Life Plus One Page 17

  Sniffing my shirt, I wince and pull it over my head, while focusing my gaze out of the window. It smells like Norah’s lotion in here. I know how fragile life is. How it’s here one second and gone the next, but this sensation is new to me. Harper calls me again.

  “What?” I yell, spinning on her.

  “Why are you sorry? Why do you feel awful, Harper? You don’t have to process anything. This is mine to deal with. I can’t make you feel better about this. I can’t save you this time. My wife and daughter are dead. So process how you want to, but do it on your own because I’m trying to figure out how to go on without them. I can’t be on Harper duty this time.” I shake my head and turn away when I see tears falling down her cheeks.

  Harper walks forward, unperturbed by my harsh words. “I know you’re upset,” she says, reaching out for my hand with hers. “Your pain is more than I can comprehend.” When I don’t take her hand, she lets her arm fall back down to her side.

  For a few moments I breathe and look at her. I feel better. Which makes me feel even worse. “You need to leave, Harper,” I admit. “Just go.”

  Her whole body shifts, as if I stabbed her instead of spoke to her. Pain is etched into her facial features. She’s not allowed to feel an ounce of what I’m bearing. “I’m serious,” I whisper, gazing at the floor. “I can’t be around you right now.”

  “Why?” she asks, striding forward and placing her hands on my arms. She grabs me firmly, grounding me to this moment. “Why?” Her eyes plead with me. She wants the truth.

  I’m a glutton to give it. “The grief is killing me, dismembering my heart. The kicker?” I say, breathing several times to keep the tears at bay. “You’re the cure I need. But you’re out of my price range. Untouchable.”

  She shakes her head. Harper was expecting that and it’s comforting and infuriating at the same time. “I won’t leave you here by yourself. I don’t care what you see when you look at me. I’m not only the woman who loves you, I’m your best friend. The person who’d die to take an ounce of your pain away if I could. Don’t complicate this. I’m your friend first, Benny.”

  I look at the ceiling because the tears came anyway. “What if relieving my pain means you leaving and never coming back?”

  Going up on her tip-toes, she grabs my face to force my gaze to hers. Her eyes are glassy, but she’s holding it together. Because that’s what I need from her and she knows it. “Then that’s your pain to bear because I’m not going anywhere this time. I should have stayed here all those years ago. By your side. I should have loved you through everything up until now, but I refuse to leave you during this. I’m going to love you through it. You will get through it.”

  My eyes widen as my mind, a clusterfuck of dark as the devil thoughts, processes her words. Her light. Her life. “What I wouldn’t give to hear those words before. Love me from afar because that’s what I need. That’s what I want. Maybe forever. Definitely right now.” Voice loud and overbearing, Harper winces away from me.

  “That’s what you want?”

  No.

  “I have to tell you something.” Her eyelashes flutter closed and little lines form in between her eyes. It’s anguish so great I’ve never seen her wear it before.

  I stay silent and gesture with my hand for her to continue. She shifts around on her little black flip-flops, completely terrified by what she needs to say. “Did they tell you who was driving the other vehicle?” Harper asks, not meeting my eyes. In fact, she stares at the floor as she says it.

  My stomach turns. Taking a step back, I sit on the bed. “No. You’re about to tell me, though.”

  Harper meets my eyes, and her mouth forms a pout the same time she finally frees her tears. It breaks the piece of my heart that wasn’t damaged. “Marcus’ brother,” she whispers. “It was Darren.”

  Shaking my head, I try to remember what he looked like. I saw him only once and he was piss drunk. I was so into Harper that night it’s hard for me to recall his face, let alone details about the man who stole Norah’s and Robin’s lives. I keep my eyes on hers because I’m trying to remember, but I can tell looking at me and not touching me is distressing her.

  “This is my fault. All of it, Ben.”

  “How?”

  She steps toward me, but I halt her with a head shake. “If I had told you the moment I fell in love with you, none of this would have happened. The dominos were set into motion because I followed my head instead of my heart. I should have stayed. I should have loved you. There would have been no Marcus or Darren. No moves from the East Coast. It would have been you and me. Just us. Nothing else. No one would have gotten hurt. It’s my fault Norah and your baby were killed, Ben.”

