That One Night (That One Series Book 1) Page 23

  Ben appears in the doorway and kneels down in front of me, pulling me into his chest. Panic rises in my chest, thinking of Archer being alone. I try to break free from Ben’s embrace, frantically calling Archer’s name.

  “Shhh, he’s with Dean and Alex right now. They’re taking care of him.”

  Ben turns on the water in the shower until the steam starts filling the room. He then proceeds to undress me, following it with his clothes. I follow his lead, and step into the shower, letting the hot water rain down on me, leaning into Ben.

  Murmuring into his chest, I tug him closer to me. “I love you, Ben. I’m sorry this happened to you, to us. I’m so sorry he did this.”

  He just runs his hands over my back in a soothing manner, whispering repeatedly that he loves me too. We wash each other gently, our hands skimming over the other’s body. It’s not sexual, yet intimate and tender. We need this connection right now, a moment to disappear into our own world. Once we’re done and all dry, I brush my teeth while Ben gets Archer, putting him in his crib. As much as we’d like Archer in bed with us or to hold on to him all night, he needs his rest.

  Ben lays down on the bed, staring at me and when our eyes meet I can see all the emotions in his—raging like a storm. I climb on the bed, curling into his side, and try to convey my feelings for him with my touch. I think neither of us really sleeps deeply. It’s more a constant toss and turn, startling awake to then give in to the exhaustion again.

  I jolt awake at some point and find Ben laying in bed, his eyes fixed on the wall. I glance at Archer’s crib, making sure he’s asleep; and then I turn my attention back to Ben. He seems far away, withdrawn. I sit up and climb on his lap, trying to get his attention.

  “Babe?” My question doesn’t register right away; it takes him a moment before his eyes fall to mine. When they do, his lips follow, crashing to mine with a raw need. We tear at each other’s clothes, touching and kissing as if this is the only thing keeping us from falling apart at the seams—I guess it is. We need this raw and primal feeling to chase away everything else for the moment. Although we make sure to be quiet, it’s not romantic, sweet, or tender. It’s wild and raw. We don’t make love, we fuck, chasing away the demons that have taken residence in our home and in our hearts. Without thinking for a second, I shake my head when he wants to grab the condom. “I want to feel you, Ben. All of you.” And I do. What we’ve had before was intense, but this is our hearts cracking open and all the little pieces falling to the ground. It doesn’t take us long to find our release, with it letting go of some of the tension and fear, giving each other a moment of peace amongst the chaos. We lay the rest of the night in each other arms, lost in our own thoughts.

  I must have dozed off in the early morning hours, just to wake up a short while later and find myself alone with Archer in the room. I decide to go look for Ben, wanting to grab a bottle for Archer on the way in case he wakes up soon. As I’m about to leave my room, I start to tremble. Something that was easy and normal before seems impossible now. I can’t leave Archer alone in the room.

  “Dean,” I cry out into the empty hallway and relief washes over me when he exits the bathroom.

  “Frankie?”

  “Can you please watch Archer for a moment? I want to look for Ben and get Archer a bottle.”

  Dean nods, gives me a quick hug, and without another word walks into my bedroom, taking his place in the armchair.

  I don’t find Ben downstairs and immediately start to worry. I look around to see his car keys, jacket, and phone are still on the kitchen counter. It’s not until I hear a bang from outside that I figure he must be in the shed. As soon as I step out the door, I hear more banging and clanging, sounds of destruction ringing through the early morning. When I open the door to the shed, I find Ben tearing the place down, throwing things against the walls and to the ground—pain and anger so evident, it’s penetrating the air, forcing me to catch my breath. I don’t even notice the tears that are running down my face.

  “Ben?” My voice is low and shaky. I sound scared, but it’s not me fearing Ben—I fear for him.

