than that of Juliet, and her Romeo."

Tara winked when I stared at her over my glass. "Sorry, I was originally a lit major before switching to psychology. Women are suckers for poetry, so I was quite the catch."

My surprise must have broadcast clearly because she chuckled. "I did tell you I was okay with you not having any interest in my girl parts. I put most men in the same category as monkeys in the zoo; fun to watch, but I don't want to take one home with me."

I grinned. I liked her lack of bullshit. "My ears are ready for you."

“Since the ink and my story are a 2-for-1 deal, here's the Cliff Notes version; after many failed endeavors in both college and my career, 2001 was the culmination of a life well crapped on." Her eyes met mine. Unlike Emma’s they weren’t magnified by the lenses of her glasses. They were a darker shade of blue than Max’s were, but they were just as clear and approachable. "I moved to Florida from my native small town in Alabama after a failed relationship, and I lost my older brother the same year. All things which when combined, sent me into an alcoholic bender that lasted on and off for two and a half years, mostly in Atlantic City Casinos, though I sometimes did the Vegas thing.”

She took a long sip from her glass, the ice cubes clicking gently together. "Nate was a firefighter in New York City... a first responder..."

She didn't expand any further, but I read between the lines.

“Shit… I'm sorry, Tara."

"Don't be. People like you tried to set things right. I'm grateful for that. It was just a really shitty, and unfair life adjustment that so many people were forced to make.”

“I was enlisted with lots of guys who either lost someone or knew someone who did. Connor and I didn’t personally lose anyone when the towers went down, but I can tell you that every single person in the military, branch-wide, was more motivated to do their part to ensure nothing like that ever happened again in our lifetime.”

Tara clinked her water glass lightly against mine. “May every victim, survivor, and kick-ass fucking warrior like you, all find peace one day.”

I’d come to terms with the part I’d played 80% of the time, but that 10% could be a bitch without the addition of my personal demons, so I didn’t linger on that comment.

“I know that poppies have been a symbol of military sacrifice and remembrance since World War One, so I’m assuming the ink is in memoriam to your brother?”

Tara nodded, her hand going to the silver key pendant around her neck, like it was an instinctual gesture when the subject of her ink came up. “Yes. So is the cardinal, because they’re spiritually affiliated with angels. The whole, ‘If an angel is near, a cardinal appears,’ saying. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it makes me feel better, like Nate’s still watching over me, the way he always did when we were kids. He was the best human being. Only guy I've ever known who actually deserved the near-sainthood status he was awarded during his funeral."

“The key in your ink looks like your necklace.”

“I know.” Her thumb rubbed lightly across the pendant, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger delicately. I noted with absent surprise that despite obviously loving color and pattern, she kept her fingernails sensibly short, and polished with only a clear gloss.

“This was a gift from Nate from my 18^th birthday. I never take it off. It and my car are the only things I have left from him that were meant specifically for me other than photos and birthday cards. I do have his fiancée’s engagement ring, but that’s an entire can of worms we don’t have enough time to even peek into. Come back to the group one day, and I’ll make sure to work it into the conversation.” She offered a crooked smile. “Anyway, the pendant and the car are two of my most prized possessions.”

“The blue convertible?”

She nodded with a wistful smile that was slightly dimmed from the heart heavy subject matter.

“He gave it to me right before he moved to New York City with his fiancée, Ivy. I maintain it as well as I can, but Lola could use some cosmetic upgrades. I’m always terrified someone will mess up something as simple as an oil change, so I’ve never gone for quotes for real restoration work.”

I smiled, because it didn’t surprise me in the slightest that she’d named her car.

“I used to be a gearhead before I enlisted. Connor and I partially restored an old Camaro we took cross country with Sofia when we were kids, about a year after Adelyn was born. We never got to finish the restoration after we joined the military. Eventually, we had to sell the car, but I can do most repairs that aren’t cosmetic. I’ll never be a pristine paint job or upholstery guy, but I can fix almost anything under the hood. I definitely wouldn’t screw up an oil change. So, if you ever need help, let me know.”

Tara smile was restored to its previous brilliance immediately.

