I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 10 BEN

Chapter 10

B EN

The beach area of the lake Hope took me to was surprisingly empty when we arrived. And also, calling it a beach is pushing the word to its limits. It’s basically a sandy dirt shoreline. But she did say that it’s more of a “town secret” than the advertised dockside beach, where they haul in actual sand, plop umbrellas down, and have vendors toting coolers to sell snacks to the loads of visiting people. And for the entire time that we swim in this more private spot, the shore has stayed vacant.

Until now.

“Hope!” a voice yells, startling Hope enough to cause her to splash in the water, sending a bit into my eyes.

Wiping my face, I turn to look toward the shore, and I feel Hope retreat into herself instantly. “Shiiiiit! That’s Roy,” she hisses.

I figured that out by the furious look on his face and the way he’s standing, legs wide and arms held out at his sides to make himself look larger and more intimidating. Guessing he doesn’t like seeing me with his girl.

No, not his girl. Hope’s her own woman now.

“Maddie sold you out.” I knew I didn’t like that woman or the way she was looking at Hope, but Maddie should’ve minded her own business and left us alone.

Too kind, Hope instantly forgives the shopgirl, who doesn’t deserve a bit of her good heart. “Yeah, she probably thinks she’s helping me in some twisted, weird way.”

“What d’ya want to do?” I’ve already come up with a dozen ideas, most of them involving the two of us leaving this beach and never seeing Roy again. Some of them are even legal. Several definitely aren’t.

How often do you think they dredge the lake to look for bodies?

Hope sighs heavily. “I should talk to him.”

Nope. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her fuck no to that shit, but I bite it back. This is part of the process for her. She’s going to have to stand up for herself to Roy’s face. It’s the only way she’ll truly be free. But just because I know it’s true doesn’t mean I like it.

“Then let’s go,” I say, taking her hand and starting toward the shore. Because if she’s doing this, she’s doing it with me by her side. That’s a damn-straight surety. “Can I give you a little piece of advice?” She dips her chin, looking like she’d take any and all advice to make this moment not so awful. “Say what you think, what you feel. If it messes shit up, so be it. Because the alternative is not saying it, and then it’ll fuck you up inside instead.”

“I think maybe I’ve already done that,” she whispers. “The fucked-up inside part, I mean.”

“Nah, you’re sorting yourself out pretty well, I think.” I flash a knowing grin at her, completely ignoring the asshole glaring at us from a few feet away. Her lips twitch as though a tiny hint of a smile is trying to get out, but the gravity of what’s waiting melts it away. “One more thing.”

“What?”

“I’ve got your back no matter what. I won’t let him hurt you—physically, mentally, or emotionally.”

Once we’re on solid-ish ground, Roy still waits for Hope to come to him, like he’s some righteous king standing on pomp and circumstance on his ancestral land. But when she’s close enough, he reaches for her hand, ripping it from mine. “What the fuck are you doing here? Who’s this?” he snaps.

The only thing that keeps him from meeting my fist firsthand is that Hope yanks her hand away from his, effectively shaking him off. “Ben. He’s a friend.”

“You let all of your friends touch you like that?” Roy sneers, accusing Hope of so much more than a little game of Titanic.

Secretly, I’m glad he saw. In fact, now seems like a real good time to adjust my dick in my shorts. I don’t try to hide the move, and Roy’s eyes narrow sharply, knowing full well what has me stiffening up even in the cold lake water. Hell, this neon atrocity is nearly suctioned to me now that it’s wet, so he can probably see for himself what Hope’s doing to me.

“Roy, what are you doing here?” Hope asks, her voice even-keeled and reasonable. I’ve heard that tone before. My mom used it with some of her boyfriends, notably the ones who had tempers when she was trying to placate them. I didn’t like it then; I don’t like it any more now.

“Me?” he balks, offended. “I got word that you were here with some asshole who was basically eye-fucking you in front of God and everyone in the dock store, so I came to save you.”

I snort. We did have that moment amid the racks of swimsuits and souvenir tees where I was imagining all the filthy things I wanted to do to her and with her. Good to know it wasn’t only me who felt it.

“She doesn’t need saving, by you or anyone else. If anything, she needs saving from you—but she’s doing a fine job of that on her own, isn’t she?” I interject.

