Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted

by Kaitlyn Cross

  ***

  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?”

  “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 rubbe
d 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.”