“Really?”

“Sure. It’d be nice to just lose myself in trying to figure out something mechanical that can be diagnosed and probably fixed more easily than my personal life.”

“Mmm, that sounds like the perfect segue into you telling me about why Ben brought you to the group tonight.”

I took the strip of paper from her napkin and when she offered it over to me. Apparently, she’d caught on to my anxiety induced origami.

You can do this, Sam. It’s going to have to come out eventually. A test run with a licensed person you actually seem to like is a start. You just need to start somewhere. Talking to a shrink doesn’t mean you’re a whiney baby who can’t handle shit. A.J. goes to therapy, and he’s one of the most capable fucking people you know.

“My first Ranger team was ambushed in Afghanistan,” I finally said, though I was looking at the little piece of paper I was rolling out flat, then folding in half to manipulate it another way. “Everyone except for Connor, A.J. Devlin and me, were killed. I was severely injured in the initial chaos, and then again when I insisted, we go back for Connor. Our team and his EOD team had gotten separated in the blast. We survived, but it cost us all a lot. Physically, and mentally. A.J. retired completely, though he eventually started his own private security firm. He likes the work but hates the field. I eventually got promoted for, ‘showing valor under pressure.’ Devlin and Connor… they saw it as a wakeup call, I guess, and acted on feelings that broke my fucking heart.”

Tara nodded, quietly waiting me out even though I could see that curiosity was burning a hole in her soul, eyes widening as she tried to piece things together.

I hesitated. She was friends with Sofia. Granted, so was Ben, but even though she’d asked, I wasn’t sure I should tell her everything. Not just because I was worried it might eventually make it back to Sofia, but also because telling Tara what had really happened between Connor and me, meant burdening her with that secret.

“Are you sure you want to know? Because this isn’t stuff I’m every going to share out loud in the group. It’s heavy shit I’d prefer to keep off the record, so to speak.”

Tara didn’t miss a beat. She held out the hand without the army of bangles on that same arm. I felt my brow hitch. My silent question was answered when Tara crooked her fingers at me and said, “One dollar please. From that point on, anything you tell me today is considered an impromptu therapy session, and all information disclosed will be treated as privileged. Nothing you share will leave my lips unless you’re planning to hurt yourself, or someone else. Other than that, consider me your personal Fort Knox.”

“Here?”

Tara ignored my skeptical look and just crooked her fingers again. I fished a ten out of my wallet with a low chuckle, then handed it to her.

“One for now, one for the bet I’m sure I’ll lose about Helen, and the five promised for the origin of your ink. Consider the rest hazard pay for your personal future therapy sessions.”

Tara grinned. “Those co-pays get you every time.”

She pocketed the bill somewhere in the voluminous skirts of her dress, then folded her hands together on top of the table. “Perfect. Proceed.”

I leaned forward slightly so she could hear me even when I lowered my voice. She immediately did the same. The diner lacked the officially sanctioned walls of silence of a therapist’s office. But at a little after 8:30 pm, the place was mostly empty. It was just us, a teenage couple sharing a sundae and fries near the windows at a small table, and three older people at the long, classic diner counter. They were drinking coffee and finishing their meals as they chatted with one of the two waitresses working tonight. Ours was at the register. I assumed there was a full kitchen staff behind those closed doors where culinary magic happened, but past that, Tara and I were fairly isolated in our booth. It was as good a situation for privacy as I could hope for, since the only way I’d probably ever walk into an actual shrink's office again, would be if I was dragged by my damn ears.

“I need you to know, before anything else, that I had no idea that Connor was abusing Sofia and the girls. If I had, things might’ve worked out differently. But I didn’t know because I broke ties with my brother after I found out…”

Keep going, Sam. Connor and Devlin were the ones that fucked shit up, not you.

“After I found out that he was sleeping with Devlin."

Tara’s eyes went wide. I plowed ahead because it was probably one of those situations where it was better to just tear off the proverbial band-Aid. “Dev also happened to be sleeping with me at the time. We kept it on the DL because neither of us was out, but Connor knew. AJ found out later.”

