by Ranae Rose
Stress lines appeared on his brow again. “I’m just trying to come to terms with the worst case scenario. Because if I can’t do it now, I know I won’t be able to.”
She didn’t ask what would happen if he couldn’t. She didn’t want to admit it was a possibility. She had to keep her fears to herself; acknowledging them would only hurt him. If he didn’t have confidence, she would be confident for him.
“I’ve been thinking…” She hesitated before forging ahead, voicing an idea that’d taken form in her mind that morning. “What if we worked it out so that all the charges were dropped, from both sides? That’s something people do sometimes, isn’t it? That man might not want two assault charges on his record. He might be willing to drop the charges against you to get rid of them.”
Ben’s expression hardened. “I’m not letting him get away with what he did to you. I couldn’t give less of a shit about him hitting me, but what he did to you is different.”
“You already punished him for what he did. Isn’t that enough?”
“No. Nothing could ever be enough.”
“Then why bother?” She squeezed one of his hands. “Please … if it’s even remotely possible, we should look into it. And the decision whether to drop the charges for what he did to me would be mine, anyway. I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant getting you out of all of this.”
Her heart sped at just the thought. Was it really possible?
She dared to hope.
“It probably wouldn’t, anyway. Shitbags like the guy who hurt you never feel responsible for their actions, no matter how bad they are. He’ll be mad over what I did to him. He won’t want to drop the charges.”
“You don’t know that.”
For a while, Ben said nothing, just looked angry.
“I have an appointment with a criminal defense attorney tomorrow,” he eventually said.
“Good.” She squeezed his hand. “Talk to him about what I suggested. Please.”
* * * * *
When Ben and Dylan left the attorney’s office together on Tuesday morning, Ben wished he was alone.
Nonetheless, he let Dylan rope him into stopping for lunch on their way back to the apartment. He wasn’t hungry, but he ate half a sandwich anyway.
Before they returned to the car, they got a call from the attorney.
The news he delivered was nothing Ben hadn’t expected.
“What do you think?” Dylan asked as he pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot. He’d avoided talking about the appointment during lunch, but that seemed to be over now.
Ben shrugged. “What am I supposed to think?”
“That guy’s gotten plenty of real criminals off the hook. I’d say his chances of getting you acquitted are pretty damn good.”
Ben had to admit, the guy had an impressive track record. That didn’t mean he enjoyed having to hire a criminal defense attorney and being grouped in with people who’d escaped punishments they’d probably actually deserved.
“You really don’t think I was in the wrong?” Ben asked.
“No. I told you that.”
Despite Dylan’s words, dissatisfaction hung over Ben like a storm cloud. It was hard to think clearly, hard just to breathe. He was perpetually restless, couldn’t get comfortable anywhere. He’d been like that ever since he’d left Hannah’s place the evening before.
Nervous energy had dogged him as he’d shopped for her, cooked for her and tried to watch movies with her. Fucking her had been a brief, intense reprieve – a retreat into physical pleasure. But afterward, his anxiety had come rushing back.
What was she doing now? Hopefully not having a shitty morning.
He’d promised to stop by her place after work every evening until she didn’t need to wear the brace anymore. He felt bad over not being able to help her during the workday, but she’d said it was no big deal, that she’d just take her showers in the evenings.
“I think we made the right decision going with this guy,” Dylan said when Ben was silent. “Hey… Have you given your therapist a call yet?”
“No.”
“You should.”
“I don’t want to see him.” He was done with the therapist. He’d only gone months ago out of a sense of obligation, one that was no longer strong enough to compel him to go back. “I might not have much time, and I don’t want to waste it talking to him. It’s like talking to a smartass wall that thinks it knows better than me.”
“What do you mean you might not have much time?” Dylan looked away from the road to meet Ben’s gaze.
“I mean this lawyer might fuck up. I might get convicted.”
“You won’t.”
“You keep saying that. You and Hannah. But neither of you can know that, and neither of you are stupid. Stop treating me like I am, all right?”
Dylan frowned. “You say that to her, too?”
“No. I don’t want to hurt her feelings. But she’s just like you – worse. Her big idea is trying to get the charges dropped all around.”
Dylan’s frown deepened.
The attorney had gotten in touch with the other guy’s lawyer – that was what he’d called about, during lunch – and that clearly wasn’t going to happen. Apparently, having to suck down fluids through a straw had the guy every bit as pissed as Ben had predicted.
“It’d be a good idea, if it was possible,” Dylan said. “She’ll be disappointed.”
Ben nodded.
“I mean it,” Dylan said. “She really likes you. It’s easy to see. Don’t be such a dick when you talk to her about it. She might try to hide it from you, but it’ll hurt her to hear the news.”
“I wasn’t going to be a dick about it.” He didn’t want to hurt her, and he didn’t have the energy anyway. Arguing with Dylan was exhausting enough.
