Page 69 of Daring You

“Nah,” he says at last. “You don’t know where to find him.”

“Uh, what gives you that impression?”

“I just know.”

With infuriating ease, he brushes by me. “Where’d you say that exit was?”

“That’s it?” I say to his retreating back, my voice echoing in the stairwell. “You find me, fuck me, and now that you’ve got whatever answer you wanted, you’re gone?”

Ben spins around on the bottom step. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Find, finger, fuck, forget. In that order.”

I catch my breath at the unexpected, jarring hurt in the pit of my stomach—the one spot I can’t harden. “It’s how we both feel, Ben. Why complicate it?”

“You always think you know everything.” Ben takes a few steps closer to where I’m standing. “How I feel, how you need to feel, what the Delaneys went through, what could happen to Ryan if you put him up on display for everyone to see.” When Ben’s one step below me, he stops, so we’re eye-to-eye. “You may know a lot, Astor, but you need to learn to fucking care.”

The last time he was this close, I was sucking his tongue out of his face. Now, all I can fathom is punching it down his throat. “Don’t you dare presume to understand what’s in my head.”

“That’s the sad part,” he says, without even a blink. “I’m well aware of all the poison in your brain.”

I suck in a breath—

“Your mom’s death,” he cuts in. “Breaking up with Mike. Me. Experiencing sudden love for Lily in a way that fucking terrifies you, because you’ve never loved something like that before. Not since your mom. Watching Locke fall in love and becoming happy. Not even your brother got that much love from you—”

I rear back to slap him but he catches my wrist.

“The truth hurts,” he says without breaking our stare. I’m furious that my vision’s gone hot and blurry. “It’s meant to. Reality’s no fucking cakewalk.”

I can barely talk through the blind emotion. “You can’t possibly understand…”

“I understand a lot more than you think,” Ben says quietly. “But I see you, Astor. I see you. And you can build all the castle walls around yourself as high as you need. You can have me fuck you from behind all you want. I’m still going to know the heart that’s inside. And this—exposing someone who’s already escaped from Hell—that’s not you.”

I swallow, covering the earthquake going on inside. “Get out of my way.”

Ben stands firm.

I say, “You’ve said your piece. Now let me continue on with my day.”

“Don’t do this, Astor.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t—”

“No, fuck you,” I spit out. “You don’t get to stand here and count all the ways I’m an asshole and come out clean. You screw around all over town and don’t care how many hearts you break. You certainly didn’t give a shit about mine. You’re covered in burns and you won’t say why. You won’t talk about your real parents, you won’t confide in anybody, ever, about anything you’re feeling. You’re a big, bad football player, right? You don’t need a soul. You don’t give a shit about anything but pigskin and team colors.” I lean in close to say, “And yeah, I like being fucked from behind, because it’s a whole lot better than fucking a stranger face-to-face.”

When I pass him, I make sure not to touch any part of him.

“If this conversation has taught me anything,” I say as a parting shot, “It’s to talk to Ryan myself and give him a chance to see what he wants to do. Before I go to my boss, before I loop in anyone else. Not that you wanted to ask me about that part. You just assumed I’d erect a flag outside my office with his goddamned home address in capital letters.”

“Astor, wait.”

I don’t bother with a response. Instead, I slam my heels harder into the concrete steps as I leave. I hope I burst his fucking eardrums. I’m trying my damndest not to use my stiletto as a murder weapon.

“It’s me.”

I freeze, my hand clenching on the railing. I want to, I try to, but I can’t turn around.

“It’s me, Astor,” Ben repeats, and it’s with the most hollow tone that he adds, “I’m Ryan Delaney.”

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