I Do With You (Maple Creek)

Chapter 14 BEN

Chapter 14

B EN

“What’d you think?” Hope asks from the passenger seat.

Leaving her parents’ house after lunch was a thirty-minute endeavor of hugs, promises to call if we need anything, and more hugs. It was cute, which is a word I don’t think I’ve used a single time in my life, but I don’t know how else to describe them.

But I try.

I glance her way, finding her staring at me with big, hope-filled blue eyes. “Your family is weird.”

“Uh!” She makes a sound of disbelief, taking offense at the insult. “They’re not weird! They’re awesome!”

I chuckle. “Those two things are not mutually exclusive. Your family is like an after-school-special script—two loving parents, bantering siblings, cookie-cutter house, all this respectful conversation.” I make a face as though the comprehensive list of admittedly awesome qualities is downright awful. “And the casserole? I mean, before today, I’ve never even had a casserole unless you count putting stale Takis on ramen noodles, and I’m pretty sure your mom wouldn’t count that.”

Hope gawks at me in shock. “How can you have not had a casserole before? I could name like twenty different ones Mom makes regularly.” The rest of what I said sinks in and she laughs, realizing I’m not actually insulting her family.

She has no idea how idyllic her life is. None. But I do.

Because in addition to the perfect typecasting of her family, I also noticed the way they all made sure to include me in the conversation over lunch, making me feel like I was more than just a visitor. And when Hope’s hand slowly crept up my thigh under the table, I wasn’t the only one noticing, but no one commented on it. In fact, they were downright welcoming, asking what brought me to Maple Creek and where I’m from. I’d had to remind myself that they weren’t trick questions, but rather normal get-to-know-the-guy-taking-my-daughter-home questions.

I’d given my usual answers—vacation and the suburbs outside Los Angeles. And when they’d asked what I do for a living, I’d gone with my prepared standard answer then, too, saying I’m a business consultant. It’s the perfect cover because nobody ever asks follow-up questions, not wanting to seem stupid for not automatically knowing what the vague phrasing entails. It’s a story I’ve told countless times before to keep my alter ego a secret, but it felt wrong to lie this time, especially to Hope.

I didn’t feel bad enough to tell the whole truth, though. It’s too dangerous—for me and them.

Yet there are some things I can safely share, and I want to tell Hope as much as I can without breaking my contract or endangering my role with Midnight Destruction.

“I grew up basically feral, along with the other kids in my neighborhood. Parents, if you had them at all, worked long hours and sure as shit never had time to sit down to a meal with us,” I explain to her, hoping she can see my truth. “There was no dining room table, we didn’t pass food around, and there was never enough for seconds. Most of all, no casseroles that took an hour to prepare after a long day at one, or sometimes two or three jobs.”

“That sounds awful,” she says more seriously.

“I didn’t know any different,” I reply with a shrug. “Mom and I were a team. An unconventional one, I guess, but it was normal to me.” I frown, thinking back. “Fuck, I was such a pain in her ass. I don’t know how she put up with me. She begged me to stay out of trouble, said she couldn’t leave work anymore to talk to principals, teachers, or the cops, or else she’d get fired. I knew that meant we’d lose our apartment.”

“So you quit misbehaving.” The fact that she makes that optimistic assumption like it’s a given highlights how far apart our childhoods were.

I smirk wolfishly and shake my head a little ruefully. “No, I got better at not getting caught. This was before the gas station shoplifting days, so it really was stupid shit at school, mostly. And then playing guitar did what Mom couldn’t—get me to cool it. For a while, at least. I still wasn’t a saint by any stretch, but I started working when I was fifteen to help with the bills. In some ways, I think I hoped it would keep Mom from looking for a savior in the form of the worthless guys she’d bring home, which was misguided on my part at best, naive at worst. She was looking for more than paychecks from them; she wanted a connection. I was too young to understand that, but between school, work, and guitar, I started to appreciate all the hell my mom had been through to get me to that point, and I forgave her for a lot.”

“Are you close to her now?”

Distracted by the question and this trip down memory lane, I turn down the wrong street. Coming to a stop, I mutter, “Shit.”

“It’s okay. Go past the stop sign, and then you can turn around,” Hope advises. “You and your mom?” she repeats, not letting the question go.

Talking about my past is weird. I’m usually so tight-lipped about everything because I’m afraid that someone will put one and one together and come up with Midnight Destruction. But my past and my present are far apart—in years, experience, and searchability, thanks to AMM. Plus, I don’t want to shut Hope down. After seeing her with her family and listening to them openly spill their hearts without worry, it feels good to connect with someone.

That’s what Mom looked for, too, and you know how that turned out.

“We talk sometimes, but it’s ... complicated.”

“Parents always are,” she agrees sagely, and I almost laugh because her parents are the least complicated people I think I’ve ever met. They want one thing: for their kids to be happy.