  I’ve never seen Harper so upset. I recall the weeks after her aunt died and she never showed this much emotion. If I wasn’t so detached, I’d be scared.

  I open my arms to the side and she rushes to me, wrapping me in a wet, salty hug. Her whole body shakes, her apologies flowing as copious as her tears. She’s barely breathing when she pulls away.

  “Please forgive me. I’ll never forgive myself, but I need you to forgive me.”

  I take a deep breath. It’s not because I need one, it’s because I want to inhale her into my system for the last time. She gave me exactly what I didn’t realize I needed.

  Someone to blame.

  “Yes. I need you to go, though. I can’t look at you. Stay away from me, Harper. I’m serious.”

  Backing away from me, she watches me, her face in utter anguish. From head to toe, I let my gaze roam her body. Every perfect curve, mark, and subtle nuance that’s fully Harper Rosehall. I leave her neck for last. Pressing my lips into a smile that probably resembles a grimace, she turns, unable to stomach the rejection.

  I watch her back disappear and listen for the front door to shut before I follow her. Everything in me wants to chase her. Tell her I want her, but my guilt would never allow me to have her. I watch her car leave through the front window.

  “Burning it all to the ground?” Tahoe mumbles.

  “And watching it incinerate,” I reply.

  He rolls over and his loud snore is audible moments later. Standing under the strong, hot water, I close my eyes and make mental lists of everything I need to do. I let practical Ben drive for a while because it saves real Ben from self-destructing. Watching Harper’s pain helped me. I made the decision Norah would have wanted. I didn’t honor her love enough during her life, but I can surely make it right after her death.

  It gives me something to control.

  Fuck knows I need it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Harper

  I call his parents and Tahoe almost every single day to see how Ben is doing. He’ll come around eventually. He’ll let me back in. He has to. He’s my best friend. Ben needs me, he just hasn’t worked that out yet. I can make him feel better. I know what he needs. It’s been six months since Norah died.

  I went to the funeral and it was just as tragic and sad as you’d expect. Ben wore his uniform as did several of his friends. It was an enormous ceremony filled with so many people who loved Norah. Ben didn’t get up to speak. The other vet in Norah’s practice did. It’s sort of fitting. Norah spent most of her life with her. More than with Ben, I’d fathom a guess.

  Ben met my gaze once. He looked away almost as soon as he saw I was looking his way. It was the first time I thought maybe this was a permanent friendship break and my own heartbreak intensified tenfold. Tahoe told me he’s only doing well on surface, that he doesn’t trust him by himself, so he’s been spending a lot of time with him on their off hours. Ben didn’t take any time off work. He’s been working even more, taking missions that aren’t intended for his schedule. He’s burning himself out. It’s so he doesn’t have to think. His brain doesn’t ever turn off unless he’s exhausted.

  Darren died. Suffering for several days after he woke from the coma. The masochist who wanted him to live out his days in jail was satisfied in the pai
nful way he went. Marcus moved back to the East Coast. He emailed me last week to let me know he transferred to Harvard to teach linguistics. It sparked a glimmer of jealousy. The thing is, I’d never do anything about it. I’m where I’m supposed to be. Since the accident, I get angry more easily. I wish I’d ruined Marcus’ life. Filed a restraining order, made a black mark on his record so he’d have to suffer what he did to me for the rest of his life. He’s seeing a girl, too. I wonder if she knows what he did to me, how he ruined a relationship with jealous rage.

  That wasn’t who I was back then, though. It’s who I am now. Bitter. Hardened by a life that I feel has never been my own. I chose it, though I chose what I thought would serve me best instead of choosing what would make me happiest. I sacrificed my only opportunity to have my happily ever after by being selfish. It serves me right.

  Martina and her husband just left. I had several people over to my house for dinner. Now that it’s fully furnished and has all the charm of a Martha Stewart catalog; I’ve been hosting. It does make me feel better for a little while. My friends occupy my free time during daylight hours. At night, I’m so alone even my breath causes loneliness. Like Ben’s surface happiness, I feel as if most of the people in my life are surface friends. Those that know me, but not deeply. Not every single detail and quirk. They know what I want them to see.