Roy lunges toward me, pulling back at the last second when I don’t move. I’ve fought rougher, meaner assholes than this prick, but I don’t think the same is true for him. “That usually work for you? Acting tough but never actually getting your hands dirty or knuckles bloody? Can’t say that’s been the case for me.” I shake out my hands, getting the blood pumping just in case he tries to come back with a sucker punch.

I’m ready for him. I’m ready to end him, for Hope.

But she steps in between us, facing me and giving Roy her back. She plants her hands on my chest, and when I inhale to press into them, she looks up at me with twinkling eyes. “I got this. If it comes to that, my brother taught me how to handle myself.” The tiniest quirk of her lips tells me she’s fighting back a smile.

She’s not intimidated either. And she’s fucking stunning when she’s standing in her power. Weak assholes like Roy don’t see the allure of a strong woman, but I do. Fuck me, I do.

She turns back around, telling Roy, “I told you I needed time to be me for a little bit. That’s what I’m doing. Ben’s helping with that, as a friend.”

I flash a shit-eating grin at Roy, knowing Hope won’t see it but he will. Fuck yeah, I’m her friend. Nothing but a good old friend. No need to worry, buddy.

“If you think he’s a friend, you’re stupider than I thought,” he bites out, eyes never leaving mine.

Bad move. Real bad move.

“ Excuse me?” Hope retorts, her voice sharp and her eyes full of ice. “I sure hope you’re not referring to me as stupid, Roy Laurier. Because that would be real dumb, considering we both know who got you through those college math classes.” By the look on her face, that person was one Miss Hope Barlowe.

While I want to punch him, Hope seems inclined to eviscerate him with words, proving his own idiocy with receipts. In my experience, bones heal, but scars from a verbal lashing tend to stick with you, resonating long after the words land. I hope he hears her talking shit about him in his head for the rest of his miserable life anytime he wonders where he went wrong.

“Hope, I’m not calling you stupid—but seriously, he’s got his hands all over you and nearly shoved his face in your crotch,” he whines. Roy isn’t helping himself by any means, because that tone is as grating as nails on a chalkboard.

Hope holds up a hand, stopping him. “This has nothing to do with Ben, so don’t be crude. It’s about us. No—” She shakes her head, sending wet droplets from her hair over her arms. A few drops hit me and Roy’s blue shirt, too, leaving dark circles on the fabric. “Actually, it’s about me. For once.”

“You’re the most important part of us. You know that, babe.” Roy’s changing tactics as he tries to charm his way into Hope’s crotch himself. He steps toward her, his hand taking hers again. She doesn’t pull away this time, and I have to force myself to stay back because every instinct inside me wants to rip her away from him, push her behind me, and fuck Roy’s pretty face up.

I might’ve only gotten tied up in Hope’s drama a few days ago, but I’m Boy Scout–sailor’s knotted up in it now, and willing to throw hands in her honor if need be because I feel protective of her. Not because she’s weak, but because she feels important.

“Am I?” Hope’s question is deeper than the two little words imply. She sighs heavily, her chest rising and falling as her shoulders climb up toward her ears. “Ben, can you give me a minute?” she asks.

“Yeah, Ben. You can go now,” Roy says with a victorious smirk as he throws his arm over Hope’s shoulders and pulls her to his side. He thinks he’s echoing Hope’s words. But he’s wrong—dead wrong. I can see it in her eyes. She’s about to break this fucker’s heart. She doesn’t want to, not really, but it’s the only way out, and out is what she wants. What she needs.

“I’ll be right over there when you’re ready,” I tell Hope, my eyes locked on hers. I’m not going anywhere, not without her.

Stepping away is harder than it should be because Roy has every single one of my hackles up, but I do it. For Hope.

I choose my spot intentionally, ensuring I can watch both Hope’s and Roy’s expressions as this goes down. Like the universe is on my side, a tiny breeze blows through the air, bringing their words to my ears if I listen hard enough. Which I’m definitely doing, with zero remorse for invading their privacy.

