Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted (22 page)

“Oh, I wouldn’t
dream of it,” Brooke replied, getting up to find a stick.

Six minutes
later, Brooke had just the eight ball left while Ben still had two stripes to
sink. Brooke bent over the table and lined up the shot, her tongue in the
corner of her mouth.

Ben stared down
her shirt while the guys at the bar admired her rear end. “Let’s see it,
freckles.”

Brooke drew the
stick back and looked up. “Are you staring down my shirt?”

He frowned hard,
clearly offended by such a preposterous accusation. “Yes.”

“Good.”

The stick made sharp
contact with the cue ball, sending it blasting into the eight with a loud
crack. The black ball darted into the corner pocket with a definitive
plunk
. Brooke straightened up and blew
chalk from the end of her stick. “And that’s how we do.”

“Okay, okay,” he
said, nodding his approval and feeding the table some more metal snacks. “What
do you say we make it a little more interesting this time?”

Nonchalantly,
she chalked the end of her stick. “I’m listening.”

There was a loud
bang when the balls dropped down and began to roll. Ben rounded them up and
carefully positioned them within the triangular rack. “You win and I’ll cook
dinner every night for a week.”

“Every night for
a week? I didn’t realize I was staying that long.”

He removed the
rack. “Or you can stop by.” He grabbed his beer. “Whatever.”

“Wait, you
cook?”

“Yeah, a little.”

Brooke
considered this. “And if you win?”

“If I win, you
have to be my girlfriend. And I mean change your Facebook status and send out
announcement, the whole nine yards.” He tipped his bottle back, a faint smirk
nestled in the corner of his cheek.

She stepped
closer, her gaze set to searing. “How about if I win you have to do my laundry
for a week.”

Ben laughed a
little. “Does that include your panties?”

“And you have to
wear an electric cock ring when we
do it
.”

He swallowed and
started choking. “A what?”

She looked
around. “An electric cock ring.”

“What’s it do?”

“Stimulates.”

“I’m not putting
something like that on my junk. It sounds like a shock collar.”

“Well, I have to
train you somehow.”

He chalked his
stick, not taking his eyes from hers.

“Are you in or
not?”

He cracked the
stick against the edge of the table, sending a plume of blue dust into the air.
“You’re on, shortcake.” Ben took a long drink and swallowed with a sigh. “I’m
so glad you patched things up with your parents.”

“Oh, I know. Now
if I could just fix things with Mandy.”

“That might be a
different story.”

“Why do you say
that?”

He leaned on his
pool stick and shrugged. “Because she’s not family and will probably never
forgive you.”

“Don’t say
that!”

“I’m just being
honest.”

“Well, that’s a
first!”

Ben frowned.
“Will you stop breaking my balls and break the ones on the table?”

She shot him a
grin and bent over the table, slowly drawing the stick back and giving him
another good look down her shirt at the same time.

***

They walked hand
and hand back to Ben’s truck, the wind at their back this time. He glanced down
at her again and shook his head.

“Just don’t mix
my darks with my colors.”

He screwed his
face up. “Aren’t they the same thing?”

“No.” She
stopped her high heels in their tracks and yanked him to her, a chill in the
air that neither could feel. “And tomorrow you have to stop at Walgreens and
get an electric cock-ring.”

“Me? No way.”

“Part of the
deal.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“It was
insinuated.”

“I am not buying
something like that there. Somebody’s grandma will probably be working the
counter.”

She set a hand
on his chest. “Wear a disguise.”

A soft smile
pulled into his face. “I still think you sharked me.”

“Beginner’s luck,
sweet pea,” she said, spreading an impish grin.

“Right.”

She pulled him
to her needy lips and kissed him in the middle of the sidewalk for the whole
world to see. They held each other tight and soaked each other in. A nearby
streetlight switched from green to red. They pulled apart and stared at each
other for a moment longer, lost in their own little world, unfazed by anything
and everyone around them as something magical ran its course between them.

“Oh, and grab me
a box of tampons, too.”

Ben’s face
stiffened. “Scented or unscented?”

She laughed and hooked
her arm through his, resuming their course for the truck with her head held
high, their problems surrendering themselves to the rearview mirror.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

 
The days went by in a blur, each one blending
into the next. Thanksgiving came quick, and so did the snow. Brooke was as
nervous as a dog at a flea market. She had planned on bringing Ben by her
parents’ house ahead of time to break the ice, but, like always, life slipped
through their fingers. She stared into a long bedroom mirror, turning this way
and that, wondering if her red skinnys made her hips look bigger than they
already were. Ben appeared in the background. She whirled on her beige heels, a
gold necklace swinging around her neck.

“Is that what
you’re wearing?”

He looked down
to his button down. “No, I always get dressed twice before going out.”

“You don’t have
to wear long sleeves, Ben. You can’t breathe in them.”

He pulled on the
burgundy cuffs, trying to make them longer. “I just don’t want to feel like
everyone is staring at my arms. Maybe we save that for a smaller event.” His
face brightened. “Like President’s Day.”