The ‘O’ of surprise that Tara’s mouth had formed, shifted after a moment, into a perfectly straight, tight line. I recognized the visual cue for anger, but I wasn’t exactly sure who the anger was directed at considering how many players were on the stage I’d set for her just now.

I tried to wait her out, letting my eyes go unfocused to help keep my expression neutral except for the brief smile of thanks I offered to our waitress when she set our plates down on the table. When she asked if we needed anything else, I was the one who said no, because Tara seemed to still be processing as she sliced her burger in half with her knife. I eyed the knife but got a smile from the waitress who obviously wasn’t reading the tension at our table.

When she returned to the counter to chat with the customers there who seem to be locals, considering the ease of their conversation, I slowly exhaled. I felt the same buzz of on-the-edge energy I'd experienced each and every single time a mission had taken me into hostile territory. I’d never run, or refused to do my job, but that didn’t mean I’d ever been unaware that everything could unravel at any given moment.

That was how I felt right now.

My gaze lifted to meet Tara’s again. I’d chosen to trust her, so despite that sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, I placed the little piece of paper that I’d folded, pressed and pinched into a little origami lucky star—the diner edition— by the edge of her plate.

Tara shifted subtly in her seat, but instead of taking the star, she leaned over and stole one of my French fries. She bit into it, chewing and swallowing before she pointed the remaining piece at me after she swallowed.

“Sam, I’ve been a therapist for years. Between that, and my drunken casino queen days, I’ve pretty much heard it all, so I want you to know your secrets are safe with me. I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that, because yeah, that kind of betrayal is some mother-loving BS.” She ate the rest of the fry. “I never would’ve pegged Connor for being closeted, though it does explain some of his shithead angst and misplaced anger.”

“Connor said he wasn’t gay,” I said, relieved as hell when my voice registered as calm to my own ears. “He said he and Devlin, ‘just worked,’ in ways he and Sofia didn’t. That Devlin got him.”

“Well, blaming the victim is always Superstar Douche 101.” The lasered look in Tara’s eyes could’ve sliced ass hairs off an ant’s ass.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It didn’t fly with me either.”

I watched as Tara stole a second fry, completely ignoring the onion rings on her own plate for the time being. I didn’t care. She was welcome to as many as she wanted. My appetite had faded into non-existence, even though both my burger and fries looked like quintessential diner perfection.

“So, you almost get killed, you lose your friends, your identical twin brother betrays you because he was probably-most-definitely, closeted, angry, and unable to process like a normal empathetic adult. Totally the type of semi-sadistic, fully narcissistic man-child that FBI profilers would cream themselves over.” She paused, then looked right at me so I would see the truth in her eyes as she added, “And no, I don’t think you two are anything alike.”

I didn’t realize that I’d been holding my breath until her words released the tension in my body. I exhaled.

“Connor and I… We processed most things differently, ever since we were kids. Our house was a war zone half the time.”

“And Connor adjusted by becoming part of that storm, essentially assimilating into his own brand of chaos so he didn’t get swept away. Whereas you went 180 out from that. Neat. Stoic. Maybe a little anal retentive about orderliness and details, which probably leant itself well to the military.”

I shrugged, finally picking up my burger to take a bite of it. It was juicy and perfectly cooked to a warm, medium rare hue. Classic deliciousness.

It tasted like ash in my mouth when I swallowed.

I put the burger back down, then blinked when Tara laid her hand over mind to gently squeeze it. Like Ben, she seemed to be a casual toucher. Though her touch didn’t make my heart skip a beat, her skin was soft and warm. It felt nice after I got over my initial surprise. Our personal parts weren’t compatible, so there wasn’t any kind of sexual tension between us. It was just an odd comfort I hadn’t expected to find tonight in anyone other than Ben.

“I like having control over my situation,” I said. “Even as a kid, I was the one who tried to keep the peace, keep my head. Of course, I wanted to lash out and smash the world to pieces just like Connor did. But I knew if I started, if I crossed that line, I might never stop. The military mellowed me out, molded me with purpose. I couldn’t protect my mother from my father, but I could protect other people needing to be saved from their monsters. Monsters who did damage on a much more mass casualty scale. Knowing all that, it settled me, and I was a better man. A family man, despite all the shit I saw, because coming home to Sofia and my nieces was a sanctuary.”

