Page 17 of Hate It with You

“Got out on good behavior or some shit.” He scoffs, his jaw ticking the way it used to in high school when he was under intense amounts of stress. When he was still a prominent figure in our lives.

“Have you spoken to him?” I ask the question hesitantly, not sure how he will respond.

“Fuck no.” His words send a wave of relief through me. “Mom sent me a text and said he wanted to talk to me. I didn’t respond to her either.”

It makes sense, yet I can’t bring myself to say much on the topic. I haven’t spoken to my mom since the fucker went to jail five years ago. He was supposed to serve ten years, but then again, when it comes to crimes against women, men rarely ever serve their full time.

I guess the bruises he left and the words he’d scream weren’t enough to keep him locked up.

The ringing in my ears grows louder as Ben continues.

“He hasn’t tried contacting you, has he?” Ben asks, concern woven through his words.

My gut twists as I answer him, “No, thank god.” The lie leaves my lips easily. Something he taught me how to do well. I have no way to confirm it, but now I’m almost positive the note I received a month ago was from him.

“When did he get out?” I ask.

Ben’s brows pinch together. “About a month ago. I would’ve told you sooner, but I wanted to tell you in person and couldn’t get leave approved until this weekend. Why?”

“No reason.” I shrug him off, as I stare at the floral rug beneath my feet. I haven’t received any notes beyond the first one, so there’s no need to alarm Ben right before I drop him off at the airport.

Especially when he’s contractually obligated by the United States government to be in California tomorrow, and I know that if he found out about the note, he’d break the law in a heartbeat.

Ben leans forward in his seat, taking my hand in his. It’s not until our hands touch that I’m brought back to reality, my eyes pulling away from the rug and landing on Ben’s.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

No.

Swallowing my feelings, I jump up from my chair, releasing Ben’s hand. “Never better. I’ll be fine. You have a plane to catch, so let’s get going.” I head toward the door, and Ben follows, grabbing his bag on the way. As we exit the doors, the cool night air nips at my skin as a breeze rushes past.

Once I’ve locked the doors, Ben stops me before I can take a step toward my car. “It’s alright if you’re not okay, Ellie. I wouldn’t be.”

His words hit me in the back of my eyes, taking all my effort to fight the prickling sensation and plaster a smile on my face. “Well, that’s you, Benny. Not me. I’m fine. Now let’s get you back to Cali.”

Ben grimaces. “I hate it when you call it that.” The smile that spreads across his face does wonders to lift my spirits.

At least I know I can keep him out of it this time. Whatever happens, he’ll be safe.

Heading toward my car, I take a few deep breaths, swallowing my looming tears as I prepare to face Ben again. He doesn’t bring up the topic again once we are in the car, and we spend the entire ride singing along to our favorite songs together.

If you could call whatever sounds we are making singing. Neither one of us was ever very talented in that area.

Once we reach the airport, I’m quick to throw the car in Park and rush to his side as he opens his door. Pulling him in for a hug, I squeeze until he’s shoving me away, something we’ve done for years. Though hugging him this time felt like it was less for him and more for me.

“Bye, Ellie. I’ll see you for the holidays.” Ben calls out as he makes his way to the airport entrance.

I wave bye. The thought of not being able to see him until the end of the year makes my chest ache. Though I’m proud to see the man he’s grown into.

“Love you.” I call back as people passing by look between the two of us.

He waves his hand, shooing me off as though I’m embarrassing him. “Say it back,” I yell.

With an eye roll, he says, “Love you too,” before he’s making his way through the doors of the airport.

On the drive back home, I turn my music loud, unable to hear my own voice as the bass flows through the speakers just on the verge of hurting my ears. I’m tempted to turn it louder when it’s not drowning out my thoughts the way I hoped it would.

When I pull into the parking lot, the single streetlamp barely lights the way, as I park in the space right in front of my bookstore. The only other car in the lot is Alex’s red Mustang. Now that he’s not hiding from me anymore, it’s been parked only a few spots down from mine all weekend, taunting me.