I swallow thickly and tell her a story I swore I’d never share. “Remember how I said she dated losers?” Hope nods slowly, her eyes filled with trepidation like she can tell by my tone that this isn’t going to be a happy tale. “One of them got her into some trouble, and then I got dragged into it too. When it went off the rails, he tried to pin it all on Mom like she was some criminal mastermind, when all she really did was fall in love with the wrong asshole. I had to talk to some suit-types and explain what really went down. In the end, he got prison time, Mom got probation, and I got a sealed juvie record. That’s the B and E I told Marcus about. Because I snitched, we had to move out of the neighborhood, but by then Sean and I thought we were grown, so we struck out on our own.”

Hope’s mouth is open, though she’s covering it with her hands, and her eyes are glittery. “Oh my gosh! That’s awful! Were you okay? Was she? Did she reach out after that mess? Apologize or anything?” I think she has at least a dozen more questions all vying to get out at once.

I chuckle, in awe of her sweetness and kind heart. “Nah, I wrote her a letter from juvie, trying to explain why I sold her out, but she was mad that I sent her boyfriend away. And furious when I left her too. Said I ruined her life. Eventually, she got over him and forgave me, but we only talk a few times a year. Superficial, you know— How you doing? Do you need anything? I guess we both landed on our feet. Like a cat, I’ve got nine lives.”

Hope goes quiet as she stares out the windshield. I wish I could read her mind because it’s obvious she’s turning everything I’ve said over and over. Finally, she looks back at me and smiles sadly. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

I keep my eyes focused on the road. “No big deal. Some people have it better, others have it worse. I’ve made my peace with it.”

That’s true as long as you count packing all my issues into a box, wrapping the whole damn thing in duct tape and spikes, and shoving it into a back corner of my mind. If that counts, I’m downright fucking Zen.

“I think that’s why you’re unflappable.”

“Un-what-able?” I semi-echo.

Her smile grows into something with more light. “Unflappable. No matter what I keep throwing at you, you take it in stride. Runaway bride? No biggie. Pissed-off ex? Meh, I can take him. Meeting my family? Just a normal day. Nothing gets to you.”

She’s right in some ways, but oh-so wrong in others.

“People,” I grunt. “People get to me. Don’t like them looking at me, condemning me as some worthless punk or thinking I got to where I am by luck. I’ve worked hard my whole life to not end up where everyone assumed I would—prison or a street corner.”

“And you succeeded,” she praises me. “It sounds like you and Sean have a good thing going, so I’m sure you’ll figure things out. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be fighting with him, so the fact that you’re still arguing with each other shows how much you both care.”

People use. People abuse. All in a refusal to lose. You don’t see it. You see sunshine where I see rain. You see hope where I see pain.

I reach over, weaving my fingers under her hair to grip the back of her neck. She melts into my touch and rests her head back as she turns those sparkling eyes to me. “Thank you,” I tell her, meaning every syllable. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”

Her smile is easy. For one split second.

But the moment’s broken by the sound of a siren right behind us. I glance up into the rearview mirror and see red and blue lights.

“Fuck a duck.”

Usually, cussing about the police would be my gut reaction since me and the law aren’t exactly best buds. But this time, it’s Hope, and I go into defensive mode because she’s freaking out enough for the both of us. “Is it Sheriff Laurier? Shit, shit, shit. I’m gonna kill Roy if his dad arrests me for not marrying him. That’s not even illegal, probably. Breach of a verbal contract at best.”

“Stay calm. We’re good.”

I pull over to the side of the road, turn my flashers on and the car off. As much as I hate to let go of Hope, I put my hands on the steering wheel, up high where they’re visible. I know the drill. I’ve done this before.

Except something tells me small-town justice is different from what I’m used to.

“Good afternoon, sir. Uh, hey, Hope,” the man says as he walks up to the driver’s window. He’s in his late twenties, I’d guess, with a fresh undercut, sharply trimmed beard, and a gym-bro vibe despite the crisp uniform.

Hope’s release of her nervously held breath is audible as she sees it’s not Sheriff Laurier. “Oh hell, you scared the bejesus outta me. Hey, Brandon,” Hope responds, apparently familiar with Officer Bro. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Deputy West for now, please,” he corrects her, standing on formality.

Hope narrows her eyes, looking at him like a second head just sprouted on his shoulder and is speaking Latin. When he holds firm, she sasses back, “Seriously? M’kay, I’ll remember that next time you come in to see Dr. Payne. You can call me Miss Barlowe while I’m scraping the tartar off that weird back molar of yours.”

His lips turn down at the corners, but he doesn’t otherwise react. “Sir, I pulled you over because it seems like you might be having some difficulty driving. You made a questionable U-turn, and then it seemed like you swerved when the road is perfectly straight. How much have you had to drink today?” He thinks he’s slick, using every subjective qualifier like “ might be having difficulty” and it “ seemed like” I swerved, and not asking if I had alcohol, but rather how much.

He’s playing the game fast and loose, so it’s a good thing I’ve played before too.

“That U-turn is totally legal,” Hope informs him, leaning over the console. “If you’re gonna start ticketing people for that, you’re gonna have to write more tickets than you’ve got on your little pad”—she wiggles her fingers at the fake leather binder in his hand—“and everyone in town’s gonna riot.” She grins primly, like her argument will totally shut him down and end this charade.

We all know he has no real reason to pull me over, that the turn-around and swerve I didn’t do aren’t why we’re here. Hope is.