“Then why did you stop coming home, Sam?” Tara’s voice was gentle. Nonjudgemental. She was still touching my hand. “I get that Connor hurt you, but he stopped coming home years ago, so you wouldn’t have seen him again. Did you not know that?”

I shook my head, then took a sip from my own water glass because the piece of burger I’d eaten a few minutes ago, suddenly felt like it was trapped in my throat even though it was probably already being digested by all the additional acid of anxiety in my gut.

“When Connor and I got into it about him and Dev the night I found out, he threw things from our past in my face. Things we’d seen and had to do… That I’d had to do,” I said. My tone was low, yet steady despite the heavy current of emotion this conversation was whipping up inside every fiber of my being. Being subjected to frequent stress tests over the years to gauge both my continued mental and physical fitness had been routine. I’d learned to modulate my breathing to keep my focus on whatever task was at hand by getting out of my head. It’d eventually become second nature. Before my PTSD had manifested, I hadn’t had to actively work at control like I was doing right now.

“Tara, I didn’t cut ties with Connor because he slept with Devlin. Honestly, it was never that serious between the two of us. I trusted him, but when it came down to it, Dev was just a guy I was fucking. But Connor… he was my brother. He knew me better than anyone else in a lot of ways because we were twins. He should’ve always had my back the way I had his. But after I risked everything for him, and took a bullet for Dev, they both fucked me by fucking each other.”

I reached for the mustard bottle inside a little condiment caddy that was on the table. I squeezed some onto the side of my plate that Tara wasn’t stealing fries from. I didn’t want to stare at a glob of bright red ketchup right now. The reddish juices slowly leaking from my perfectly cooked burger, were soaking into the bread in a spreading blush pink stain. Considering the trip down memory lane we were taking, that visual was bad enough.

I swirled the fry around in the mustard, my lips curling just short of a smile when Tara muttered, “That’s gross,” under her breath.

“I usually dip them in horseradish sauce.”

“Your questionable taste in food has been noted.”

Tara’s snort somehow managed to sound lady like, as if it was something she practiced frequently. She had said she was originally from Alabama, so it was entirely possible it'd been a rite of passage instilled in her by some proper southern lady in her life. Max’s mom had the same almost polite lilt to any ‘rude noise,’ she made to convey her disappointment about something. Max and I had been on the receiving end of more than a few of those sounds, especially when she caught us texting at church.

“I put ranch dressing on my cheese and pepperoni pizza too. You can blame Max’s dad, the Colonel, for that one. It’s a Jersey thing.”

“Gross times two. Now please finish your story while I attempt to save your fries from condiment sacrilege.”

I turned my plate so she could have better access to whatever she wanted.

“I joined a different team when I got all clear to return to active duty. I needed the change and distance from Connor. I thought that would be enough for me to get over what he and Dev had done to me, to get over the things he’d said to me.” I dipped another fry into my mustard but didn’t eat it. “I fully intended to come home and reach out to Sofia when I got my head on straight. But time was limited because of my deployments so I used that as an excuse. And the more I did and saw made it harder to come back." I paused to take a sip of my water. "I don’t regret any of my military actions, Tara. I protected people, and my country. I stand by all of that even now. But that doesn't change the fact that every month that passed, made it harder to think that maybe Connor wasn’t right about saying his family was better off without us. Especially when the nightmares started, and everything started to unravel. It started slow but… well, here we are.”

I finally popped the mustard coated fry into my mouth, then leaned back into the cool embrace of the vinyl cushion of the booth. I was waiting for my usual panicked shame to come dancing jovially into the picture to sweep me away from this conversation, but I felt surprisingly calm. Maybe there was actually something to be said for talking things out with a professional, so long as it was with someone you didn’t feel judged by.

