Cherry Pop (Mercury Rising Book 3) (19 page)

I
t was
dark when Ben pulled into his driveway, and he sighed with relief when he saw Tripp’s truck there already. He’d waited to call until he was a few miles out of town, hoping Tripp would meet him, but he had to leave a voicemail. It was just as well—he didn’t want to have this conversation over the phone anyway.

Tripp must have just come over instead of calling back. Good thing, because when Ben had checked his phone he’d found a couple of very cryptic voicemails from Tripp that he’d missed earlier. Tripp had mentioned something about being at an airport and talking about him too much. There were a lot of I’m sorrys sprinkled in the messages too. It sounded like Tripp needed to talk to him as much as he needed to talk to Tripp.

As he opened his car door, he was shocked to see Tripp suddenly sit up on the hood of his truck and throw something at the house. It bounced off the siding and hit the grass and Ben noticed several more items lying there gleaming in the moonlight. They looked like cans. Tripp fell back against the truck with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob.

What the hell?
Ben hurried out of the car and slammed the door, jogging over to the truck. “Tripp?” he asked, worry making him feel queasy. “Is everything okay? Did something happen to your dad?”

Tripp lifted his head off the hood and turned to stare at Ben, blinking like an owl. “Ben?” he asked, his mouth hanging open in shock. “Why aren’t you in L.A.?”

“What?” Ben asked in confusion. “I never said I was going to L.A.”

“Luke told me,” Tripp said, slurring his words a little.

“Are you drunk?” Ben asked in disbelief. “You hardly ever drink.”

“Got drunk tonight,” Tripp said. He sat up again and pointed at Ben. “You left me,” he said accusingly. “Luke said get stinking drunk, so I did.”

“Sounds like I need to have a serious talk with Luke,” Ben said, relieved that nothing dire had happened. “Just as soon as I get you inside and figure out what the hell is going on. Come on. Are you sure everyone is okay?”

Tripp shook his head and then moaned as he sort of wobbled on the truck. “No. You left me.”

“If I left you, then how can I be here?” Ben asked, trying to decide how best to reason with a drunk.

His question seemed to stump Tripp, who just sat there looking at him with his brow furrowed.

“Exactly,” Ben said. “Now come on. I’m sure the neighbors would be happier if you were inside and not throwing things at my house. It’s a wonder no one called the cops.”

“My uncle’s the sheriff,” Tripp said. “Don’t like him. Not really my uncle. My uncle’s uncle. Wait. Cousin. My uncle’s cousin.”

“Now I’m confused,” Ben said, helping Tripp slide down off the hood. “Let’s just say related.”

He wasn’t prepared for all of Tripp’s weight to land on him and he stumbled backward. Tripp tried to catch him, which was a mistake, and they both went down onto the gravel. Ben took the brunt of it.

“Shit,” Ben said. His elbow stung and his ankle felt like he’d twisted it.

“Sorry,” Tripp said, laughing. “You sure are clumsy.”

Ben gritted his teeth. “Yep, that’s me. Can you get up?”

“Sure, I can still get it up,” Tripp said. He thought that was even funnier than falling on rocks. Ben shook his head in disgust and climbed to his feet, treading lightly on his sore ankle. He reached down and hauled Tripp up.

“You are going to sleep this off,” Ben said. “And then we’ll talk. Maybe in the morning, if you aren’t still throwing up.”

So much for telling Tripp what had happened today. He needed to tell him all the things he’d realized, especially that he was way off base to keep pushing Tripp away. There’d be no more of that, starting tonight. Tripp was staying here, in Ben’s bed, with Ben, even if he was stinking drunk. He could sleep it off under Ben’s watchful eye. In a weird sort of way, he was kind of touched that Tripp had gotten shit-faced drunk over his leaving.

“I never throw up,” Tripp said. “You left me. I’m gonna be lonesome when you’re gone.”

“I’m here now,” Ben said. “See?” He waved his hand in front of Tripp’s face and Tripp batted it away. “Come on.” Ben slid his arm around Tripp’s waist and guided him, with a great deal of stumbling, to the front door.

“Give me the keys,” Tripp said. “I can open it.”