“Glad we got rid of him so we can talk,” Roy tells Hope with an easy smile, clearly thinking I’m as deaf as the nearby trees. His teeth are commercial-white, his hair styled, and he’s wearing business casual khakis and a polo. I can admit that he’s an attractive guy. Based on looks alone, I can see what Hope might see in him. Though I’d expect him to be a little more disheveled and less golf-course ready if he was truly worried about his runaway bride.

Regardless, beauty is only skin deep. Whatever’s beneath his shiny surface is what matters, and I can already tell that what’s beneath Roy’s surface is bullshit.

“Roy, look—” Hope starts, but he interrupts her.

“I’m sorry. For whatever I did, I’m sorry,” he says earnestly. “I love you.”

For some women, that’d be enough. He apologized—sort of—and said those three magic words. A lot of times, that’s more than people think they deserve. I pray Hope demands more for herself, because she sure as fuck deserves it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Hope tells him, not taking the bait. “It’s not something you did or didn’t do. It’s me. I’m the one who didn’t listen to myself. I had nightmares, but I ignored them. I’d get panicky and tell myself it was the stress of the wedding. I’d look at you and see our history together. But when I tried to imagine the future, I felt empty inside, and it shouldn’t be like that.”

“It’s stress, babe,” Roy tries, clearly not listening to the truth behind her words. “You should’ve told me the wedding was getting to you. We could’ve ditched it and gone down to the courthouse.”

He doesn’t get it. He heard the laundry list of Things to Fix and thinks that’ll make it all okay. But it’s the bigger picture he’s missing.

“Maybe it is stress, but it’s the stress of keeping myself in this narrow-laned, tightly controlled plan,” Hope says, still being patient with him. “And I know I’m the one that put myself there. It’s not your fault, and I admit that. But I need to break out of it while I still can. So I am.”

He scoffs, but Hope stays steady, not giving in even a tiny bit. Her spine is straight, her gaze forthright, and the set of her mouth is one that speaks the truth.

“Are you actually breaking up with me?” Roy asks as it finally soaks in. He seems incredulous, the disbelief written in the high arch of his brows. “After everything we’ve been through?”

She dips her chin, tears starting to fall silently. Just because she’s resolute in what she’s doing doesn’t mean it isn’t hard or emotionally damaging.

“You. Fucking. Bitch,” Roy bites out, his voice and face going from handsome, if slightly pleading, to twisted and ugly in three sharp words. “I’ve stood by you through so much shit, telling everyone that we were the real deal. Roy and Hope forever.” He spits out what should be sweet words like they’re bitter acid on his tongue. “And you’re standing here, throwing it all away because of some cold feet?”

“It’s not cold feet. We’ve taken every step together for so long as we’ve grown up. Right there, hand in hand. And I’m so thankful you were with me for all of that. You’ve helped me become the woman I am today in so many ways.” I can hear the but coming a mile away, and then Hope leans in to ask him, “But did you ever want to skip a step? Or go to the left, or right? Jump, sprint—something? Maybe do it by yourself?”

Roy looks at her like she’s speaking gibberish. “No,” he murmurs hollowly.

Hope looks at him, all the history they’ve shared in her tear-filled eyes as she begs him to listen, to hear her. And finally, he does.

He lashes out angrily, “So, that’s it. You’ve got some wild oats to sow? You need to hop on some other dicks and do stupid shit? That’s what you’re telling me?” He jerks an arm toward me. “You think I’m gonna be waiting here when you get done fucking him and gallivanting all over town like some whore? You think I’m gonna take you back like it’s no big deal after that?” He shakes his head. “No way. It’s you and me—now, here, or nothing, Hope.”

The ultimatum hangs in the air between them. Hell, between the three of us.

She licks her lips, her eyes blazingly blue. This is her moment of decision. She can unring that bell and go back. It’ll be awkward, but she could do it. She could do anything.

“I have to do this. For both of us. Otherwise, I’m going to be standing at the kitchen sink one night after putting our kids to bed, and you’re going to come home after ‘working late’ when what you were really doing is sleeping with the new teller at work. And we’ll both be lonely, sad, and alone. I want better than that for us both.” She implores him to understand, speaking from a well of deep sadness, but he’s staring back in slack-jawed confusion at the picture she’s painting. Before he can collect his scattered brains enough to argue, she continues, “One day, I hope you’ll see that this was for the best. That just because we fell in love and had the chance for our childhood dreams to come true doesn’t mean it’s the right thing. The future can be a complete unknown, and that’s okay because we don’t have to have all the answers today. I know that sounds crazy coming from me, Little Miss Planner, but it’s the truth. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know what I’m not doing.”