“I didn’t retire from the military Tara.” I let that sink in. “I was honorably discharged in what they sold to me as a kindness for my many years of, ‘loyal and exemplary’ service. I’m appreciative for the benefits, but I could’ve done without the lip service. I’d rather have them flat out said I was being put out to pasture because I'd become a threat to national security, just like so many other military personnel have after every war we’ve ever fought.”

I knew the exact moment Tara made connections with all the information I’d given her. Besides being an experienced therapist, she seemed sharp in general. I wasn’t surprised when she said, “You have PTSD.”

I nodded, then chewed another fry. Bare this time.

“And Sofia doesn’t know?”

“No, she doesn’t. I want to keep it that way until I decide if her knowing that 1) Her husband was closeted as fuck, and 2)his doppelganger who’s now living with her and her kids, stayed away from them for five years because he was terrified that he’d hurt them if he ever lost his shit.”

It was true, but God those words stung.

“Well, shit.”

The profanity in Tara’s silky sweet tea voice, hit the perfect cord of absurdity for a macabre version of an already bad soap opera; one that wasn’t even prime time slot worthy. My personal drama was more like one of those teeny bopper CW ones Adelyn liked that were full of attractive and very fucked up twenty-year-olds who all talked like forty-year-old pseudo intellectuals.

“Amen.” It was all I had left after my mini monologue.

“Are you getting help for your PTSD?”

“Been kind of busy with having to bury my brother and keep his family together, so that’s a negative.”

Tara ignored me, probably used to belligerence because she worked with teenagers.

“Are you planning to?”

“I don’t like shrinks.” I winced, suddenly remembering who my audience was. “Sorry Tara.”

“Don’t be. I don’t like most therapists either. Conferences are always a nightmare now that I’m sober and can’t take advantage of the open bar when people start talking, then arguing shop. Freud was a fraud and Kinsey was a perv, but they still both have some diehard groupies with fancy initials after their names. It gives me a migraine. But that didn’t answer my question.”

I sighed. Tara was like a dog with a damn bone.

“I’m not going to hurt my family. I don’t have weapons in the house. I lock my door from the inside at night, so I won’t accidentally startle and lash out if anyone comes to surprise me."

“I admire your planning skills. Organization is very sexy but you’re not my type, so I only have a fringe appreciation for it. Please answer the question.”

She held an onion ring toward me that she'd hooked around yet another of my fries. I took it, feeling like Troy’s Trojan Horse was being reincarnated in the form of fast food.

“I know that I should. Max and A.J. both think it’d be a good idea, but you already saw that I couldn’t handle a group situation. One to one is still a little raw considering the last shrink I spoke to, was the one that signed off on my discharge paperwork. I’m also not going to pop pills to numb myself out. That isn’t my style. I stopped drinking. I don’t want to replace that vice with drugs.”

“Sam, there’s a huge difference between wanting to feel and own your pain to help propel yourself forward into better things and punishing yourself with that pain because of guilt.”

“I know, Tara. And eventually, when things settle down a little with my family, then I’ll work on me. They’re just my main priority right now.”

“Do I really need to break out the overdone, but ever accurate, ‘you need to put your mask on first when a plane is going down, because if you pass out, you can’t help the kids or more vulnerable people you’re travelling with,’ adage?”

She gave me a pointed look. I held up my onion ring as acceptance of the fact I’d been schooled, then bit into it.

It was good. Perfectly fried with some thick, savory seasoned breading, almost like the texture of a tempura. It crunched beneath my teeth, falling apart to fill my mouth with an explosion of flavorful oil, and the wide strip of thinly sliced onion. Eating like this regularly guaranteed a shortened life span with clogged arteries and inevitable cardiac arrest, which is why I didn’t eat junk food often. I didn’t always have control over this shit around me, but I could keep my body honed and ready to handle said shitstorms whenever they came my way. Right now, however, that fragrant, greasy comfort food made me feel grounded in an almost bizarrely normal way.

Tara smiled. Her big blue eyes gleamed with mischief like she suspected the culinary orgasm in my mouth was settling me down.

“How about we compromise?”

“What are you offering?”

