Dirty Little Lies (Dirty Little #2) (17 page)

I’m spending the night here at his place, while Stuart and his team comb my brownstone for any sort of surveillance that Preston Pollard might have set up there.
 

They did a quick sweep earlier and didn’t find anything, but everyone would feel better with a thorough once-over. Besides, I don’t want to leave Ben alone tonight.
 

He’s definitely hurting physically, but there’s something nagging at him that he won’t share with me. I don’t want to pressure him to speak up about it, but honestly I’m getting a little frustrated with his standoffishness. If he needs space for whatever reason, then I’ll give it to him. But he’s not asking me to stay away, and he’s not letting me get close, either.
 

I ask him if he’d like me to help him get into a pair of sweats he can sleep in, but he prefers doing it himself, refusing even the little bit of assistance I try to give him when he’s having difficulty shrugging out of his shirt.
 

Confident that he’s okay on his own, I go out into the kitchen, and pull the prescription that we got filled at a pharmacy on our way home out of my bag. Ben insisted that he didn’t want any pain pills, and actually got angry with me when I so much as suggested that he didn’t need to get all manly about it, but I figure it’s good to have them at the ready anyway.

I’ve never broken anything, but I know it can’t feel very good, and sleeping is going to be a challenge.
 

I take a glass out of the cupboard and fill it with water, wanting Ben to have something ready to drink if he’s thirsty, or wakes up needing a pill.
 

I wrack my brain thinking of anything else I can get for him that will make him more comfortable or more likely to sleep, but my mind is a blank. Even though I’m not the one who spent most of the night in the hospital getting the bones in my arm put back together, I’m still exhausted.
 

It’s mental taxation from the past few days. I still can’t believe this is over. Well, the threatening part of it, at least. Ben’s still dealing with something that I wish he’d share so I could help him through it.
 

Maybe I should just let it go for tonight. He needs to rest, and he’s not going to do that if I’m nagging him. Tomorrow, if he’s still shutting me out, we’ll have a talk.
 

I’ll give him tonight.
 

With the glass of water and bottle of pills in hand, I walk back to the bedroom. Ben is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. The moonlight shines across his body, illuminating his nearly perfect profile. Even now, after a day like today, I’m caught off guard by how beautiful he is.
 

I never could deny how good he looked on the outside, but it seems like the time that we spent apart these past five years have helped develop that goodness inside, too.
 

I want to know more about that man.
 

He’s been so supportive and amazing the past few days, that all I want to do is walk over, set down the water, and wrap myself around him. I want to beg him to talk to me.
 

But I don’t.
 

I walk over to where he’s sitting, and put down the glass of water and the painkillers.
 

“In case you need them,” I say. I planned on setting them down and then going into the living room, because it doesn’t seem like he wants any company tonight, but I can’t leave without touching him.
 

My fingertips slide across the stubble on his cheek, and he closes his eyes and leans into my hand.
 

I lean down and kiss his forehead. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”
 

His eyes dart up, looking almost panicked. “Don’t go,” he says, his voice completely wrecked.
 

“Are you sure?” I ask.
 

He nods. “Yes. Stay.”
 

I don’t need to be convinced.
 

I pull back the covers, and help Ben slide under them, then he pulls me in close. I wrap my body around his, careful of his injured arm, and lay my head on his chest.
 

With the steady beating of his heart beneath my cheek, it doesn’t take long for me to drift off to sleep.
 

* * *

In the very early hours of the morning, I wake up to an empty bed, and cold sheets where Ben was lying just hours before, when we fell asleep together. The glass of water is still sitting on the nightstand untouched.
 

The bathroom light isn’t on, either.
 

Even though I promised myself I would give him his space, there’s a loud, niggling voice in my brain that keeps telling me to go to him. To find him and talk this out, because there’s clearly something bothering him that time isn’t going to fix.
 

I roll over to the edge of the bed, and let my feet dangle. I’m in nothing but one of Ben’s old t-shirts, and my feet are cold, so I slide them into the slippers that he keeps on his side of the bed.
 

Stifling a yawn, I run my fingers through my hair as I trudge out of the bedroom and into the living room. I thought maybe I’d find him watching an old movie—something he used to do when he couldn’t sleep—but the TV isn’t on, and the rest of the apartment is dark and quiet.
 

I start to feel a little panicked, my mind wandering into worst-case scenario territory, when I see that the door to his balcony is open.
 

Ben is sitting there, bathed in moonlight, feet up on the railing, lost in thought.
 

I walk over to the balcony door, then knock lightly a few times, not wanting to startle him.
 

He looks over, and gives me a tight smile.
 

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
 

He shakes his head. “No.”
 

“Do you want me to get your pills?”
 

He turns his head, and gives me a look that I can’t quite read. It’s almost like he’s trying to talk himself into sharing whatever’s bothering him with me. I don’t want to pressure him into doing anything he’s not ready for, so I stand there and wait for him to come to whatever conclusion he’s trying to get to.
 

“This isn’t something that a pill can fix,” he says, finally,
finally
giving me an answer. Something I can work with to pull him out of this funk.
 

“What can fix it?” I ask. “A hug? I’ve got plenty of those. I’m also a pretty good listener, or so I’ve been told.”
 