Brooke turned
back to the mirror and smoothed her top, unsure of what was more
nerve-wracking: the thought of Thanksgiving at her parents in thirty minutes, or
the one at Irene’s later tonight.

“Are you
nervous?”

“No,” he lied.

“Don’t be. We
won’t stay long.” She sighed and dropped her shoulders. “Does this look okay?”

An easy smile
crossed his lips as he slipped a hand into the small of her back. “You look
beautiful.”

“I just want to
look nice for your mom.” She studied at her reflection.

“You’re the most
beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Aw, I bet you say
that to all your girlfriends.”

He wrapped his
arms around her from behind and kissed her on the neck. “Thank you for doing
this.”

“Don’t thank me
yet.”

He stared at her
in the mirror for a little longer and then turned to leave.

“Ben?”

He stopped in the
doorway and raised his brow.

“I...I’m glad
you’re coming.”

His eyebrows
slid back into place. The low drone of
Planes,
Trains and Automobiles
trickled in from the living room, plugging the silence
between them.

“I just hope
it’s not a trap.” He cracked a slight grin.

“They just want
to make things right.”

“I know.” Ben
paused for one last glimpse at her before leaving the room, his mind swirling
with doubt.

***

Laura took their
coats and Brooke and Ben wiped the snow from their shoes on the foyer rug. “Evy
and Richie should be here any minute,” Laura said, whisking their coats into a
spare bedroom down the hall. “Munchies and drinks are in the kitchen.”

Ben exchanged an
apprehensive look with Brooke, pulling on his cuffs again.

“There they are!”
Will painted a big smile across his face as he came down the hallway and
extended his hand. “Good to see you again,
Tony
!”

“Dad,” Brooke
grumbled.

“I’m just playin.”
He shook Ben’s hand and slapped him on the arm. “Good Lord, is this guy on
roids or what?”

Brooke gave her
father a hug and kissed him on the cheek. “Be nice,” she whispered in his ear.

His eyes darted
back to Ben. “I’m serious. Where do you work out at?”

“Anytime
Fitness.” Ben shifted in his stance, the foyer light suddenly much too bright.

“I gotta get on
your program, man.”

Brooke squeezed
her father’s bicep. “I think you’re doing just fine.”

Will smiled at
this. “Drinks?”

“Please,” Ben
replied a little too quickly.

Will nodded to
the kitchen and they followed, the smell of turkey and pumpkin pie leading the
way. In the kitchen, warmed by hours of the oven being on, Brooke hugged her
mother while Will passed Ben a cold beer. “Hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving,” Ben
lied, taking an eager drink.

Will poured
Brooke a glass of wine. “As usual, your mother has done a hell of a job, but
just for the record I did make the deviled eggs this year.”

They stared at
the platter of eggs with clumpy yoke spilling over their sides and enough
paprika to feed an entire village.

Laura opened the
oven and stuck a thermometer into the meatiest part of the turkey’s golden
thigh. “I was hoping you’d take the credit for those.”

“Looks good,
dad,” Brooke said, taking a swig from the bottle and sharing a look with Ben.

They stood there
for a moment, no one committing to the conversation next.

Laura closed the
oven and stood up. “Not much longer now.” She took a sip of her chardonnay and
exhaled a winded breath. “Thank you for coming, Ben.”

“It’s my
pleasure. Thank you for having me.” He exchanged a thin smile with Brooke and
everyone grew quiet again.

“Hey, Ben, you
wanna see my bug-out bag?”

His eyes
thinned. “Bug-out bag?”

Will waved a
hand through the air. “Come on, it’s in the basement.”

Ben followed him
through a white door in the kitchen, turning back to swap one last glance with
Brooke, who shot him a hopeless smile. He turned back to navigate the narrow
staircase, using the walls as support.

“You better not
kill him, daddy!” Brooke called down after them. “He’s my ride home.”

Will reached the
bottom of the stairs and spilled onto the wall-to-wall carpeting.

Ben cringed when
he saw the pool table. Clawed feet and black felt no less. She had sharked him
good all right. He snorted and followed Will around the corner of the L-shaped
basement.

“That what she’s
calling your place now?
Home?”

Ben’s heart
wrenched. “To be honest, Will, that’s probably between you and Brooke. The only
thing I can tell you is I’m sorry for the way we met…but I’m not sorry we met.”

Will stopped in
front of a tall safe with a circular keypad planted above a lonely handle. “Just
bustin your balls, Ben. No need to get all up in arms.”

“I’m not up in
arms.”

Will stared hard
at him, evaluating the authenticity of his statement. Laura and Brooke laughed
about something upstairs. Will nodded to a full bar against the far wall. “Mind
lookin the other way for a second?”

Ben turned to
the bar on the other side of the room, his eyes going to a neon sign with a
black and white bear leaning on a giant can of Hamm’s. “If you’re going to
shoot me, can I at least say something first?”

“Don’t see why
not,” Will replied, tapping the keypad and igniting a soft beep with each
number he pressed.

“You still owe
me lunch for losing our golf game.”