Ever since the fucked-up night at the pub, he couldn’t seem to get enough sleep. It was ridiculous. He hadn’t been to the gym since his arrest, and physically, he felt like the hopeless fuck-up he was turning into.
The worst part was how hard it was to care.
CHAPTER 19
“I see,” Hannah said, sinking down onto her bed as her heart dropped straight to her toes.
She’d been so glad to see Ben walk through her front door, and so hopeful. He’d met with his lawyer that morning. Meanwhile, she’d spent the day half-sick with hope that the attorney would see things the way she did and work out a way for charges to be dropped.
Apparently, that wasn’t going to happen – the man who’d attacked her was insisting on pressing charges against Ben. The news hurt, and she had to fight to keep a neutral facial expression.
“My preliminary hearing is scheduled for next week,” he said.
“What’s a preliminary hearing?” She was so ignorant about all of this. Her mother was a paralegal, but she worked for a firm that handled personal injury suits. She should’ve looked up the criminal justice process instead of blindly hoping that Ben would never go to trial.
Instead, she’d spent time researching bipolar disorder. What she’d learned had her feeling even worse about the situation Ben was in. What if the stress triggered a dangerous shift in his moods?
“It’s where a lawyer has to prove that there’s enough evidence of a crime having been committed for things to proceed. Unless the judge thinks the attorney is full of shit, my case is put forward for trial.”
“So it’s not an actual trial?”
“No. Apparently there are a bunch of steps before it gets to that.”
“Well…” Hope flared inside her, sharp and sudden. “Maybe the judge won’t be convinced.”
Ben grimaced. “Hannah. You’ve gotta stop talking like that. Whenever you say shit like that and it doesn’t happen, I feel like I’m letting you down. I hate that feeling.”
She froze, stunned. Was that really how she’d made him feel?
Regret hit her hard, and she blinked rapidly. She’d only been trying to keep things positive. It’d never occu
rred to her that he saw her hopes as expectations, that she’d been placing an extra burden on him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I had no idea you felt that way. I was just trying to let you know that you’re innocent in my eyes.”
“I’m not trying to be a dick. I—”
“It’s okay. I wouldn’t have said those things if I’d known how they made you feel.”
Silence stretched between them, breeding heartache.
“So if the case is put forward, what will the next step after the preliminary hearing be?”
“A formal arraignment.”
She nodded, then wrapped her good arm around him. She longed to tell him everything would be okay, but didn’t dare. Instead, she said nothing.
He didn’t say anything either. But he didn’t pull away, and he didn’t leave.
* * * * *
The preliminary hearing went as Ben had expected. Still, it was hard not to be disappointed. The whole situation felt more real now – the walls were closing in.
It made his world feel smaller, more claustrophobic. It was hard to focus on work. Hard to sleep. Hard to function, when there was so much pressure bearing down on him from all directions. All his mind wanted to do was focus on his problems, turning them over and over, looking for a solution that wasn’t there.
His mind was a desert of worry, graced with the oasis that was Hannah’s company. But in a way, having her increased his discomfort.
He hated letting her down.
“You going over to Hannah’s?” Dylan asked when he and Ben were back at the apartment less than an hour after the hearing.
Ben glanced at the clock. It was almost three. He’d taken off work for the day, and so had Dylan.
Hannah hadn’t gone back to work yet, and he knew damn well she was sitting around her apartment worrying about him.
He hated that he was putting her through this, hated having to recount his every failure to her, letting her down repeatedly. He felt like a perpetual bearer of bad news.
This wasn’t what a new relationship was supposed to be like. Why was she still with him? Guilt?
The notion didn’t sit well with him. His stomach re-tied itself in the same knots it’d been in most of the day.
“I said I would.”
Dylan nodded. “You want some lunch first?”
Ben shook his head. Hunger was beyond him.
“You’ve gotta eat,” Dylan said. “I know today sucked, but all it really meant was that there were a lot of witnesses who saw what you did to that guy. It wasn’t a judgment on whether you were right to do it or not.”
Ben stood. “I’ll eat with Hannah. I know she’s been bored as hell, stuck in her apartment.”
“All right. So long as you eat. Who the hell would’ve thought I’d ever have to remind you to do that?” Dylan broke into a wry smile.
Ben understood the irony, but it couldn’t pierce the veil of his dread. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to tell Hannah the shitty news. He’d expected it, but if anyone would be genuinely disappointed by it, it’d be her.
She just didn’t see him the way other people did. He should’ve been grateful for that, but sometimes, it felt like too much pressure to ever live up to.
* * * * *
Hannah wore her new purple button-up top. She and Jenna had gone shopping over the weekend, as they’d planned. Hannah had gotten a couch, a few small kitchen appliances and several new shirts that she could slip into without having to pull over her head.
The purple one was the prettiest. She’d put it on that morning, thinking of Ben. He’d promised to come over that evening.
Maybe it was stupid. Seeing her in a cute shirt wasn’t going to make a difference in the grand scheme of his stressful day. Still, she wanted to look good when she was around him. She’d managed to get out of her brace and into the top, although she’d need his help getting the brace back on properly.
