Page 104 of Daring You

27

Ben

Aiden meetsme at a nondescript billiards bar on the West Side Highway of Manhattan, wearing a navy ball cap in contrast to my black one.

I take off my shades as I slide into the booth opposite him, because sometimes, that’s all you need in this city to be incognito—a ball cap and shades. In the celebrity realm, anyway. I’m not too familiar with maintaining a camouflage under witness protection these days.

“Coffee?” Aiden asks as he pretends deep interest in his newspaper. The paper contains fingerprints and grease marks like it’s been read by a few patrons before him.

I nod, and he signals the server for two more of what he’s having. What I really want is a beer, but considering what we’re talking about, I’d better stick with nonalcoholic stimulants.

Aiden leans back against the blue, torn vinyl in the low-lit room as the server lays down a mug for me, and pours from a carafe into mine and Aiden’s empty one.

“So,” Aiden says once she departs. “Tell me what you couldn’t over the phone.”

I tell him everything. From the law firm representing these two psychos that killed my parents, to the attorneys representing them, to Astor. That gorgeous, flawed woman I thought had a soft spot for me, despite wounding her so badly years ago, who only turned around and bit the hand that stroked her.

Aiden nods along, saying nothing, staring at the woodgrain of our table or his grease-bitten paper, contemplating the universe as I detail this morning’s confrontation at Locke’s gym.

“Huh,” he says once I finish, his shoulders falling back against the vinyl again.

“That’s it?” I say. “I tell you I may have to give up everything, all I’ve worked for, and get a new name in a new city, and all you can do is grunt?”

Aiden laughs.

“Dude,” I say. “What the fuck?”

Aiden puts a hand to his chest, as if trying to contain his mirth. For the first time in more than eight years of knowing him, I want to punch the guy.

“We’re not in a movie here, Ben. You don’t have to assume a new identity and start again somewhere else.”

I splay out my hands. “But this firm, these guys at Costello and whatever, know who I am.”

“And they will have the DOJ snarling down their throats so fast they’ll lose their tongues, never mind their attorney licenses, if they so much as breathe a word of your identity to their wives, partners, children…you get the idea.”

“I don’t feel safe anymore, Aiden,” I say. “I gotta be honest.”

“Look, WITSEC was created specifically for trials. To protect key witnesses in high-profile cases, or prosecutions where the defendants are extremely dangerous. The fact they want you to testify at trial, that’s exactly where we come in. We can protect your identity all the way.”

“But I don’t want to testify.”

“And you don’t have to. In which case, we’ll slap a court order in their faces so fast they’ll get whiplash. Everything they found out about you must be redacted or deleted.”

“But my new identity—me, Ben—I’m high profile. I’m a pro-footballer. This kind of information…”

Aiden grows serious. “I’ll admit, you’re not the typical guy we protect. Usually, it’s fellow criminals that get a new identity and hide, not a baby boy who’s grown into a successful, famous adult. Is there a risk you could still be discovered? Yes, I’m not going to lie. But here are the facts as I see ‘em.” Aiden rests his elbows on the table. “You don’t want to testify. You don’t know anything relevant to that night that could help identify these men. You are doing nothing to hinder this prosecution, and on the flip side, you’re doing nothing to help them, either. So, if I were a bad guy?” Aiden shrugs. “What the fuck do I want with you at this point?”

I sit back and take a deep, cleansing breath—the kind of breath this one trainer I had who was super into meditation made me do. I’m starting to regret firing him. “So, you’re telling me, all this stress, all this bone-chilling terror I’ve been feeling about my family and friends, about giving up my life to protect theirs, is most likely for nothing?”

“It’s never for null,” Aiden says, gentler. “We didn’t put you into WITSEC because we felt like it. It was because back then, there was a very real risk posed to you. You were meant to perish with your parents in that house, and you didn’t. You were also old enough to maybe have some kind of recollection in the future on who was supposed to kill you. When you were sixteen and I told you the truth—that was serious. Chavez was poking around, noticing holes in that case, and was making noises about wanting to protect his people. We almost moved you. There is always a risk, Ben. If you stay Ben Donahue, if you don’t and become someone else, there is always a goddamned risk to your life. I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

I nod, close my eyes, and rub them.

“You’ve been Benjamin Abraham Donahue for twenty years. I would rather you stay in this world, the one you love and belong in, then have to start over somewhere else, only to potentially reach the same outcome,” Aiden continues. “But, of course, it’s up to you.”

I lock my jaw and stare out the filmed-over window. Aiden doesn’t push for me to speak. After a while, I say, “I want to stay Ben.”

Aiden sips the last of his coffee and sets it down. “Then you do that.”

---