The End of All Things Beautiful

by Nikki Young

  “It’s on me,” he says, shooing me out the door with a dismissive wave, his smile never fading.

  “See, I told you I’d drink for free.”

  “And I told you, you were cheeky.” He tosses a hand up wishing us goodbye as he says, “Good luck to you, Ben. She’s a handful.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he mutters back as he pulls me in close to him again.

  He loosens his grip around my waist when we reach his truck as he opens the door and practically shoves me in.

  “What about my car?” I ask, my voice soft as I grow tired.

  “Don’t worry about your car.”

  A few minutes later, I feel myself being lifted from the truck; my eyes too heavy to open and I give in without fighting him. With my cheek against his chest and the warmth of his body soothing me, he sets me down on a bed and removes my shoes as I fall back against the pillows.

  I feel his hand brush my hair back off my face and he presses a kiss to my forehead. “You can’t keep doing this,” he whispers and I don’t know if he’s talking to me or thinking out loud, but something in his words fills me with sadness.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur, the tears already spilling from my eyes.

  His hand strokes my hair; I feel his lips rest against the top of my head. “Go to sleep, baby,” he says, and it’s the last thing I remember.

  I wake the next morning, the same way I have for a while now with a familiar throbbing headache that seems to have become a part of my daily routine. The difference this morning is that I’m calmed by the smell of cedar and cinnamon and a beautiful silence. There aren’t any honking horns, sirens, or the background noise of cars passing on the street. The sun is peeking through the slats in the blinds as it warms the already comfortable room, and for a brief moment I forget where I am and what happened last night. It’s like I woke up in someone else’s life and it’s perfect.

  But as soon as I sit up, I’m reminded of exactly what happened yesterday and like the last nine years, it’s a shit show.

  I had a screaming match with Carson that led him to admit he cheated on me. Then a screaming match with Benji that led to me getting drunk and now I’m waking up with a brutal hangover.

  The house is quiet, so I slip out of bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and my underwear. But before leaving the bedroom, I call Benji’s name and get no response. Part of me is relieved because with the way I’m feeling right now, I’m not sure I’m up for an argument. Yet I’m disappointed because just seeing his beautiful face yesterday brought back a surge of memories and reminders of how much I truly miss him.

  I hate feeling this way, torn and confused. I don’t even know where to begin or how after nine years of being apart, that I’m even going to be able to fix any of this.

  I drag myself into the kitchen, my bare feet cold against the wood floor and I stop dead in my tracks when I see what is sitting on the kitchen island.

  A chocolate donut, a bottle of grape Gatorade and two aspirin, along with a note that reads:

  C-

  Had to go to work. Stay as long as you need.

  -B

  I read the note over and over, searching for something in it that gives any indication that he still cares, that he doesn’t hate me. I guess him remembering what I like to eat in the morning when I wake up with a hangover is a slight indicator and it makes me smile a little.

  I walk around his house, and it is unreal. A huge log cabin with cathedral ceilings and exposed beams; it smells amazing and everything about it looks like it was taken directly from a magazine. I look out the massive floor to ceiling windows at the back of the house, taking in the towering pines and the small pond: the landscape like a picture.

  I sit down in an oversized leather chair that looks out on to it all as I finish my donut and Gatorade. And in a moment of sheer blissfulness I let myself believe I live here…with Benji.

  An hour later, I’m showered and dressed, my suitcase somehow managed to get back here with me and I’m sure I have Benji to thank for that. I’m feeling a little better and as I step outside onto the large wrap around front porch, I find my car sitting in the driveway.

  I could leave and never look back, but that’s not why I came here. And despite being terrified to confront everything from our past, it needs to be done. But how do I even begin?

  I can see Benji’s shop at the end of the gravel road. It’s about a mile away and I could drive, but I decide to walk it, hoping the cold air will clear my head. And maybe, just maybe, it will give me some insight on what the fuck to do next.

  Chapter Twelve

  Turns out I was wrong; the walk was just cold and windy. Being in the middle of nowhere didn’t give me nearly the clarity I thought it would and now I’m just nervous as hell to meet up with Benji, sober and defenseless. I thought after all this time he still wouldn’t have this affect on me, but the moment I saw his face last night, heard his voice, it was like I was eighteen again. I’d do anything to belong to him. But even more, I’d do anything to forget what destroyed us.

  I’m standing outside of his shop, the store is dark, but I can see light radiating from under the door of the pole barn. Up against the silence of my brain, I try to come up with something to say to him, but like everything else that has to do with these last nine years, the accident and the guilt I feel over it all, nothing forms.

  My hand on the door, I close my eyes and pull it open, sort of praying he isn’t armed with a shotgun again. While I knew he wouldn’t shoot me, the whole thing was slightly unnerving.

  The barn is far bigger than I imagined and Benji is near the back sanding what looks like a dining room table. His chin length brown hair is hanging down in his eyes as he sits on a stool in a pair of worn out jeans and a white t-shirt. And fuck me if he doesn’t look incredibly hot. So hot in fact, I feel my face flush at the thought. I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. This is not what this is about. This is not why I’m here.

