Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I scooted across the stone bench. Ben settled down next to me. His thigh came to rest lightly against mine, sending heat oozing even through the fabric of our jeans. Together, we looked out over the lush alcove. Neither of us said a word for a while, but we didn’t need to. Just being here next to each other felt like it said everything on its own.
“What were you like as a kid?” I asked softly after a while.
“Oh, I was trouble. Bad trouble. You wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with me.”
“So nothing has changed, then, I guess?”
He grinned. “My mom would have agreed with you.”
“Would have?”
“She’s dead now. Although I guess there’s no saying for sure whether that stops her from scolding me. Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s disappointed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay; it’s been a long time. I’m only kidding anyway. She did the best she could have with a punk kid like me. It took a while to straighten myself out, figure out what kind of man I wanted to be.”
“And what kind of man is that?”
Ben looked at me curiously, his head tilted to the side. “You know, I’m not quite as sure about that as I was a few months ago,” he said after a while. “Before I met you, I would have said I wanted to be the toughest man in the state, the guy nobody dared fuck with. I don’t think that’s changed. But the way I think about that has changed. The reasons I want it.”
I bit my lip, unsure of what to say. There was so much I wanted to ask him about it, but I still felt the thinnest membrane between us, separating us. Almost all of me was tumbling head over heels for the man to my right. But the tiniest little portion sat back. Still unsure. Waiting. Watching. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry, Carmen. I don’t say things like this often, but I’ll make an exception: I’m glad I met you.”
My eyes and heart were equally full as I looked up at him. Something about the nature around us made everything Ben said seem so much more profound, like there was an extra force of gravity working hard here to give his words more depth and weight.
“I’m glad I met you, too, Ben.” I felt like my words were pressing hard at that last layer left between us, poking at it to find the structural flaws and make it give way. So much tension, so close to the breaking point.
“Are you?” he asked. He was studying my face closely. His eyes tracked from my lips to meet my gaze and back down again, roving in search of some sign that would tell him whether I meant what I said.
I tried to put as much confidence as I could into my response. “Yes,” I said firmly. “I am. I thought this was going to be, like, my last thing, you know? All doors closed? My daddy had worked so hard to keep me pinned down that I was sure he was using you to make it permanent. Maybe he thought that, too. But it hasn’t been like that, not at all.”
“What do you mean, pinned down?”
“I mean, ever since my mom died, I could barely go five minutes without him checking on me, keeping close tabs, like I was on a leash and he was never going to let any slack out on it. He made me live at home while I was going to school, never let me go out to parties, or have very many friends. Definitely never any boyfriends. The only tastes of freedom I ever got were behind his back. And every time he found out I’d done something he didn’t approve of, his stranglehold just got a little bit tighter. I guess I just assumed that’s how my life would always go.”
The more I talked, the more the words seemed to pour out of my mouth, just like the waterfall at our feet. I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted to say, or how good it would feel to say all this to Ben. He watched, not saying anything or interrupting, but taking it all in with a serious smolder in his eyes. His frown deepened the more I spoke. By the time I finished, he looked angry. Furious, even. Like he wanted to break something badly.
“Listen to me, Carmen,” he said. His voice didn’t rise above a whisper, but it was taut with a dark, pulsing energy that gave me no choice but to offer him every ounce of my attention. He drew me in with his tone alone. “As long as you’re with me, no one will ever do anything like that to you again. Not your father, not me. You’re mine, but you’re your own person, too. If you want something, you go get it. I’ll do everything I can to help you. I’m your husband, Carmen. Not your prison guard.”