“You get me the cards of anyone you trust not to be a tool when they have to wade through decades of both my traumatic childhood bullshit, and what little of my military career isn’t classified, or redacted to the teeth, and I’ll be open to at least putting those cards in my wallet and pretending that I’ll call them sooner than I probably actually will.”

Tara’s burst of laughter exploded from her previous smile like fireworks; so loud and brilliant it was just as magical as when the sky was lit up on the fourth of July. When the laughter subsided into another ear-to-ear grin, the humor settled into fine lines around her eyes and mouth. I could probably turn on any national TV channel right now and run into at least one commercial within a 2-minute span, that advertised ways for women to erase all signs of aging. I hoped Tara never paid attention to any of them, because so few people really appreciated the privilege that getting old actually was.

“How about I get you the cards, and until then, you have to chat with me. I’ll give you my big, badass baby discount.”

"Deal." I grinned, then finished my onion ring. “Shit, that was good. I haven’t had onion rings in years.”

“Heathen.” Tara traded me another ring for more of my fries. “The fries here are amazing.”

“Says the woman who asked for a double order of onion rings.”

Tara smirked. “I like both. You’re built like a well-defined wall of, ‘Good lord, does that man even know what a donut is?’ I figured it was a safe bet I could bum a few fries off of you.”

“A few?”

She treated me to a derisive sniff, then rotated her plate. She shifted it closer to mine so she could brazenly scoop half my fries from my plate, onto her own. I felt my lips curl into a smile genuine enough to actually put some subtle strain on my cheeks. The muscles that controlled smiling were ones not as well-defined as the others on my body.

I wasn’t sure who was more surprised when my smile turned into a low rumble of laughter, but Tara murmured “good boy,” as I finally picked up my burger with both hands to bite into it.

It was still warm, and the melted blue cheese crumbles were a sharp, creamy contrast to the sauteed mushrooms. We didn’t talk for the few minutes it took me to wolf down my burger, and for Tara to make a sizable dent in my pilfered fries. After I’d wiped my hands on my napkin, and accepted a refill on my water from our waitress when she checked in, all the panic that had bitten me in the ass at the support group felt like a distantly banked memory.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Carbs alone are the devil, but carbs and protein are king.”

We clinked our water glasses together in agreement. The gesture momentarily distracted me from realizing that Tara had smoothly shifted the position of our plates yet again with her free hand. Hers, with the untouched half of her burger and the remaining onion rings, was now in front of me. My plate, which still bore a modest serving of fries, was currently in front of her. I grinned. The stealthiness of that entire op reminded me of the day Max had finally learned to undo a woman’s bra one-handed. We’d been nineteen at the time. He hadn’t shut up about his success until I’d fucked him into silence over the edge of our motel room bed with my hand over his mouth.

He’d approved. He’d undoubtedly also approve of Tara, seeing as they could probably trade sex tips. Between her deft fingers, and the voracious way she’d chowed down on her burger earlier, I had a feeling it wasn’t only her literary prowess that made her popular with women.

While I watched, she used the flat edge of her knife to neatly shovel the remaining onion rings still on the plate in front of me, onto the one in front of her. She tucked her now fully reloaded plate closer to her with the determination of a prison inmate when I lifted an eyebrow.

“It’s a fair trade for dollar therapy,” she said, ignoring my soft snort. We both knew I’d rather eat the rest of her burger.

“And since we got the ugly necessities out of the way, we can use this culinary show of good faith as a way to move onto to the good stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like how you and Benjamin Santiago just strolled on into a room of very nosy people, holding hands. That was a total mic drop, by the way. Heck, all our jaws dropped. Most of us are rescues, but Ben’s never held any of our hands into a meeting before.”

“He was trying to keep me from running.”

Tara’s garbled noise was probably a muffled combination of a rude sound and French fries finding their end in her mouth. “He kissed you at Sofia’s yesterday.”

He kissed me in the hallway here too.

I kept that to myself.

“He kissed you too. Both hello, and goodbye. He also kissed Sofia. Does that mean he secretly has the hots for my sister-in-law, or a kind of awesomely salty lesbian?”

