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He shook his head and leaned forward to set his elbows on the mattress beside her. "In fact, Opal has invited both of us to Christmas. So, you'd better get out of here soon."
Victoria touched his face again, apparently needing the contact. "Do you love her?"
Benjamin drew in a slow, deep breath and swallowed before he answered. "I will adore her as long as she can stand to be with me, and when she can't, I'll let her go. I consider that love."
CHAPTER TWENTY
Benjamin stood at the window of the suite that had become his second home in the last several weeks, watching the snow come down so fast that the Hartford DPW trucks couldn't keep up with the accumulation. He'd spent so much time at the Crowne Plaza since the shooting, he'd permanently reserved the room so he could come and go as he pleased.
Despite the warmth in the room, a raw cold sat in the center of his chest. It had started as a nugget of ice lodged beside his heart, and had grown steadily for three days.
He'd taken some of the four months of vacation time he'd accrued and never used to be in Hartford during Jon Roth's criminal trial. The same influence Jon Roth had used to get a bail hearing rushed through pushed his trial for attempted murder on the fast track, and now on day three of the trial he could be sentenced and imprisoned by Christmas.
For three days, Benjamin had sat in the courtroom and learned the sordid, dark details of a life both foreign and all too real to him. The prosecution did their job without restraint, pulling out of the deepest, darkest corners of the model of dysfunction that was the Roth household. They painted a picture of a drunk, a man losing his business, a man pushed to his limits who finally snapped and lashed out. While they conceded that Victoria had not been the object of his rage, or the intended target for his bullet, she was the ultimate victim. They argued that a man who would pull a weapon with his child in the line of fire was a man who couldn't be trusted to exist in society, a man who wouldn't hesitate to take out his vengeance on anyone who stood in his way.
The defense took another approach, and as would be expected by the legal team defending Jon Roth, they painted a picture of a victim. A man pushed to his limits, a man who could not be expected to bend and finally break under the strain of a crumbling life.
Forever to be documented in the tomes of judicial history, they told the story of a young man who worked hard to create a life for his wife. A man who built a business with a partner and friend he trusted, only to be betrayed by that same friend. They portrayed Ben Prescott as a user, a backstabber, and a heartless bastard who seduced his best friend's wife the night before his own wedding. A man who never claimed responsibility for his transgressions.
Jon Roth was an honorable man if his legal council was to be believed. He hadn't wavered in his love when he learned his son, his first child, was Deaf. He'd given his whole heart to helping his son. When he learned his firstborn child was not his child at all, he reacted with more restraint than any man could be expected to have. He had decided to save his family from disgrace by raising the boy as his own.
Throughout the entire testimony, Benjamin was never identified by name. The defense attorney told Benjamin it was to prevent the jury from connecting Benjamin with his natural father in any positive light. During cross testimony, the prosecuting attorney did just the opposite, continuously naming Benjamin and pointing out the wrath he had suffered at the hands of his 'honorable' and 'respectable' father.
By the end of the three days, Benjamin's head pounded from grinding his teeth and his hands ached from clenching his fists.
No matter how he looked at it, he was the source of everything. It didn't matter that he hadn't asked to be conceived, he didn't ask to be the product of his mother's infidelity, and he didn't ask to be a constant reminder to the man who 'claimed' him.
To the prosecution, Benjamin's existence was just an excuse for Jon Roth's abhorrent behavior. To the defense, Benjamin was a burden that finally pushed Jon Roth past his breaking point, and Victoria was the innocent victim of years of strain and stress on her father.
Benjamin hung his head and closed his eyes, resting his forehead against the cold window. A tight headache pulled from his temples along the back of his head and down to the tense knots that twisted his shoulders.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he didn't reach for it. He knew who it was. The same person who had texted him several times in the last day and a half. The same person he couldn't bring himself to answer.
Jewell.
He couldn't bring himself to answer her. Couldn't put on a convincing enough façade to make her believe everything was going fine, that he could look himself in the mirror without feeling…disgust? Anger? He didn't even know, so he hadn't looked in two days.
Benjamin figured a therapist would have a field day with him.
Not willing to risk a trip on the road, and knowing he had to eat something more than the bagel he'd grabbed that morning with his coffee, he decided to head down to the lobby for a late dinner. He wasn't a fan of 'fusion' cuisine, but they had a full bar.
He was on his second scotch when he looked up and saw Ben Prescott weaving his way through the restaurant to the back table Benjamin had chosen. Catching his waiter's eye, Benjamin held up his glass and tapped it with his finger. The waiter nodded and moved off to bring him another. He'd probably need a double after this conversation.
Prescott sat across from him without invitation. When the waiter returned with Benjamin's scotch, Prescott ordered the same. Except he ordered the double Benjamin wished he had. Done with the walnut salmon he'd ordered, with barely a third of it gone, he pushed the plate away and wiped his lips, tossing the napkin on the table. Prescott didn't say anything until his drink arrived. Even then, he swallowed half and set the glass down with enough force to vibrate through the table.
As far back as he could remember, Benjamin wished he had no father. He never went so far as to admit—even to himself—that he wished Jon Roth dead, but he would have willingly accepted just about any scenario that freed him from the hatred and abuse for which he was the main target. Now, Jon Roth was only the name on his birth certificate and Ben Prescott was the father who walked away. Neither of them wanted him, and he wanted neither one of them.
Prescott finally lifted his head, the red rims around his eyes obvious under the restaurant lights. He picked up the scotch glass again, swirling the amber liquid in the bottom of the glass. "I'm sorry you've had to hear?—"
Benjamin raised his hand, cutting off whatever apology or explanation Prescott might offer. "Did you come here for a reason, Prescott?"
Prescott shrugged and downed the last of the scotch. "I don't know. I just…I told Barbara I'd come check on you."
"Why?"
Prescott finally looked straight at him, but only held the stare for a few seconds before he looked away. "We—your mother and I—we didn't want things to happen this way. We didn't want?—"
"You didn't want everyone to know your dirty little secret, including your dirty little secret."