“I can open it too,” Ben told him, pulling the keys out of Tripp’s reach. “I’m pretty sure you can’t even find the lock right now.”

“Sure can,” Tripp said. He reached for the door and then frowned. “When did you get so many locks?”

“I still have just the one,” Ben assured him. He got the door open finally despite Tripp’s attempts to help. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him until he’d managed to dump Tripp on his bed. “Don’t move,” he told him before he raced back to close and lock the door.

When he got back to the room Tripp was sprawled face up on his bed with his feet dangling off the end and his eyes closed. “The room’s moving,” Tripp said in distress. “It’s not supposed to do that, is it?”

“Sure it is,” Ben told him, “when you’re drunk.” He walked over and pulled one of Tripp’s legs off the side of the bed so his foot rested on the floor.

“Oh,” Tripp said with relief. “Okay.”

Ben just shook his head and pulled Tripp’s shoes and socks off. Then he gripped Tripp under the arms and pulled him all the way onto the bed. He put the wastebasket next to Tripp’s side of the bed and then got undressed.

“Go to sleep,” he told Tripp, who was humming something under his breath. “I’ll be right here beside you if you need anything.”

Tripp cracked open one eye. “Want to fuck?” he asked.

“Though you’re quite tempting right now,” Ben said, suppressing his laughter, “I don’t think this is the right time.”

“So that’s a no?” Tripp asked, closing his eye again. “Again? I saw that one coming.”

“I don’t think you can see much of anything right now,” Ben said. “But I’ll try to explain in the morning.”

After he cleaned up his elbow and grabbed an ice pack for his ankle, he crawled into bed and Tripp rolled over, throwing his arm over Ben’s chest and his leg over Ben’s. Ben let out an, “Oof!” as the dead weight landed on him.

“Don’t be going to L.A. again,” Tripp said. “You stay.”

“Okay,” Ben told him, patting Tripp’s arm before resting his hand on it. “I stay.” In a couple of minutes, Tripp was snoring on the pillow next to him and Ben said a silent prayer he wouldn’t throw up on him in the middle of the night.

A few minutes later his phone rang. “Hello?” he whispered, trying not to wake Tripp.

“Is he all right?” John asked.

“How did you know he was here?” Ben glanced over to make sure Tripp was still asleep.

“We sat out on the porch and watched him until you got home,” John explained. “We can see your place from ours. We didn’t go over there because quite frankly we didn’t want to have to deal with him. Connor talked to him today and said he was all kinds of crazy over you leaving. We figured as long as we could see him and he wasn’t in danger we’d leave him.”

“Thanks,” Ben said drily. “He’s sleeping it off.”

“So, are you going back to L.A.?” John demanded.

“No,” Ben said. “But as for why, I think Tripp should be the first one to hear that, don’t you?”

“Connor said make him take some Advil as soon as he wakes up and give him a big glass of water too. Then let him sleep some more. He said the water is essential. Apparently it does wonders for a hangover.”

“Duly noted,” Ben said. “Tell Connor thanks.” He hung up and tossed the phone away. He didn’t want any more interruptions. He was exhausted and just wanted to lie there enjoying Tripp’s weight across him.

* * *

W
hen Tripp woke
up he didn’t bother to open his eyes. His first instinct was to press his hand to his head and try to hold his brains in. He had the headache of all headaches.

“Take these,” Ben said softly beside him. “And drink this.” Ben peeled Tripp’s hand off his forehead and pressed some pills into his palm. Tripp immediately popped them into his mouth. A cold bottle was pressed to his hand next.

“Take them with this water.”

Painfully Tripp rose onto one elbow and barely cracked his eyes open. The sun was up, but thankfully most of it was blocked by the closed blinds. The bottle in his hand was open already and he chugged the whole thing down.

“Thirsty,” he said when he was done.

“I would imagine,” Ben said, taking the empty bottle. “Go back to sleep for a little while.”

Tripp carefully lay back down and closed his eyes. “Did I do anything stupid?” he rasped.

“Yep,” Ben told him. “But at least you didn’t puke in my bed.”

“I’m in your bed?” Tripp asked, confused.

“Yep,” Ben said again. “Just sleep. It will all make sense soon.”