  The one person who I savor a past with wants nothing to do with me and I can’t say I blame him.

  It was Ben who tried time after time to tell me and show me what we could have had. It’s wince worthy when I think back. It’s not equal parts pain and pleasure when I think of Ben. He saw what I ignored for years. You know how you can only cry wolf so many times? You can only turn a man down so many times before he believes you don’t want him in the same way he wants you. Add in vehicular manslaughter and you have a recipe to destroy any sort of relationship for the rest of time.

  Once I’ve finished cleaning the kitchen to a spit shine, I shower and then call my mom. I’m seeing her this weekend. She told me Ben’s parents were coming for dinner and there was no way I could turn down the invitation. I want anything that has a connection to him. I flip the television on in my bedroom after I hang up with her and pull down my covers.

  It’s midnight when my doorbell rings. It’s not a normal bell, it’s a high-pitched screech that jars me anytime I hear it. This late at night, it might as well be a police siren. I let out a tiny scream as I trudge out of my bed, cell phone in hand. I slide over the peephole and look through.

  It’s Ben. And even from the skewed bubble version I see, he looks like absolute shit. Unlocking the door, I open it. There’s still a glass door between us. I slide down the storm window. “Hey,” he says, eyes brimming with red, dark circles. “What are you up to?” There’s no other way to explain it. Ben looks haunted.

  I decide against peppering him with questions and answer him. “Um. Bed. Watching some TV. What are you up to?” I glance at the driveway and see his truck and then eye him from his head down and back up again. Leveling him with my gaze, I say, “You finally popped on a drug screen? They kicked you out of the Teams?” It’s a slight nod to his haggard appearance without commenting on it.

  A small crooked grin appears on his face. “Nah. I just got home from work. I haven’t seen your new house yet,” he says, like it’s a legitimate reason for stopping by in the middle of the night. He hasn’t spoken to me in months. I know exactly why he’s here. His hair is wet and he’s wearing a pair of sweats and a white T-shirt. The attire one wears lounging around the house.

  “Ben. It’s been months. You’re not okay. It’s obvious. You don’t want to see my new house.”

  He swallows and looks up, pretending to examine the lighting fixture above my door. “I wanted to see you. I miss you, Harpee. Believe it or not.” He adds the last sentence to acknowledge his absence.

  Do you ever think about the space around you? The area that the wind blows around one individual? It doubles when you’re next to a person, close enough to touch. There’s more life, more oxygen, when I’m in his space. My body calls out to him. To be held by him. It wants more life. I want him.

  I slide the lock on the glass door open and with that click, I know there wasn’t ever an option. Some may call it a weakness. I call it friendship. “Come in,” I say. “You just got home. Are you hungry? I have some leftovers. I cooked my mom’s chicken recipe. You know, that stuffed one she made for my birthday last year? I can heat some up for you.”

  Ben sighs, relief prickling every feature on his face, his body relaxing. “That would be amazing,” he says. He doesn’t look at my house the way any person who wants to check out a friend’s house would. He stares at my bare legs, covered by only my oversized T-shirt. “I’m sorry it’s been so long,” he admits. “I, ah, I’ve been trying to get my shit together and work has been busy.”

  Because you’ve made work busy, I think.

  “You never wanted to see me again. I didn’t expect you to knock on my door…ever,” I say, my tone mocking.

  He sits down at the table in my kitchen. It’s where I eat breakfast and have coffee. Drumming his fingers on the table, he says, “I’m sorry. I figured you knew I didn’t mean it.”

  “How could I not think you meant it? It made perfect sense. I understand, Ben. I hope you didn’t come here trying to make me feel better about everything. I don’t need your apology. I have to live with the part I played.”

  “Harper. I came here because I need you to make me feel better,” he says, grabbing my waist as I pass by him on the way to the microwave. “I need you. Do you understand?” If I didn’t, he’s made it perfectly clear with his touch.