  I open my mouth to speak, but he silences me as his voice echoes in the large room. “I didn’t hear your car,” he says, never looking up or stopping what he’s doing.

  “I walked.”

  He looks over at me, giving me a quick once over and shakes his head a little. “You cold?” he asks.

  “A little,” I admit, rubbing my hands together. “My feet are freezing,” I confess almost immediately. “Actually, I’m really fucking cold.”

  Although he isn’t looking at me I can see a faint smile on his face. He waits a second and then sets the sanding block down. “Come here,” he says and for a minute I have to make sure I’ve heard him correctly, but when he signals with his head, I walk over slowly.

  I stop about a foot away from him and he turns on his stool so he’s facing me. Before I even realize what’s happening, his hand reaches out and rests on my hip, his fingers pressing into my butt as he pulls me closer so I’m standing between his legs. I swear to god I’m going to fucking melt into the floor. My heart begins racing in my chest and I hope with everything in me that he can’t see how I’m reacting to his touch, what being this close to him again is doing to me. Then he takes both my hands in his, bends his head down and lets out a long slow breath into our cupped hands, and I know I’m going to fucking die right now.

  I feel his hot breath against my cold skin as he breathes into our joined hands several more times. Goose bumps line my skin and I feel my entire body start to tingle. Despite his hands being wrapped around mine, mine are trembling. It takes everything in me not to take his face in my hands and kiss him. Hard.

  But in that instant, he drops my hands and asks, “Better?”

  I can’t even form a coherent sentence so I just nod my head and step away from him, nearly stumbling backward, knowing if I don’t move I’ll do something both of us will regret.

  “If you’re still cold,” he says, returning to his work, “there’s a blanket on the table over there.” His eyes looking up briefly to indicate where I should look for the bl
anket, but then as if he’s unsure of what he’s just said, he adds, “That is if you want to stay.”

  “Do you want me to?” I ask, not meaning for it to sound smug, but that’s exactly how it comes out. I almost shake my head at my own stupidity.

  He lets out a huff and sets the sanding block down. “What are you doing here, Campbell?” he asks, returning to the Benji I confronted last night, a sudden irritation to his tone and his eyes almost glaring at me.

  “Your work is beautiful,” I toss out there hoping to change the subject and avoid telling him why I’m here. I’m honestly not sure why I’m here; there are so many reasons and suddenly all of them seem invalid. Idiotic. I shouldn’t have come here.

  “Thanks,” he says after a long second and I finally breathe out. “I don’t do a lot of local business once tourist season is over. The store is closed until spring.” While he’s at least talking to me, the conversation is still awkward and it makes me hate what these nine years apart have done to us.

  There were times we could talk for hours without a lull in the conversation or just sit in silence, yet it was never uncomfortable—companionable and comforting. I miss it. I miss him and what we had.

  “So what do you do during the off season?” I ask, even though it feels like I’m forcing a conversation.

  “There’s an online component to the business. I ship nationwide and take custom orders through it. There are times that it does better than the retail store because I can reach a wider clientele.”

  Talking about his work and his business seems to ease the tension, like talking about something that isn’t linked to the two of us and our past, is safe.

  “Wow,” I say, and he smiles at me. It’s that perfect heart-stopping smile I can remember as far back as age five. He’s always been beautiful and nothing about that has changed. He might look rugged and scruffy now, but underneath it all are the shining blues eyes of a boy I fell in love with long ago.

  “How about you?” he asks and I can’t help but notice him subtly glance at my left hand. “You seem to be doing well for yourself. A Mercedes?” he says, as he tosses his head in the direction of his house.

  “I’m an investor. Well, actually, I research failing companies and purchase them at a loss and hopefully turn a profit after restructuring. It’s quite lame, honestly.” Benji looks up at me, his eyes holding my mine for a split second before I begin to grow nervous and awkwardly interject, “I work for Jack.”

  At this comment Benji literally laughs out loud. “You work for Jack? Your brother?” The whole exchange makes me smile, and the nervousness I feel slowly begins to fade.

  “Yep. It’s his company, so he’s actually the investor, the money end of it. I just make him the money.”

  He shakes his head and the tension between us eases as a light smile forms on his face. “Never thought you’d work for Jack,” he says chuckling a little.

  “Yeah, I know. Neither did I. But he’s not too bad to work for.” I find myself pulling a stool over so I can sit down near where Benji is working. “As a brother, he’s still a douche bag,” I add, and again Benji laughs out loud.

  “Guess some things never change.”

  “Yeah,” I say, and the room falls silent again. Both of us are not sure what to say and I don’t know what comes over me, but I lean across the table and place my hand on the side of his face, my fingers brushing softly against his beard.

  “This looks good on you,” I say, but my voice comes out in a hushed whisper and I feel him lean into my hand. And when his hand covers mine, I step off the stool until I’m standing in front of him. His other hand instinctively moves to my hip and I step even closer and like before, I’m standing between his legs. But this time he stands and I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Our breathing grows labored and I realize my hands are now clutching his t-shirt, while his other hand is now gripping the back of my neck. If his hands weren’t on my body right now, I’d have fallen to the floor.