Tara showed me her teeth, eyes crinkling with approval. “No, it means you’re all squirmy about a boy who you obviously like, liking you right back. I’m the one who secretly fantasizes about Sofia playing MaryAnn to my Ginger on a deserted island somewhere.”

“I’m totally not interested in hearing your perverse fantasies about my sister-in-law."

"Kill joy."

I laughed and finished polishing off the remainder of Tara’s burger. When I was done, I wiped my hands clean on my napkin one last time, then slumped comfortably into the booth. I felt full and relaxed in that lazy way that a good meal, and better company inevitably induces. Tara was still working her way through my stolen fries.

“Ben and I were supposed to leave together tonight after the group,” I said.

Tara had the grace to seem surprised, though I’d have bet my life that she’d already gotten that information from the horse’s mouth before tonight. She checked her watch anyway, then looked back at me.

“You still can. They should be letting out any minute now. I can get a to-go box and grab the bill.”

I shook my head slightly. “I’m good with the company I have right now. This might honestly be for the best anyway. Not counting the fact that Ben’s a priest, we come from completely different worlds. Until recently, the only way I guided people into the light was with a bullet, not a sermon. Getting involved with a guy like him… that wasn’t part of the plan when I got on that plane back in Afghanistan.”

“If you want to make God laugh, just tell him your plans.”

“Couldn’t this right here, right now, just us, be God’s plan?”

Tara was annoyed enough with both my answer and my grin, to sacrifice the fry she tossed at my head. “Don’t be cheeky. Ben likes you and now I like you, even if your best ports aren’t detachable or likely compact enough to fit into my nightstand for on demand appearances.”

She tossed another fry at me, but this one I caught in my mouth.

“That was cool, so you get one pass tonight, but just know that if you blow Ben off again when you guys inevitably reschedule because he is that persistent, it'll make him sad. That will make me very grumpy, and you’ll end up an unhappy man. So, let’s just avoid all that unpleasantness, ok? Text him later to apologize for bailing and say a sweet goodnight. Remember, you’ve got a new source of romantic literary prowess right here.”

She pointed to herself, and I took my life into my hands by stealing back one of my French fries from her plate.

“I like Ben, Tara. Like… really like him, which is ridiculous because I barely know the man. But it’s complicated with me getting my bearings after five years away, and the fact I’m sort of seeing someone already.”

“Two questions then. 1) Is it serious? 2) Does Ben know?”

I felt like Pinocchio with all this truth telling. “Yes, Ben knows about Max. He also knows it’s casual. But Max and I have been casual for almost twenty years, so it’s a unique situation.” I shrugged. “I haven’t been with anyone else for over a year and a half. The fucked-up thing is that I probably don’t know how to be with anyone else. Ben deserves someone who can give him a hundred and ten percent."

"I know Ben really well, Sam, and he's not the type to go blindly into anything. He’s probably already thought out a whole plan of action.” She swept me with a look. “I’ve been trying to set him up for years, as have most of the people who know how awesome he is. I’m talking grandsons who are lawyers and doctors being dragged out to church barecues. Even Evelyn tried pimping her son out, though he was more than willing.”

“Whose Evelyn?”

“She works in the church office. Her son’s gay and made it onto the sexy calendar the local police departments put together last fall to raise money for the families of fallen officers. You met Seargeant Andrew Whelan right? He’s July.” Tara grinned slowly, waggling her brows.

Oh, HELL no!

“Whelan? The rusty-haired Robo-Cop from the funeral?”

Tara hooted, bangle bracelets jingling gleefully as she pointed at me. “Yahtzee! There it is people. That right there, is what jelly-belly green looks like on a big, bad and stacked military man.”