“Ha!” Will
pulled on the handle and with a light click, the thick door cracked open. “I
didn’t lose.”

“You withdrew,
which is an automatic disqualification in PGA rules.”

Something racked
loudly behind him. Slowly, Ben rotated and found himself staring down the barrel
of black handgun. “Jesus Christ,” he said weakly, raising his hands like it was
a stickup while trying not to spill his beer. “What’re you doing?”

Will tightened
his grip, his face pinched with anger. “Have I been drinking?” His lips pulled
down at the corners as he mulled it over. “A little. Will I blow your
motherfucking head off if you continue to see my daughter?” He pulled the
hammer back with his thumb until it locked into place. “All signs point to
yes
.”

Ben weighed his
options with blood ripping through his nervous system, making it difficult to
come up with any type of plan. He could try knocking the gun from Will’s hand,
but the three or four steps it would take him to get there would sign his death
warrant. He could duck down and attempt a quick shoot, relying on wrestling
skills he hadn’t brushed off since his junior year.

Will gritted his
teeth and spoke in a low rumble. “I am going to blow you to hell, you tattooed
cocksucker.”

Ben’s eyes
widened, his heart hammering his ribcage with thundering strikes. “Will you
listen to yourself, Will?”

The gun shook in
his hand. “It’s
Mr. Burnett
to you.”

“Mr. Burnett,
come on, man. Put the gun down before somebody gets hurt.”

“You mean
you
?” Will dropped his sinister grin and
widened his stance. “You
roofied
my
daughter,” he whispered.

Ben decided to
shoot for his legs just as Will carefully lowered the hammer and began howling
with laughter. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees – gun still in
hand – like he had just finished a marathon.

“I’m sorry, but
that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

Ben lowered his
hands. “Not cool, man!”

Will
straightened up and gestured with the gun, making Ben duck. “Don’t worry, it’s
not even loaded,” he said, catching his breath and ejecting the clip for Ben to
see.

Ben took the
clip and stared at the shiny bullets crammed inside.

“Oops,” Will
said, pulling the slide back and ejecting the hollow-point from the chamber
with a loud double click. He caught the bullet in his hand and stared at it
like it wasn’t real. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered bleakly, “thought the Glock was
loaded not the Beretta.”

“You should
treat every gun like it’s loaded.”

Will pushed a
hand through the air at him. “You have to stop taking yourself so seriously,
Ben. You’ll never make it past sixty-five.”

Ben couldn’t
stop an incredulous laugh and wiped the sheen from his forehead. “Wow.” He
tipped the bottle back and took a long drink.

Will pulled a
black duffel bag from the bottom of the safe and carefully set it on the pool
table. “Now, quit fucking around, Ben, and come over here and take a look at
this.”

Ben took a step
back and watched him unzip the bag like snakes might pop out.

“Now, this will
take your head off for sure.” Will pulled a shiny Colt Python, nestled inside a
leather hip holster, from the bag and held it up to the light.

“Damn,” Ben
mumbled. “That thing’s huge.”

Will checked to
make sure it wasn’t loaded and handed it to Ben, butt first. “Dirty Harry
special.”

Ben took the
massive hunk of metal, his hand dropping with its weight. “Wow.”

“Three
fifty-seven magnum with a six inch barrel and one hell of a kick.”

Ben wrapped his
fingers around it and got a feel for its weight, staring down the barrel. He
glanced at some bagged gas masks lining one shelf in the safe. “What’s with the
gas masks?”

Will took the
Python back and returned it to the holster. “Because one never knows.”

“Never knows
what?”

“Ben, look, if
you plan on seeing my daughter there is one thing you must agree upon above all
else.”

“Okay.”

“You must agree
to protect her.”

Ben nodded
slowly. “Okay.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise I
will protect her.”

“Just remember,”
Will said, sliding the gun back in the bag, “when seconds count, the police are
only minutes away.”

Ben stared dully
at him.

“Now, that’s not
to say the police don’t do a great job with what they’ve got, because they do.
But there are a lot of bad guys on the streets out there these days.” He pulled
a siphon-kit out next. “You know how to use one of these?”

Ben took a long
sip of his beer and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I think so. I’ve seen it
on TV.”

“Well, you
better be damn sure because when the power goes out so do the gas pumps.”

Ben swept a
tongue across his lips. “I’m not sure I follow. The bad guys are going to cut
the power?”

Will leaned in closer.
“That’s the thing, Ben, we never know what’s going to cause the power to go
out, do we?”

Ben picked up
the coiled siphon-kit and examined it through involved eyes. “I guess not.”

“Could be a
tornado, or a wide-spread contagion, or a hostile invasion of North Korean
soldiers.”

Ben’s eyes
widened. “Zombies.”

Will snapped his
fingers. “Exactly! Point is, you have to have a contingency plan, especially if
you plan on dating my daughter.”

“Okay, like
what?”

“First, when the
shit hits the fan you get Brooke here safely, and quick.”

Ben nodded.

“Second, we all
head south, avoiding major cities along the way.”

“South?”