Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted (23 page)

“Trust me, you
do not want to experience an Iowa winter without electricity, especially at
night.”

Ben put the kit
back in the bag next to a first aid kit. “Holy crap, you’re a doomsday prepper.”

Will shrugged
limply. “I’m not big on labels.” He zipped the bag shut and returned it to the
safe. After locking it, he set a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “We’ll talk more about
this later. I just want you to know what we might be up against.”

“What’re we up
against?”

They turned to
see Brooke standing at the bottom of the stairs, glass of wine in her hands.

Will grabbed a
pool cue and tossed it to Ben. “Aliens, Brooke. Hostile aliens with acidic
blood that makes it nearly impossible to destroy them.”

Brooke arched an
eyebrow. “Oh, that’s nice.”

Will chalked up
a stick, his eyes flicking over to Ben. “Now, about that lunch bet?”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Brooke and Ben
waved goodbye to Laura and Will, who stood shivering on the front porch as Ben
pulled away from the curb.

Brooke was all
smiles. They had spent longer than planned, but that was a good thing. Had
things not gone so well they would have left two hours ago. “Well, that went
good.”

“I think your
dad really likes me,” Ben said, carefully steering the F-150 down the snow
covered road. “Not so sure about your mom, but…”

“She likes you.
She was just busy getting everything ready.”

“I can’t believe
Richie played sick and pulled the no-show.”

“Oh, I know! He
is so not sick.”

Ben stared at
the snowflakes pelting the front windshield. “I don’t get why he doesn’t like
your dad.”

“Probably
because my dad points loaded guns at people.”

“He was just
playing around.”

She released a calming
sigh. “Well, one down one to go.”

Ben rubbed his stomach.
“I’m still not hungry.”

“Me neither.”

“My mom will be
pissed if we don’t eat something.” Ben glanced over at her. “She’s not the
greatest cook in the world so prepare yourself for a lot of stuff made from a
box.”

“I just hope she
doesn’t hate me.”

“She won’t hate
you,” Ben replied without much conviction.

***

Irene set her
tea cup back into the saucer. The rattle of porcelain against porcelain seemed
deafening in the quiet strangling the room. She cleared her throat. That was
loud as well.

“How in the
world do you walk in those things?”

Brooke followed
Irene’s gaze to her new pair of beige heels, which weren’t near as high as her
favorites. “A lot of practice. I can practically run in them now.”

Irene snorted. “I’d
break my neck walking in those things.”

Brooke tried on
a smile that didn’t fit.

“Although, I bet
they help you get in Ben’s truck. I need a stepladder just to get in that thing.”

Ben rolled his
eyes. “Stop slamming my truck, mom.”

“I’m not
slamming it. I just wished you would’ve gotten something easier for me to get
into.”

“Well, I’m the
one who gets into it every day, so I thought I’d get something I liked.”

“It smells so
good in here,” Brooke said, changing the subject.

Irene smiled
thinly. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am,” she
lied, returning the same phony smile.

“So how was
church today, mom?”

Irene creased
her brow. “I didn’t go to church today.”

“What?” Ben
swapped a perturbed look with Brooke. “No church on Thanksgiving? I don’t know,
mom…sounds like the Devil’s starting to win.”

“Oh for heaven’s
sake, Benjamin,” she said with an uneasy laugh. “You know full well the Devil
will never win.” She turned to Brooke and shook her head. “How do you put up
with him?”

“I was just
asking myself the same thing.”

Irene scooped up
her tea cup with both hands and took a casual sip. “So have you found a new
place to live yet, dear?”

Brooke shifted
on the tiny couch that felt like a wooden bench. “Not yet.”

The silence
swooped back into the room, mixing with the smell of turkey and cat litter
melding in the air.

Much to Brooke’s
horror, Ben got up and went into the bathroom down the hall, leaving her alone
with Irene. Brooke turned back to Ben’s mom with an uneasy smile. Irene took
another sip, staring at Brooke over the rim of her cup. Brooke looked away and
let her gaze sweep the living room where Precious Moments figurines threatened
her every move. She kept her elbows close to her body, terrified of accidentally
knocking one over.

Her eyes
returned to Irene’s yellow sweatshirt. A humming bird collected nectar from a
red flower on its front – a red flower that looked a hell of a lot like a
vagina.

Irene scooted
closer to Brooke on the green couch that, despite its age, was still in great
shape. She locked eyes with Brooke and spoke in a whisper. “Do you love him?”

Brooke’s heart
dropped like an elevator with a splintered cable, driving the air from her
lungs. “Ben is amazing.”