She stuck her tongue out at me when I made a rude noise after she stopped celebrating long enough to pull up a screenshot of a photo of Whelan in low slung blue jeans that showed off both the cut of his hips, and the obvious effort of hard time served at a gym. Pecs and abs as sculpted as I'd suspected when he was in his uniform, were more obvious now that his uniform shirt was unbuttoned to showcase all of that muscle. He wasn't posing with his government issued firearm, but by the way his jeans molded obviously in the front, he didnt need an additional weapon when he was off the clock. He was sporting a much heavier scruff in the photo than he had when I'd seen him. It was the same rich, vivid color as his ginger hair. The thick strands were tousled, unlike the neat style he'd sported when he was dressed for work. Either a gentle summer breeze had gotten hold of it, or a lover's fingers had raked through it within the privacy of four walls, before they'd made him the cup of espresso he was holding. The small cup was a simple white one, nothing like any of Ben's crazy mugs. He was leaning against a blue and white sports bike on the beach, a small church in the background.

Realtors always said location was important; location, location, location. I'd never thought much about that until now. Despite the fact that Whelan was showing enough skin to fit in effortlessly at a male review, with the church in back, the photo managed to convey both sizzling eroticism, and an appealing wholesomeness at the same time. Especially with the small silver cross pendant around his neck. Built for both power and speed, but also a man who went to church so you could bring him home to mom. Throw in the fact there was a tiny kitten the shade of orange marmalade-- the same color as the light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks-- sitting on the bike's seat beside him, and it was astounding Whelan was single when half of Florida's eligible gay bachelor's were probably chasing him, while ogling female spectators watched in envy.

It was relatively tasteful as far as pictures like this went, but the snarky, uncharitable part of my mind, indignantly claimed it looked like a perverse advertisement for, 'protecting and serving.' And for fucks sake, were his nipples pierced?

Shit.

“Oh, stop. He's smoking hot, and that's coming from a woman who is deliciously dykey. But alas for our fine upholder of the law, Ben turned him down flat, just like he’s turned down everyone else who’s been an interested possibility. I thought maybe he was trying the celibate monk thing, but tonight, he made a very public claim on you, buddy. I guarantee that the only reason he didn’t go after you, was because he saw me leave first, and knew I’d cast a net. He likes you, Sam. You like him. Let that just be. See where it goes. I know that new beginnings are scary, but there’s probably no one on the planet who’s better equipped to understand how overwhelming starting over feels, or how doable it actually is with a little work and patience. And of course, if you’re a little rusty on romance, I’m sure Ben would be happy to pull out all the stops he learned, once upon a sexy time ago.”

"Even lesbians can't get away from the gossip gene, can they?"

Tara flipped me off. "Oh, come on. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that it's not your immortal soul he wants."

“Is this Tara the therapist talking, or Tara, Ben’s best friend?”

“A little of both, though I’m currently leaning more toward therapist, so we can avoid the whole need to threaten your junk with a rusty spoon if you hurt him.”

She grinned. I winced. I also reached for the last onion ring on her plate and got my hand slapped with the flat side of said spoon.

“I’ll share my best friend, but not my food. Unless of course, I’m trying to lull someone into a false sense of safety.”

Her eyes teased me boldly, before she patted my hand again. “Look, I know you’re carrying around a lot of weight on those big, all American Beef shoulders. But just remember, there are a lot of people around you willing to carry some of that burden. That includes your friends, Sofia and the girls, Ben, and best of all….” She tapped out a quick drumroll on the table with both hands before she grinned. “Me!”

I eyed her as another one of my former fries went the way of his predecessors, dipped bodily into the mountain of ketchup Tara had squirted onto her plate. I took that moment of her being distracted to grab the bill when the waitress set it down on the table. I wasn’t ready to leave, but after making her miss out on her original plans for the night, it was the least I could do

"I've got this. You can get the next one. I’ll text Ben after I walk you back to your car."

"Oooh, there's going to be a next one? He’ll be so jealous. And here he probably thought I wasn't competition for your time and affection."

I took the phone she held out to me so I could program my number into it, while she did the same with mine.

"Now that we're BFFs and all," she said. "I need you to promise you'll do something for me."

"What's that?"

Tara's eyes smiled at me. "Cut yourself some slack. Remember that shit happens. Then we die. That's a depressing as fuck outcome for any life unless it was well lived in between those points. So, live. Carpe diem and all of that."

"Deal," I said. "As long as you don't mind holding a garbage can for the pieces along the way."

"Sweetheart, I have stock in Hefty bags."