No matter what he was going through, he still made her heart beat faster. He’d seen her in way too many frumpy cotton lounge outfits over the past week, and she longed to redeem herself with a polished appearance. While she waited to hear from him, she brushed her hair until it shone and put on her favorite coral drop earrings.
When that was done and he still hadn’t gotten in contact, she brushed on some makeup as a way to distract herself from her nerves.
She never got a call. Instead, a knock came at her door.
She hurried to answer it, and wasn’t disappointed. Ben stood outside, and she opened the door quickly, her heart in her throat.
“Hey. I figured you’d call when you were on your way over.”
“I didn’t want to dump the news on you over the phone.”
“Well, I’m glad to see you. But I guess that means the preliminary hearing didn’t go so great.”
He stepped inside and she locked the door. Her pulse throbbed in her fingertips, against the metal bolt.
“The case will continue,” Ben said. “My formal arraignment is in seven weeks.”
Her heart sped, then sank. It was what she’d expected, if not what she’d hoped for.
Instead of saying anything, she nodded.
Ben stood in her living room – which finally looked like a living room, thanks to the new couch. They’d broken it in the other day with a movie.
But he wasn’t looking at the new furniture; he was looking at her. “You look nice.”
Surprise swept through her, quickly followed by pleasure. That he’d notice the effort she’d put into her appearance and compliment her at a time like this spoke volumes about his thoughtfulness.
“Thank you.” She smiled, defying the crack in her heart.
“Are you hungry?” he asked after a few moments.
“A little. Why, did you skip lunch?”
He nodded. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
“Take-out?” She glanced toward the kitchen counter, where she’d laid her phone.
“I thought I’d take you somewhere.”
She felt her eyes widen, but tried to mask it. He wanted to go to a restaurant? He hadn’t expressed any interest in doing that since their last disastrous night out.
As she nodded, she felt like she was treading on thin ice. “That sounds great. Where do you want to go?”
“Somewhere quiet.”
“How about that steakhouse we had such a good time at – the one with the live jazz music? It was pretty laid-back.”
She understood why Ben didn’t want to go anywhere too loud or chaotic. She didn’t want to stir up any memories from a week ago, either. The steakhouse would be perfect – they’d been in their own little world there last time.
“Sounds good.”
Her smile widened. Despite the stress of the day, she couldn’t help it. Yes, Ben was going to trial, but if justice prevailed, he wouldn’t be convicted of any crime. The injury her attacker had inflicted on her was anything but minor – she’d already been out of work for a week. Ben’s actions had saved her from even worse damage.
Now that a trial was a certainty, that was one less what-if he had to worry about. Maybe his fears would ebb a little now. Maybe his lawyer could put them in perspective, instill some confidence in him.
Maybe they could still enjoy dating while they each navigated playing their roles in this whole mess. If things could be good now, they’d be fantastic once this whole ordeal was behind them.
“Before we go anywhere,” she said, “could you help me put on a bra? And my brace.”
A bra was the one item of clothing she hadn’t figured out a way to wrangle into on her own. She probably could’ve managed a strapless one, but she hated those – being braless was preferable.
“Do I have to help you with the bra?” Ben asked.
“If we’re going out in public, yes.”
He sighed. “If you insist. For the record though, I’m against it.”
For the first time in a week, she laughed.
* * * *
*
The restaurant was nice. The food was good. Hannah looked beautiful and seemed happy.
So why couldn’t Ben be, too? At least for tonight.
Guilt had swamped him the moment he’d walked through her apartment door to see her looking so nice, her clothes, hair and make-up all perfect. He’d spent a week moping around – often at her place – and she’d been so good to him. He’d wanted to take her out. She deserved it. She deserved everything he could give her, and more.
He was glad they were at the restaurant. At the same time, he feared she’d notice the difference between her mood and his. Feared he’d drag her down.
The mood stabilizer he was on was supposed to keep him from bottoming out, and for the past few months it’d been doing a good job. But the line between whatever normal was supposed to be and depression had blurred.
He wasn’t at his worst. But then, his lowest moment had been a suicide attempt, so he’d literally have to be dead to be worse off than that.
And he sure as hell wasn’t at his best. Anxiety took its toll, constantly radiating through him, like the threat from a live wire.
He tried to seem normal, tried to keep conversation going. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that swirled through his mind like an undercurrent, making his words sound hollow to his own ears.
Did they sound that way to her, too?
“Can you draw with just one hand?” he asked when she said she’d been working on some sketches as a way to burn through her time at home.
“Yes, although I never realized until this week how much I use my other hand to hold the paper still. Even when it’s in a sketchbook and I don’t need to. Habit, I guess. It feels weird to let my free arm just hang at my side.”
“Maybe you can show me your sketches when we get back to your apartment.”
“Sure.” She took a sip of her water. “Do you plan to stay late?”