“But you didn’t
answer my question.”

“Didn’t I?”

Irene pinched
her gaze, sending crow’s feet jetting from the corners of her eyes. “What are
your plans anyway?”

Brooke’s
eyebrows dipped. “
Plans
?”

“Do you plan on
marrying my son?”

“I-We haven’t
gotten that far yet, Irene.”

Irene looked
taken aback. “Yet, you managed to get far enough into his apartment.”

“It’s just
temporary,” she said, gravity pulling on her features.

A knowing smile
crossed Irene’s lips. “I thought reality television was temporary at one time as
well.”

Brooke took a
drink of the tea she couldn’t stand and swallowed with a fulfilled sigh. “This
tea is so good. Where did you get it?”

Irene’s voice
turned so grave it gave Brooke goose bumps. “
Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for
God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.”
She leaned
back, her glare as icy as her tone. “Hebrews thirteen-four.”

“Oh my,” Brooke
said faintly, taking another sip of tea and wishing it was spiked with whiskey.

The toilet
flushed and the sink turned on in the bathroom.

Irene leaned in
again, this time closer. “I will not stand by and watch my son lured into false
hope by some wicked-tempered whore.”

Brooke inhaled
sharply and clapped her hand over her chest. “I am not wicked-tempered!”

“You are living
in sin, dear. Do not drag him down this path of darkness; it will only end in
doom.”

“
Path of darkness
?”

Irene tightened
her pointed glare. “Have you been drinking?”

“What?”

“I smell alcohol
on your breath.”

“Oh, well, I had
a glass of wine at my family’s Thanksgiving.”

Irene leaned
back, a certain sense of satisfaction blooming in her eyes, and slowly sipped
her tea.

Ben emerged from
the restroom.

“You fall in?”
Brooke asked.

He stopped in
the middle of the room and put his hands on his hips. His red v-neck he had
traded out at his place on the way over strangled his biceps and nearly made
Brooke forget all about Irene’s divisive words. Nearly.

“No, I got a
text from Hicks. He wants us to meet him out later tonight.”

“Let’s eat then,
shall we?” Irene said, patting Brooke’s hand. “You can say grace, dear.”

“Oh goodie,”
Brooke muttered bleakly.

Chapter
Twenty-Four

By Monday
morning, Ben’s turkey hangover was nothing more than a distant memory. Despite
his mother’s unsettling words to Brooke (which she had finally told him about),
he was in a great mood. Probably the best mood he had been in since dropping some
serious dough on his vintage Triumph last year. He had successfully buried the
hatchet with Will and gotten the green light – more or less – to date his
daughter. And even though she would never admit it, he was nearly certain Brooke
felt the same way about him as he did for her. Nothing could throw his game off
today.

Not even Doug,
who was in an extra cranky frame of mind after eating too much pumpkin pie over
the holiday weekend. Ben hoped that would result in his spending more time at
the gym this week and less at the shop.

Ben spaced off
out the window, the ground completely covered in a blinding coat of fresh
powder beneath the sunny skies. He imagined them doing the greatest of things
together – exploring the Badlands on his bike one minute, parasailing in Key
West the next – to the simplest of things like going to the movies and then buying
q-tips and paper towels at Target. The prospect of it all was as endless as it
was thrilling. With her by his side, everything took on a new meaning.

The bell rang,
simultaneously jerking him from his daydream and bringing Doug out from the
back.

Ben forced a
smile at the fair skinned girl reluctantly strolling closer. Her uncertain eyes
scanned the entire place as she repeatedly finger-combed her short dark hair.
Ben had seen those symptoms a thousand times over. Another tattoo virgin.

He nonchalantly
nudged Doug out of the way. “How’s it going?”

“Hey,” she
replied in a timid voice.

“Thinking about
getting some art work today?”

Doug leaned on a
glass case, nodding his approval of Ben’s lead question.

“I am,” she
said, approaching a glass case and examining the portfolios inside.

“Did you have
something in mind?”

“I want to get
my boyfriend’s name on my shoulder.” She rubbed her arm. “It’s his birthday
tomorrow and I want to surprise him.”

Ben hid the
grimace rolling through him in a big curling wave. Names were his arch nemesis,
especially boyfriend names. He had camouflaged countless
significant other
names over the years, usually with colorful
flowers or butterflies, and the pain and money wasn’t worth it. Eight out of
ten times, people started with someone’s name and ended up with a giant bird or
angel with zero significant value.

“Have you
considered an iPod and a card?”