He’s definitely a Team Roy sort of guy, probably thinking Hope should shape up and bow down to her man or something equally antiquated, and when he saw her in the car with someone other than his boss’s baby boy, he sprang into action like the kiss-ass he is.

I let my eyes go deadly vacant as I stare into his muddy-brown ones. “This is what you’re going with?” He blinks first, not expecting the challenge but also not taking back the question. Grunting softly, I add, “Fine. I’ve had no alcohol today.”

“Deputy West,” Hope says, her tone sharper than a blade, “we’ve been at my house for hours, with four other witnesses that’ll vouch that we haven’t had anything to drink. Just my mom’s cheesy-chicken casserole, green salad, and ice water. Anything else you want to know?”

I could kiss Hope right now. I could also kill her so she’d shut the fuck up, because she’s gonna get us both arrested. I love that she’s finding her spine, but with her ex’s police buddy probably isn’t the best place to do it.

“Do you have your license and registration for the rental car?” the deputy asks me, choosing to ignore Hope’s argumentative attack. But he’s gritting his teeth to do it.

“Yep. Wallet’s in my pocket.” Slowly, I get my license from my wallet and then gesture for Hope to move so I can get the rental paperwork from the console. She huffs as she plops back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest and grumbling about “assholes all over this town who think they can do whatever the hell they want.”

I changed my mind. I only want to kiss her. And maybe give her a megaphone so she can shout her rant from the rooftops of the town hall or wherever people congregate so they’d hear her version of why she ran. They’d understand then, and nobody would be on Team Roy. Not even his daddy’s lackeys.

When I hand the paperwork over, Deputy West looks grateful to get the hell away from Hope, nearly running back toward his SUV and leaving us alone for a moment.

I don’t have any outstanding tickets, warrants, or offenses. I know that without a doubt. I’ve been a good boy for years, and even if I hadn’t been, AMM would’ve taken care of it. But I don’t trust that this deputy is playing by the rules, and I think there’s a very real possibility I’m leaving this traffic stop in the back of his SUV, to be taken to an undisclosed location for Roy to beat the shit out of me while his boys play hype squad and hold me down.

“It’s gonna be fine,” I tell Hope, keeping my voice steady even as I prepare to fight. “But if anything happens, the code for my phone is 1111. Sean’s in the contacts. Call him for me, okay?” I push my phone at her before she can say a word, though I catch the sudden flash of fear in her eyes as the seriousness of the situation hits her. But it’s too late to reassure her any further because the deputy returns.

He hands my paperwork back, but instead of telling us we can go, he puts his forearm above my window, leaning down so that his head’s nearly in the vehicle. At first, I think he’s trying to scan for illicit substances or do something sketchy, but then he clears his throat. His voice is still rough as he quietly tells me, “Been told to look for this vehicle, but everything seems to be in order. Be careful around here, Mr. Taylor. Maple Creek’s not always a friendly place.”

He’s not ripping me out of the car. He’s not escalating things to create a reason to arrest me. In fact, he seems to be trying to say something without saying it outright.

“Really? So far, everyone’s been pretty welcoming.” Disagreeing with an officer isn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Not the dumbest thing, either, though. And Hope’s doing a hell of a lot worse, leaning back over the console again to eavesdrop.

“Wait. Why are you looking for this car in particular, Brandon?” Hope asks, forgetting formality.

He exhales slowly and then gives Hope a pointed look of you know why . “You’re free to go, Mr. Taylor. But, uh ... Hope?”

I swear to fuck that I’m about to kick things off by punching an officer of the law if he says one word to her about going back to Roy. The jailtime would be worth it. And so help him, if he tries to get her out of this vehicle, I’ll end up strapped to the electric chair.

“Yeah?” she asks, her guard up and fortified with steel.

He presses his lips together so tightly they blanch, then darts his eyes left and right like he’s checking to make sure there’s no one else out here on this road but us. “You made the right choice. Keep running. Don’t look back. There are some of us who see who Roy is, and who his dad is too.”

Before the words even travel from my ears to my brain for processing, he’s tapped the roof of the car and is quickly striding back to his SUV. He pulls off a second later, leaving us sitting on the side of the road.

“You heard that, too, right?” Hope murmurs, still in her position over the console. I nod, glancing up in the rearview mirror to make sure the deputy’s really gone. “Holy shit.”

I don’t think either of us expected that.

“I totally thought he was gonna take me to a field somewhere for Roy to jump me and leave me for dead,” I confess. “But he pulled us over to warn us that your ex’s dad has his squad watching for my car, and to let you know that he’s Team Hope?” I summarize, still trying to make sense of it all.

Hope nods robotically. “It would seem so. I’m sorry about all this.”

I hold up a finger. “No apologies. We’re all good—no handcuffs were clinked, no mug shots were taken, and no fists were thrown.”

“See? Unflappable,” Hope declares. She leans the rest of the way over the console and plants a kiss right on my lips. I can feel her smile even as I close my eyes.

I shove my hand into her hair, cupping her jaw to keep her there so I can kiss her more thoroughly. “Amazing,” I murmur against her mouth.

Because, fuck, she is.