  His head snaps toward me and his mouth opens, trying to form words, but nothing comes out. He looks so lost, completely broken. I walk over to him, tentatively wrapping my arms around him, frightened that any sudden movement would scare him away. When I finally hold him, he just breaks down, collapsing to the floor and taking me with him. He holds on to me like he’s drowning and I’m his only hope for survival. Violent sobs are wrecking his body.

  “Why, Frankie?” He repeats those words over and over.

  In my arms is not just a man that nearly lost his son at the hands of his own father. It’s a little boy not understanding why his father didn’t love him—didn’t want him. Even tried ending his life. There isn’t much I can say to make it better. A “cheer up” won’t do when you find out your parent, the person that should love and protect you, tried to kill you out of a sick, twisted feeling of jealousy.

  Instead I just hold him, making soothing sounds while I cradle his head against my chest, allowing him to release the pain he’s feeling. I cry with him and for him. I cry for us. Our little happiness was shattered in an instant and it feels unfair. I’m angry at his father, angry at the world, and even angry at God.

  Once Ben’s sobs subside, I kiss his jaw gently, helping him up and pulling him with me to the house. Alex is standing in the kitchen, making the bottle for Archer. He looks at us with love and sympathy; it’s easy to see he feels our pain. He silently hands me the bottle, gently laying his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. This little gesture tells me all I need to know. He’s there for us, he loves us, and we’re not alone. I nod at him with tears in my eyes, but don’t want to stay in the kitchen much longer. Looking around it, everything that happened plays out in my head like a bad movie and by the time we make it back upstairs with Archer’s breakfast, I’m shaking.

  Dean is sitting in the wing chair, cuddling Archer who’s laughing and trying to grab Dean’s glasses, unaware of the things that have transpired. When Dean sees us, he stands up, handing Archer to me, giving me a kiss on the cheek and Ben a pat on the shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. There’s really nothing to say.

  ***

  The next few days, we barely leave the room, cocooning ourselves into a safe bubble. We’re both aware we can’t do this forever. It’s not healthy for us or Archer, but right now it’s the only way we can exist, the only way I can exist.

  But every day it feels like Ben is withdrawing more and more. He seems distant. He’s still caring and loving, but it’s like he doesn’t allow himself to feel. He barely stays alone with Archer, making sure I’m always around. When I wake up at night and reach for him, all I find is an empty bed, often finding him sitting at the computer. As soon as he notices me walking up to him, he’ll close the tab, hiding what he was looking at. Then he comes to bed with me, but when we snuggle close to each other, it feels like he’s miles away.

  One time I manage to catch what he’s reading—hereditary factors in psychosis. That’s what the doctors have told us his father has. We haven’t been able to find out all the details as it’s an ongoing investigation. We’ve been told that his father will be placed in a high security psychiatric hospital when he’s released from the hospital. They will then assess his mental health to determine further action. What we know is that he never went into the mental health institution of free will, but was sent there by a court order after he had attacked Ben, nearly killing his own son. He’s never been released since. Despite being seemingly well-adjusted, he failed every evaluation. The police told us that he managed to trick an intern to get out of the institution, succeeding in getting to us without being caught. No one had any idea that he might be heading here, so they didn’t alert us, as well as the rehab trying to keep it on a low burner in fear of bad press.

  After seeing the website, I realize that Ben isn’t just feeling guilty and responsible for bringing his fathe
r into our lives, but that he’s scared of ending up like him. When I try to broach the subject, he shoots it down, telling me not to worry. He doesn’t allow for any further discussion on this, changing the topic or tuning me out. I try to be understanding and patient, to give him the space and time to come to terms with everything that happened, but the further he pushes me away, the more I hurt.

  On the third night, I wake up and find him neither in bed next to me nor at the computer. Pulling on my fluffy gown and slippers, I make sure not to wake Archer, who’s been a bit fussier than before, surely feeding off of our anxious energy. I slip the baby monitor into the pocket of my bathrobe.