Doug cleared his
throat, pretending to thumb through the latest copy of
Tattoo Life
but flipping pages much too fast to make it believable.

She chuckled
nervously. “He already has an iPod.”

“What’s his
name?”

A wide smile
pulled into her cheeks. “Zachariah.”

“
Zachariah
?”

She nodded, the
word alone bringing sheer pleasure to her face.

“That is a mouth
full.”

“Yeah,” she said
with a short laugh. “It was his father’s name, too.”

Ben exchanged a
quick glance with Doug he wished he hadn’t.

“On your
shoulder?”

She shed her
winter coat and rolled up the shirt sleeve on her left arm. “Right here.”

Ben cringed. A
t-shirt would hide the tattoo but a tank-top or summer dress would not. He bit
his tongue, Doug’s words about
upselling
surfacing in his mind. “How long have you and Zachariah been dating?”

“Almost three
weeks.”

He arched an
eyebrow that Doug couldn’t see. “That long, huh?”

Doug coughed
into his fist.

“I know it
doesn’t seem like a long time, but I’ve never felt a connection with anyone
like this before and I want the whole world to know about it.”

“Maybe you
should start with Facebook. Ya know, change your status or your profile
picture.”

“I think I’m set
on the tat.” She pinched her brow for a moment. “No, I know I am.”

Ben carefully
chose his next words. “Well, it’s a very life affirming decision... What’s your
name?”

“Kendra.”

He offered his
hand. “Hi Kendra, I’m Ben.”

She shook it
enthusiastically. “I know who you are. You’re like a legend around here.”

A sheepish smile
broke across his face. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he said, looking over at
Doug.

“You did some
angel wings on my friend’s back that are so beautiful. Her name is Gretchen.”

“Oh yeah, I
remember, Gretchen. Said she wanted to fly and I asked if she had ever tried
United.”

Kendra laughed,
studying the tattoos on his arms. “That is some sick work.”

“Thank you. How
old are you again?”

Doug coughed loudly
into his fist like he was choking on a hotdog.

“I just turned
eighteen.” Kendra dug around in her purse for a moment and then slapped her
license on the counter.

Ben examined it and
handed it back, exhaling a long breath. “I gotta be honest with you, Kendra,
I’m not big on tattooing boyfriend’s names because when you’re young, boyfriends
tend to become ex-boyfriends in no time flat.”

Doug slapped the
magazine shut and Ben could feel the heat of his gaze on the back of his neck.

Kendra took her
ID back, her face sobering. “That would never happen with us.”

“I hope it
doesn’t, but just to be safe you might want to hold out for a couple more
months until you’re sure.”

Doug slapped a
meaty hand on Ben’s shoulder and squeezed. “Ben, haven’t you ever heard of women’s
intuition?” A slimy smile traveled across his fake-baked cheeks as he shot
Kendra a wink. “A woman knows what she wants.”

Kendra nodded
rapidly. “I really do. Zachariah is my everything.” Her eyes dialed in on Ben. “Haven’t
you ever been in love?”

Doug’s smile
widened. “Yeah, Ben, haven’t you ever been in love?”

Ben shifted in
his black Pumas. “I have, but here’s the thing: if he’s not meant for you, I’m
going to have to cover his humongous name with a unicorn. Do you want a unicorn
on your arm?”

She thought it
over. “Not so much.”

Doug hip-checked
Ben out of the way. “What he’s trying to say, Kendra, is that you want to
symbolize your commitment to Zachariah with some very special ink that can only
be found here at Iron Horse. Am I right?”

She nodded in full
agreement. “We plan on spending the rest of our lives together.”

Ben considered
her, his lips bending down, a smile in reverse. “Yeah well, I planned on being
a tight end for the Dallas Cowboys but guess what? Sometimes shit doesn’t work
out.”

Kendra’s smile
sputtered.

Doug pointed to
station number three and spoke in a pleasant tone. “Why don’t you have a seat
in that chair over there and we’ll be right with you, Kendra.”

“Okay,” she
said, eagerly going over before anyone could change their mind.

Ben watched her
pull her sit down and spoke out the corner of his mouth. “I am not doing this.”

“Fuck you
aren’t,” Doug spit back, literally spraying Ben’s face with spittle.

Ben’s face
soured. He wiped his cheek with his shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Doug.”

Doug planted an
index finger in his chest. “Get over there and do – your – job.”

Ben stared at
Kendra, who was buried in her cell phone. “Come on, man, she just turned
eighteen. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“And neither do
you.”