  I swallow and eye him from the side. I can’t deny what his hand on my body does to me. A riot of sensations bleeds to the surface—all those things I try to not think about because I knew I’d never have them again, knew no other man could play my body so precisely. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I say, turning in his grasp to meet his lust-filled gaze. “You look like shit, Ben. Being with me isn’t going to help you how you need it to.”

  His eyes glass over. “Don’t make me beg,” he whispers, lips barely parted. “For once, don’t overthink it. Do you want me?” What a cruel, unfair question to ask.

  A stronger woman would deny him. Tell him to grow up and deal with his emotions like a big boy. A stronger woman would have grabbed this passionate, beautiful man when she could have. A stronger woman wouldn’t have been afraid of the power of the love we shared. “What do you need? Tell me.”

  “What I’ve always needed,” he replies.

  I set the cold plate of chicken down on the table all but forgotten.

  “We need to talk first,” I reply, my heart hammering in my ears. I want to ease his pain, steal the hurt away from his body as soon as humanly possible despite any hardships in our past. I think I’ll always feel that way. “Can we talk?”

  Ben’s weary face hardens. “Everyone wants to talk. Talking doesn’t fix anything, Harp. Please,” he pleads, standing, taking the sides of my body in his hands. “Please,” he whispers again, voice cracking at the end. “You can fix me. Only you.”

  I let him guide me to my bedroom and settle in my bed. When we’re lying down face to face I admit, “I can’t fix you. You know that. You need help. I can talk to you as a friend.” It’s an offer my body rejects. It wants what he’s after. The friendship needs to come first. It’s obvious he’s in pain.

  “What if I don’t need a friend right now? What if I never needed you to be my friend? What if right now I need the woman who loves me? A woman who wants to steal away my pain? The woman who promised to love me through this? Fix me.”

  His chest is heaving, and the first tear has fallen. Leaning over, I kiss it away and Ben shudders at the slight contact from my lips. “Yes,” he says. “More. Touch me more.”

  I trace my lips across his stubbly face and end with my mouth hovering over his. “This isn’t a good id
ea,” I whisper.

  He closes his eyes. He wants this so bad I can feel it in the air. How desperate he is for our connection. In turn, it makes me delirious with desire.

  He pulls me so close, our noses are smashed together. His breathing becomes jagged as he pulls breaths through his mouth. His eyes are closed tightly, the pain of holding himself back twisting his features. He’s taking my oxygen and making it his own. I realize maybe I can fix him by giving myself to him, laying down my life, and my air for him to bend at his will. I’d do that, and more, to make Ben happy.

  Unable to hold out any longer, I kiss him. His whole body comes alive when I slip my tongue into his mouth and wrap my hands around his neck. He groans in complete relief at the contact and I’m so happy I cry; a small tear leaking down my temple. The hollow, empty place is filling and I don’t know if it’s just for tonight, but I have to take it regardless of the price.

  Ben pins me to the bed with more force than I’m expecting, his hands holding down my forearms. He traces circles with his tongue on my exposed neck and chest as my T-shirt rides up to expose my panties. My whole body prickles with goosebumps and my stomach flips. I’m so anxious and excited there’s no controlling my reactions. Moans escape as he releases me to slide my underwear down my legs. Sitting up, I take off my shirt and he makes haste pulling off his clothing. No boxer briefs tonight.

  He stares at me from the foot of my bed, chest heaving, eyes heavy, and cock pulsing in preparation.

  “Come here, Ben. Let me love you.” I hold out my hands to him.

  His eyes turn down in the corner. Sadly, he shakes his head, his brows pulling together. “That’s not what I need,” he whispers, licking his lips.

  I nod, understanding. Swallowing hard, I reply, “Fuck me. Right now. Fuck me.”

  Crawling up the bed, he rests his head in between my legs. It’s not a soft, light, feather touch. His tongue and mouth are rough. At this point in my sabbatical, it doesn’t matter. Ben’s face is pressed against me and it’s more than enough to have my pussy throbbing out a love song of wetness and lust. He doesn’t want love, and maybe I don’t either.