  Plodding downstairs, I see the light on in the living room, finding Ben sitting on the couch. He’s hunched over, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. It breaks me to see him like this. He’s hurting and I can’t do anything to stop it. I tried to suggest we talk to his mother to find out more, but he says he can’t look her in the eyes after how he treated her.

  “Ben, what are you doing down here?” I whisper softly, so I don’t startle him.

  His answer is short and clipped. “I couldn’t sleep. Go back to bed, babe.”

  He rarely calls me babe anymore since it happened. He’s actually rarely talked to me in the past few days.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Nah, I’ll only keep you awake.” He doesn’t even look at me when he says this. He’s consumed by pain, shame, guilt, and fear. It’s a downward spiral he seems unable to escape.

  “Ben, please don’t do that. Don’t push me away,” I plead, hoping I can get through to him.

  “I’m not.” His voice wavers slightly, and I realize that he’s punishing himself for what happened.

  I walk up to him, kneeling in front of him and forcing him to look at me by grasping his chin and tilting his head up. His eyes are bloodshot, and the sparkle and mischief usually in them has been replaced by pure, unadulterated pain.

  “Ben, you’ve barely touched Archer since it happened. You don’t dare to stay alone in the room with him. You pretty much stopped talking to me. You’re here in this room, but it feels like you’re leaving me. I can’t lose you again. You promised you wouldn’t leave.” I’m crying now, the feeling of hopelessness rising to the surface. “You promised.”

  His jaw clenches and his body tenses. “Fuck, Frankie. Maybe it’s for the best if I leave. Before I hurt you or Archer. What if I’m like him? What if I end up becoming a monster like my father?”

  Taking his hand, I put it to my cheek, longing for a connection with him, something that will ground him, pull him back to me.

  “Ben, you’re not. He wasn’t worried about hurting you. You are. You worry about Archer’s wellbeing every single moment. There is not a bad bone in your body. I trust you with him. Do you think I would do that if I thought you were dangerous?”

  “I’m sure my mom didn’t think that either.” His voice is low and it has the distinct tone of resignation in it.

  “Ben, you have to believe me. Please. God, please believe me.”

  He looks at me, a flicker of hope in his eyes that is quickly replaced by the resignation I just heard in his voice.

  I don’t know why that moment is what does it, but it makes me angry. It makes me snap out of my depression. It makes me ready to stick my head out of the shell I have been hiding in and to take action.

  “I won’t let you do that. Remember what you said to me? You’d fight for us. You did. And now it’s my turn. You won’t leave me; not because you make yourself into something you are not. I love you. And I know you love Archer and me. This won’t destroy us. Do you understand?”

  With that, I stand up and march back upstairs, turning on the computer. Half an hour later I’ve booked us a flight to Michigan, quickly sending off a message to his mother from my phone. Then I get out a suitcase and start packing for the three of us. I’m throwing in clothes to last us for two nights, pulling out Ben’s stuff from the dresser, when he walks through the door.

  He pauses, taking in what I’m doing, yet not understanding why I’m packing in the middle of the night.

  “Frankie, what are you doing?”

  “We’re going to see your mom. The flight is in five hours.” He tries to interrupt, no doubt to explain to me why he won’t go, but I don’t even let him start. “I’m not taking a no for an answer. I told you, you’re either in it or you aren’t. You decided you’re in, so you’re not going to jump off the damn train at the first fucking detour. You owe me this. You owe Archer this. We’ll go there and we ask your mom questions that need to be asked. If you still think you’re too dangerous to be around, fine, walk away. But I won’t let you do that without trying. And don’t say anything or I swear to God I will punch you.”

  I turn around and continue packing, waiting for Ben to say something. Instead, he comes up to me, taking the shirts out of my hands. I expect him to put them back in the dresser, but he places them in the suitcase.

  This little gesture, this little step, makes me feel like a weight has fallen off my shoulders. Maybe we can fix this and undo the damage that his father has caused.