“C’mere,” he says, lowering his feet from the railing. He scoots over in the chair, which is too big for one person, but not quite big enough for two. When I step in front of him, he wraps his good arm around my waist, and pulls me down until I’m sitting mostly on the chair, with my legs slung over his thighs.
 

“You ready to tell me what’s going on?” I ask. I reach up and slide my fingertips along the curve of his jaw, something I know that he likes, and has comforted him before.
 

He closes his eyes, lets out a deep breath, and I can feel his muscles relax just a little.
 

“I lost it tonight,” he says, looking down at his cast.
 

“Wanna tell me why?” I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter closed for a second, as he figures out what he’s going to say next.
 

“It all happened so fast. I was so angry at this guy for threatening you, for threatening Corinne…I wanted to
see
him. I wanted to have the chance to talk to him.
 

“One of Stuart’s guys was holding him in a room in my building, waiting for the police to come. The way he talked about Corinne, about you…” Ben shakes his head, as if he’s trying to get rid of the memories. “Like you were things, not even people. He said something filthy about Corinne; honestly, I can’t even remember what it was, and I just…snapped.”

He looks so guilt-ridden and awful that I’m not sure what the right thing to say here is. That it was okay for him to do it? Obviously he doesn’t think so. It’s a wonder that he isn’t in jail for that himself. Do I chastise him? He seems to be doing enough of that on his own.
 

Instead I just lean in and press a tender kiss against his temple.
 

 
“We’ve had a stressful few days, Ben.”
 

He shrugs off that statement, ignoring it completely.
 

“The worst thing about it, aside from everything the guy had done…listening to him talk about you two the way he did, like you were expendable, it…it reminded me of myself a little bit.”
 

“What?” I ask, surprised. “Ben, no.” Even on his shittiest, most awful day, Ben would never have conned a woman into bed to do what these men did to Corinne. Not ever.
 

“Yes. It made me think about all the times I fucked around on you with women who didn’t mean anything to me…seeing that in someone else, it…flipped a switch in me.”
 

“Ben,” I say hesitantly. “This guy…he paid someone to trick Corinne into bed. He used her as a means to an end. No matter what you did in the past, no matter how awful it made me feel…you never did that.”
 

His gaze finally meets mine, and I can actually see the pain in his eyes.
 

“Yes, I did. My actions weren’t the same, but the intention behind them was. I used those women to distract myself from how scared I was of being with you. It was a means to an end.”
 

I close my eyes and shake my head, trying to figure out how I can get him to understand what I’m telling him. I don’t want him seeing any part of himself in a guy like Preston Pollard.
 

“Did you misrepresent yourself to any of those women? Did they think they were getting anything more from you than sex?”
 

He shakes his head. “No.”
 

“Did you trick any of them into bed?”
 

He shakes his head. “No.”
 

Good. This is a start. “Ben, you were a terrible boyfriend, I’m not going to deny that. And you did shitty things and treated people terribly, but you’re not a criminal. You were a careless, insecure, immature guy back then. But you’re trying to be better. You learned from your mistakes, and that’s what matters.”
 

He looks up at me like he so desperately wants to believe what I’m telling him. I’m not sure that I have any other words I can use to convince him, so I press a kiss against his lips, hoping that will do a little to drive the point home.
 

“Will you tell me something?”
 

“Anything,” I reply.
 

“Our last breakup,” he begins, and every muscle in my body tenses up instantaneously. “What finally did it?”
 

“You mean apart from all the cheating?” I’m trying to deflect, trying to figure out what answer I’m going to give to the question I’m sure he’s going to ask me.
 

“Yeah. That time seemed different than the others.”

“That time
was
different than the others,” I admit. “You really want to work all of this out right now?”
 

Ben takes a deep breath, and lets out it on a slow exhale. “Yes. We have to talk about it sometime, right? Much as I’d like to pretend like I hadn’t been so terrible to you, I think we need to talk about it if we’re ever going to be able to move on.”
 

I can’t deny that he’s right about that. Even though we both decided to give our relationship another shot, there is still some unfinished business between us. We’re going to drag that baggage around with us until we either deal with it, or it becomes too heavy to carry anymore.
 

“If you’re sure,” I say. I don’t know if I’m hoping he’ll take the out for his sake, or for mine.
 

Ben just gives me a bashful smile. “I’m sure.”
 

I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, trying to work up the nerve to say what I need to say. I’ve been holding onto it for a long time, and it’s only right that I tell him. I should’ve told him this a long time ago.
 

Even though it’s tempting to look away, to make sure I can’t see the hurt in his eyes when I say what I’m about to say, I keep my eyes focused on his.
 

“Marisa,” he says, his voice pleading. Maybe he thinks I’m going to stall or refuse. I’m just trying to gather up my strength for this.

“I was pregnant,” I tell him.
 

His eyes go wide, and I know he stops breathing for a second. I decide to keep talking instead of giving him a minute to let it all sink in.
 

“You were supposed to meet me for dinner at my apartment one night,” I recount, wondering if he has any recollection of this at all. “My period was two weeks late, and I was terrified. I had been trying to figure out a way to bring it up to you for days, but it never seemed like the right time.”