  He presses his face to the curve of my neck. My eyes close slowly and I almost moan out loud. I’ve missed what he does to my body, the way he makes me feel. I miss everything about him.

  “God, Campbell,” he whispers, but it’s strained. Like he’s struggling to control himself.

  When he pulls back, I know I’m crying and it’s the last thing I should be doing. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.

  He cups my cheek and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb before pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I have to get back to work,” he states, but it’s almost as if he says it because he knows what we’re doing here will lead to more than either of us are ready to confront.

  “Okay, I’ll go,” I respond, turning toward the door, but his next words stop me.

  “Alex usually brings me lunch in about a half an hour. You could go pick it up. Save him the trouble.”

  “Alex, my new best friend?” I ask mockingly and Benji grins at me.

  “Yep. He’s everyone’s best friend.” And again the tension in the room diminishes. “So, what do you think? Have lunch with me?”

  “Of course.”

  I’d never turn him down.

  He hands me the keys to his truck and shoots me a threatening look. “Take it easy, okay? I watched you back out of my driveway last night.”

  “I can walk back and get my own car,” I retort, pretending to be insulted as I give him a dirty look.

  “Just go get our lunch,” he quips back, winking at me before returning to sanding the table.

  I walk into the bar and Alex is nowhere to be seen. There’s a girl about my age behind the counter and she gives me a quick look and returns back to what she was doing, before her head springs back up quickly and she greets me with a smile.

  “Hi, sorry about that. I just figured you were one of the regulars. What can I help you with?” She has a sweet voice, soothing and calm, and the way she greets me makes me feel as if she doesn’t normally greet customers like this.

  “Hi. I’m here to pick up an order for Benji,” I say and she gives me a look that says she has no idea what I’m talking about.

  Luckily Alex, who comes from the back of the bar, saves me and I realize I called him Benji, which clearly is no longer the name he uses.

  “Campbell,” he says, his voice a mix of playfulness and questioning. “I didn’t think I’d see you before at least noon.” He looks over at the girl behind the bar and she raises her eyebrows. “Sorry,” he says, and looks back over to me. “I guess you’ve met my lovely wife.”

  “Not exactly,” I say, and she laughs a little. “Guess her lovely husband forgot to introduce us.”

  “Campbell, this is Annie,” he says, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. She’s a tiny little thing with gorgeous blonde hair and Alex towers over her, making her look even smaller.

  “Ah,” she says, her eyes wide. “You’re Campbell.” She looks up at Alex and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly as if to tell her not to do what he thinks she’s going to do, and the cynical, private person I’ve become immediately thinks the worst. After meeting Alex yesterday, obviously Benji has talked about me. The thought has me worried to the point that my heart begins to race. How much has he told them? I’ve never told anyone what happened with us. It’s always been a secret I assumed stayed with all of us. Never to be spoken of again.

  I can tell almost right away that they notice a change in my demeanor. I can’t help but let my thoughts runaway with what happened nine years ago. All of it focused on my concern with anyone knowing exactly what happened and what we did. Would he have told them? Both Kelly and Tommy died with our secret; we’re all that’s left of this mess.

  I can feel their eyes on me and not that I have a reason to turn defensive, but I still do. “I’m just here to pick up lunch,” I say, my tone suddenly formal.

  “Okay,” Annie says, again looking up at Alex, both with looks on their faces that seem far too suspecting for me. “I’ll get that for you.
” She disappears and Alex gives me a weak smile.

  “Everything alright?” he asks, and it almost feels like he’s feeling me out to see if I realize what is going on.

  “Yeah.”

  A few seconds later Annie returns with a large bag and walking around the bar, she hands it to me.

  “Here you go,” she says, smiling at me despite the severe look on my face.

  “Thanks,” I tell her, but it comes across cold.

  When I climb into Benji’s truck, I’m immediately pissed off. I hate the fact that my past has turned me into a paranoid bitch.

  It only takes about ten minutes to reach Benji’s shop and by then, my anger is through the roof and about to be directed at the only person whom I believe honestly deserves it.

  I storm through the door, but Benji’s lost in his work. He doesn’t see or hear me until I toss the bag of food onto the table in front of him. He stops what he’s doing and as soon as he sees my face the realization that something is wrong hits him. He doesn’t even have a chance to ask.

  “You fucking told them!” I scream, and the confused look on his face only adds to my rage. “I can’t fucking believe you!”

  I don’t give him time to respond. Leaving him confused and speechless, I start walking back to his house.

  I’m hurt and angry, as tears prick my eyes and run down my cheeks. The cold air hits me in the face, making my nose run and my tears dry almost immediately. I don’t care what he has to say. It might have been nine years ago, but we all agreed to keep everything a secret. I used to think he was different, that out of all the horrible people in the world, he was perfect. He was my perfection. But he’s a liar too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Campbell!” Benji screams, and it reverberates in every direction, nothing to stop the sound from carrying. There’s nothing but emptiness.