Tripp trusted him, so he relaxed and felt himself drifting off immediately. Somehow being here with Ben made everything all right. He knew there was something wrong with that logic, but couldn’t seem to care.

When he awoke the second time, he felt much better. He yawned and blinked, wincing a little at the coat of fuzz on his tongue and the crustiness around his eyes. “Ugh,” he grunted.

“Feeling better?” Ben said from beside him, and Tripp jerked in surprise. He glanced over to see Ben leaning back on some pillows, his tablet in his lap.

“What time is it?” he asked, trying to get his bearings.

“It’s about one o’clock,” Ben told him, setting the tablet on the table next to the bed. He rolled over onto his side, leaned on his elbow and grinned down at Tripp. “You slept a long time. I guess you had a lot of alcohol to sleep off. Don’t worry, I called Loreene and told her what happened. She covered for you at work.”

“Oh shit,” Tripp moaned. “What did I do? What did I say?”

Ben laughed. “Nothing that bad,” he told him. He pointed to an open door. “Bathroom’s in there. I’ve got an extra toothbrush waiting for you on the counter.”

“Have I told you yet this morning that I love you?” Tripp said gratefully as he rolled out of bed.

“No, not yet,” Ben said in a funny voice. Tripp glanced back at him, but Ben just smiled and sat back up. When he reached for his tablet again, Tripp headed in to brush his teeth.

When he came back out, feeling a lot more human, he was surprised to see Ben still lying there in bed. He finally noticed that Ben wasn’t wearing anything except a pair of boxers, and his heart started pounding.

“Did we…um…have sex last night?” he asked hesitantly. He would die if they had and he didn’t remember it.

“Yes,” Ben said. “I like to do that, take advantage of extremely drunk virgins who may or may not throw up at any time during sex. It adds an edge of danger to the whole experience.” His delivery was deadpan, and it took a moment for Tripp to process what he said.

“Oh,” Tripp said lamely. “Ha ha.” He stood there awkwardly, wearing his wrinkled shorts and T-shirt. “So,” he began. “Want to tell me what happened?”

“I thought that was my line,” Ben said. He pulled one knee up and casually wrapped his arms around it, clasping one hand around the other wrist. Tripp noticed an ice pack on the other ankle.

“What happened?” he asked, pointing at it. “Did I do that?” He was horror-stricken that he might have hurt Ben in some way when he was drunk.

“Yes and no,” Ben said, confirming his worst fears. “I was helping you down off the hood of your truck and we both tumbled down to the gravel.” Tripp reached over and felt the scrape he’d found on his elbow in the bathroom. “I twisted my ankle a little bit. It actually feels okay, but I wanted to ice it again this morning just in case.” He reached down and pulled off the ice pack and tossed it to the floor.

“Why was I on the hood of my truck?” Tripp asked. He racked his brain trying to remember.

“I’m not sure. I was gone most of yesterday and I came home to find you drunk in my driveway, assaulting my house with beer cans.”

“Oh shit,” Tripp whispered. “Did I do any damage?” He vaguely recalled thinking about driving his truck into the side of the house. “I didn’t ram your house, did I?” he asked, panicked.

“Ah, no,” Ben said, with wide eyes. “Thank you very much for that, since I’m only renting. No, you just threw empty beer cans at it.”

“Whew.” Tripp whistled in relief as he let his head drop back on his shoulders. “I guess I let my redneck loose last night. I was pretty messed up.”

“Care to tell my why?” Ben asked calmly.

Tripp did not care to tell him yet because he was pretty embarrassed, so he turned around in a circle, surveying Ben’s bedroom. It would have been as cold and empty as the rest of the house if not for Ben’s clothes tossed all over. His change was in a bowl on the bedside table, his wristwatch and wallet beside it. A couple of empty Cheerwine bottles sat on the small, cheap dresser. All these little signs of Ben made the room seem homey and familiar.

“So this is the Batcave,” he said. “Nice.”

“I’m afraid now that you’ve seen it I’ll have to kill you,” Ben said in the gravelly tones of Batman, and Tripp cracked up.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” He walked over and peeked through the blinds at the front yard. His truck was parked in the driveway, but just barely. He’d missed the front lawn by inches. He saw beer cans scattered around the yard.