Marrying you.

She doesn’t give her answer to his ultimatum aloud, but damn if I don’t hear it. Roy does too.

But he can’t accept it, already shaking his head as he forms a rebuttal.

I get it. He’s losing the most important thing he’s ever held, but he can’t keep Hope by holding on tighter.

Free and wild, wherever you choose to be. Flying on the wind, please take me.

“This isn’t over,” he vows. He takes a step back, and then another, before turning, shoulders slumping. It’s a hard hit, and it hurts.

Yeah, it is over, and he knows it. But he doesn’t want to admit it. That’d make it real, and he’s not ready. But Roy’s feelings on the matter don’t mean shit to me.

All I care about is that Hope watches him go for a moment and then turns to me with a wavery smile. “I did it.”

“Fuck yeah, you did. How do you feel?” I step into her space, not touching her but wanting to lend my support if she wants it.

Her answer is important. What she’s done isn’t easy, so being torn about it is to be expected, but underneath the gut-wrenching, there should be a release of that knot she’s been holding on to for too long.

“Scared,” she confesses. “But like I’m gonna be okay. I hope Roy is, too, someday.”

Sweet girl knows she broke that fucker’s heart, but he didn’t deserve her. Any fool can see that. It might’ve only been one emotional conversation, but he went from slick charmer to bossy asshole to whiny brat at the drop of a hat, manipulative to the end. Admittedly, he’s desperately in love and probably kicking himself in the ass, but he didn’t listen to Hope. Not really. Or else he’d want her to run so she can find happiness, even if it’s not with him.

Loving someone isn’t about getting what you need from them, but about giving them what they need. And Hope needs freedom, passion, and surprises—all things Roy couldn’t or wouldn’t give her. And now he’s paid the ultimate price ... he’s lost the best thing he’s ever known.

But Hope? She’s finding something important—herself. And it’s fucking breathtaking to witness.

Chaos in a bottle, going wild beneath the lights. Prettiest train wreck I’ve ever seen, covered in your glittery midnight.

The words are coming fast and easy when I think about Hope, and I use some of the ones I willed myself to remember on the boat tour, which seems like a lifetime ago, not only this morning. I get a chorus done in record time, go back to add the opening verse, and then stare at the words in the notebook in front of me.

This feels like the old magic, and this is the point where I’d usually share it with Sean. I value his input and want it to feel right to him too. Before I question myself, I grab my phone, take a picture of the scribbled lines, and send it to him.

I’m avoiding the conversation we need to have like a weak-ass bitch, but hopefully, this can be the olive branch we need to find a starting-over point.

New phone. Who dis?

It’s not a new phone, and he knows exactly who sent the picture.

Got inspired, what do you think?

Think you’re an asshole who writes shitty poetry.

Thanks. I’m thinking ballad for this one.

I’m thinking you can suck my sweaty ball sack.

I sigh as the irritation begins to prick over my skin. But then another text comes through:

Agree on the ballad. I’ll see what I can do. Send me the rest when you have it.

And that’s that. We haven’t addressed the elephant in the room, but he didn’t tell me to fuck off and lose his number. It’s progress.

I toss my phone on the couch and get back to work, wanting to make the most of the few minutes I have while Hope is in the shower. It’s also a very, very necessary distraction from the fact that she’s naked and wet ten feet away.

Coming to life, resurrected from the ash of mediocrity. Bury me six feet under, I’ll feed your righteous femininity.

That is what I want to do. Help Hope find the power in her divineness without sullying it with my own filth. But fuck, she’s making it hard. After touching her, seeing her ass right in front of my face, and watching that innocent smile curve her lips, all I want to do is throw her down on the nearest surface and show her what sex can and should be like.

But that’s not going to happen. It’s what I want, not what she needs. And I won’t be like that douchecanoe Roy and selfishly focus on my own desires.

She said it plain as day. What she needs is time to become who she’s always been meant to be. One Miss Hope Mercy Barlowe, woman on fire. And I can give her that.

Even if my dick disagrees.