Page 61 of Bastian

Benjamin thinks for a second. “I tried getting her interested in sports, but the kid is allergic to exercise unless it’s Shaw. He’s the only one who can get Ellaiza to do any type of sport.”

Shaw.

Her bodyguard.

Jealousy courses through me. I am jealous of a bodyguard.

A bodyguard who my girl so clearly adores and who knows her more than I do. “Thanks for the help.”

“Don’t be nervous, and don’t worry so much. You can give that kid shit wrapped in pink paper, and she’ll be grateful and over the moon happy because it comes from you. You’re still her favorite human.”

Before, I used to end any conversation Benjamin started that might bring up Sebastian and Ella because it was just too painful, so there were a lot of things that he didn’t get to say because I wouldn’t allow it. He’s saying them now, and I thought I was ready to hear it, but how wrong I was.

It all hits me at once.

Gulping, I reign in my emotions and manage to get the words out. “That is gross, Benjamin, but surprisingly and very disturbingly sweet.”

Laughing, he then asks. “I’ll be there for you tonight. You hold your head up high, yes?”

Knowing he can’t see me but nodding anyway, I say. “Always.”

“Yeah, always, kid.”

Taking a turn, I wait for the building gates to open, and when they do, people gathering outside bombard me.

Political journalists.

“Wonderful.” I mutter. Lowering the window just enough to hear what they’re saying, I catch my name.

Fuck.

Driving towards my destination, an incoming call appears on the screen.

This is not good.

“Benjamin?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Sure thing. Love you, kid.”

“I know,” I whisper back, still finding it difficult to tell him I love him back because the moment I do bad things happen. I’m not risking it.

“I know.” He replies, more real. Genuine because he knows.

He knows I love him like a brother.

Like the big brother I never had.

I end the call and answer the incoming one.

Focusing on the road ahead, I wait for it to connect. “Quinne.”

My brows furrow when she doesn’t respond, but I can hear her breathing through the phone. “Is something wrong? Quinne?”

“I need you to do something for me.” The tone of her voice is off and nothing like the Quinne I have come to care for. Instead of replying to her with our usual sarcastic banter, I tell her. “Anything.”

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