Ben crossed his
arms. “I’m not doing it.”

“Then you’re
fired.”

“You don’t have
the authority to fire me,
Doug
.
You’re just the guy who orders boxes of gloves and needles before taking a three
hour nap. Remember?”

Veins bulged in
Doug’s thick neck. “Get out.”

“No.”

Doug caught
Ben’s left eye with a quick right that sent Ben backpedalling into a black wall
with
Iron Horse Ink
painted across it
in large purple letters. White spots exploded when his skull made contact with
the shiny cinderblock.

He shook his
head until the spots cleared. “You dick!”

Doug wiggled his
fingers and widened his stance. “Come at me, bro.”

Ben gritted his
teeth and charged. With a loud grunt, he shoved Doug so hard in the chest that
Doug stumbled backwards into the earring case. Glass shattered around him like
he had fallen through thin ice on a late March country pond.

Kendra screamed.

Blood was quick
to follow.

***

Ben knocked on
the arched door and within seconds Hicks tall frame filled the doorway.

His brow
crumpled. “Dragon! What happened to your face, dude?”

Ben stepped
inside, lightly rubbing his swollen eye. “Doug punched me in the face and then
Janna fired me.”

“What?” Hicks
shut the door while studying Ben with his mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

“Yep,” Ben said,
dropping heavily onto the couch, air bursting from his lips. He pulled a balled
up sock from beneath him and held it up, his face recoiling. “Is this what I
think it is?”

“Probably,”
Hicks replied, snatching the sock and tossing it into his bedroom.

“That thing is
harder than three week old bread!”

Hicks sat down
in a massive recliner he dwarfed with his size. “Tell me what happened.”

Ben inhaled a
deep breath and spilled his twisted guts, leaving no stone unturned.
Hicks nodded in the appropriate spots and sparked up a joint, shaking his head
in disbelief as the story unfolded. He passed the joint to Ben, who waved him
off.

“Damn, this must
be serious if you’re passing on the kill bud, bro,” Hicks said, reeling the
joint back in.

“I just can’t believe
Janna fired me. He hit me first!”

“I know, man,
but Janna has to live with the guy so of course she’s going to fire you. She
can’t have that kind of bad joojoo in her shop.”

Ben rubbed his drawn
face with both hands, wincing when his hand found his eye. “I was just kind of
hoping she’d get rid of him instead of me.”

Hicks hit the
joint again and held his breath. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy, man. I know how much
she thought you walked on water.” He exhaled a tumbling cloud that smelled like
a dead skunk. “I know Jimmy would love to have you back, man, but he’s got a
full staff.”

“It’s all good,”
Ben said dully, knowing Jimmy would laugh his ass off when he found out Ben had
lost his job. Ben had worked with Hicks at Jimmy’s studio – Sacred Impressions –
for nearly five years before Janna had lured him away. He and Jimmy had
remained on good terms but Jimmy was definitely the kind of guy who, behind
closed doors, would take pleasure in Ben’s fall from grace. Crawling back to
that guy was last on Ben’s list.

“I’ll ask him for
you tomorrow though.”

Ben slapped his
knee. “And right when I get the girl, too! Fuck me.”

Hicks shook his
head, feeling Ben’s pain. “That’s how shit always goes down, man.” He reclined
the chair and kicked his size sixteen boots up. “Only time I ever bought a brand
new car, I got fired two weeks later and had to sell it soon after.”

A short laugh
burst from Ben. He remembered it well because as soon as Hicks was no longer
the manager of Ben’s favorite bar on Ingersol, the free drinks had dried up
quicker than shovels during a snowstorm. His smile faltered as a cold
realization set in. He had a truck payment and rent to pay each month, not to
mention cable, cell and electricity.

“So what’re you
going to do?”

Ben’s eyes snapped
back to Hicks.

“About Brooke I
mean.”

“I don’t know,”
he said tiredly. “I just promised her dad I’d take care of her after he finally
gave me his blessing to date her.” He hammered his fist into the couch’s arm,
rattling the halogen lamp next to him. “This couldn’t be worse timing.”

“Hey, at least
you still have all that money saved up.”

This statement
caused Ben almost as much pain as thinking about losing Brooke. After
purchasing his bike last summer, he refused to touch his nest egg and had been
successful in not only doing that, but adding to it as well. He pictured
himself a year down the road, the nest egg nothing more than broken shells, an
aging flat screen and PlayStation to show for it.

He shuddered with
the thought and leaned forward on the couch. “We should open our own shop, man.
Now is the time.”