  Once we’ve packed, we make breakfast, neither of us really contemplating sleep. Dean drops us off at the airport, and we spend most of the travel in silence. Ben seems lost in his own world, while Archer seems in awe of his new surroundings. And once we’re on the plane, he just can’t get enough of the little bumps and jolts the plane does. He doesn’t need much entertainment, so I make sure to let Ben know I’m there for him, even if it is just me holding his hand.

  Chapter 35

  Truth Hurts

  Three hours later the taxi drops us of at his parents’ house. When we exit the taxi, he stops for a second and it looks like he’s going to balk any minute. His shoulders are rigid to the point I’m wondering if they hurt.

  Holding Archer in one arm, I grab Ben’s jacket, pulling him close to me.

  “It’s going to be okay. They love you. They are your parents. I love you. And I’m here for you. So is Archer.” I grab his hand, giving him the time to grab our suitcase and Archer’s stuff and we make our way to the house.

  We don’t even manage to ring the doorbell when the door is thrown open; Ben’s mom and dad standing in the doorway. She’s clutching her chest and I fear she might have a heart attack any second. Ben is simply standing there, looking down at the ground, one hand holding mine, the other clutching the suitcase. He seems insecure and shy, scared of rejection. He doesn’t get much time to think about it though, since his mother flings herself at him, her arms going around his neck, pulling him close. She’s crying so hard she’s hiccupping. For a second, Ben freezes, before he drops the suitcase and hesitantly closes his arms around her. He squeezes her tight and I hear both of them mutter the words “I’m sorry” countless times.

  It takes a while before she reluctantly lets go of him. The neighbors are getting quite the show today. She then turns her attention to me, hugging me close and whispering in my ear. “Thank you for giving me my son back.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Ron coming up to Ben and with the typical gruffness of a man that has worked hard all his life, he pulls Ben to him. “Welcome home, Son.”

  This is what does Ben in. He clutches Ron, holding onto him as if he would crumble to the ground without his support, while tears run down his face. Ron swallows multiple times, clearly choked up. Witnessing that, my emotions take over and my eyes fill with tears, but I don’t get to watch them long as Judith lets me go and turns all her attention to her grandson. At this point, she’s a blubbering mess, sobbing, cooing, hiccupping all at the same time, while she takes Archer out of my arms to snuggle him.

  “Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here,” Ron suggests, his voice heavy with emotion. While he pulls Ben inside, I grab the bags and follow, allowing them to have their moment. After we’ve settled in we all sit down in the kitchen with tea, coffee, and donuts spread across the t
able. I’m bouncing Archer on my knees, trying to keep him busy with the teddy bear he’s playing with in order for Ben to talk to his parents without much disruption.

  The room is nearly bursting with the emotions that have built up over the past years and days. But it’s the parents and their son who need to find their way through the emotional fog. It seems like no one knows where to start, how to move past all the issues that have kept them apart for the past two years. Ben is nervous, his leg bouncing up and down at an impressive speed. I reach out and put my hand on his knee, trying to reassure him, to soothe him. It seems to pull him out of his thoughts. He starts talking, without giving his parents any kind of warning.

  “Noah escaped the hospital and came to our house.”

  The room falls dead silent except his mother’s sharp inhale. Her hand flies to her mouth, her face looks pained.

  “He attacked Archer...he...fuck....he tried to kill him.” Ben swallows a few times, undoubtedly to keep his emotions under control. Since it all happened, he hasn’t said it out loud like this to anyone. Saying and hearing it makes it real, and I instinctively pull Archer closer to me, kissing his head.

  “He also told us that he tried to kill me.” Ben closes his eyes and is fighting for composure. I soothingly run my hand up and down his thigh.

  Judith has started crying again. “Oh God, Ben, I’m so sorry. I should have told you. I should have warned you.” She takes his hand from across the table, clutching it like she’s scared he’s going to bail on her again.

  Ben is quiet for a moment, before he shakes his head slowly. “I wouldn’t have believed you anyway. I was too angry, too blind. Mom, I’m sorry.”